Author's Notes: Sorry, no First Task in this chapter.
Thanks for the reviews, they're very much appreciated. :)

Chapter Three – Defying Dumbledore

During breakfast the following morning, thirteen students in the Great Hall received identical, unsigned letters that described – in as much detail as was possible – the events leading to and including Ron Weasley's turning into a weasel. All thirteen of the recipients were known to love gossip and rumours, which was exactly why they had been chosen for the task of spreading the tale.

Oh yes, Harry had spent quite a lot of time, picking those thirteen girls from among the hundreds of students. The story of Weasley the Weasel was bound to spread like a wildfire.

From the whispering and giggling that started after the letters had been read, Harry knew his plan was indeed a success.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was simply perfect. Moody had given up trying to teach the most thickheaded students to shake off the Imperius, and instead moved on to defensive spells, starting with a shield that would stop a number of minor hexes and jinxes.

Harry, unsurprisingly but to his delight, conjured a solid shield on his third try.

"Now, we're going to have to test that shield of yours, Potter," Moody said in his growling voice. "Come on, let's see if it holds."

Harry walked to the front of the class, his wand drawn and ready. A small voice in his head told him he should not feel as confident as he did – he was going to face a former Auror, after all. However, Harry simply ignored the voice as he took a defensive posture.

"I'm ready, Professor," he said, the incantation for the shield spell ready to leave his lips.

"All right then. Rictusempra!"

The Tickling Charm had no chance against Harry's shield that had appeared before Moody had even finished the incantation for his spell.

As the jet of silver light dissipated into nothing, Harry once again experienced the feeling of superiority. That only got stronger as his shield stopped two more jinxes, both of which had been cast nonverbally and with more power behind them.

"Very good, Potter," the Professor said. "That last Tripping Jinx was as powerful as I could make it, and your shield still held. Take ten points to Gryffindor for impressing me."

Genuine surprise colouring his voice, Harry replied, "Thank you, Professor."

Fifteen minutes later, Moody called forward some of the other students, who had managed to produce a solid shield. The first three students' shields held against the low-powered Rictusempra, but crumbled as a more powerful Bat-Bogey Hex hit them. At each fail, Harry's smugness only increased, quickly reaching an unhealthy level.

Transfiguration was much fun. Today, they were turning weasels into slippers.

Or, that was they were supposed to be doing, but Weasley decided to open his mouth in complaint.

"Uh, Professor...do I really have to work on this weasel?"

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "What do you have against that, Mr. Weasley?"

Attempting to ignore the snickers around the classroom, the redhead replied angrily, "You're going to hear about anyway, Professor, so I might as well tell you how I was turned into a weasel practically identical to this one." He pointed at the small animal on his desk, the colour of its red fur matching his hair. "And it was all because of Potter."

Harry looked up from his former weasel, having decided to make the slipper he'd already created a bit fancier by adding small red bows on it. "It's not my fault you attacked me from behind, Weasley."

"All right, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, stay after class," McGonagall said, sounding none too happy. Harry nodded at her, and then returned to his slipper.

Forty minutes later the end of lesson bell rang, and the students exited the classroom. Everyone except Harry and Weasley, that is.

McGonagall looked at them sternly. "Now, what was that about you attacking Mr. Potter, and getting turned into a weasel, Mr. Weasley?"

The redhead scowled. "Well, I was having a conversation with Potter, when he suddenly decided to leave. Then, Professor Moody appeared and turned me into a bloody weasel. I never attacked anyone; Potter's just trying to appear innocent."

"And what say you, Mr. Potter?"

"Weasley, Finnigan and Brown cornered me when I was returning from the library. I soon grew tired of their threats, and left. Seconds later, I heard Professor Moody say something about 'teaching to attack from behind'. I turned around, only to see a red weasel where Weasley had stood."

The Head of Gryffindor looked furious. "Very well. Mr. Weasley, you are going to serve a detention with Mr. Filch for attempting to attack a fellow student. Also, fifteen points will be taken from Gryffindor. Mr. Potter, you may go." And Alastor is apparently in need of a reminder!

Harry left the classroom, heading for the Great Hall for lunch. It was turning out to be a great day.

Two weeks and two hours later Harry was in the Potions classroom, brewing an antidote to Polyjuice Potion, though he didn't really see why Polyjuice would need to be countered. It would wear off in an hour anyway.

So far there had been zero molten or exploding cauldrons – something fairly unusual in the fourth-year Gryffindor-Slytherin class.

Harry had just added his powdered snake fangs when someone knocked on the classroom door. That, too, was uncommon.

Snape was in the middle of terrorizing Neville, so he simply waved his wand at the door, opening it – and revealing a smiling Dumbledore.

"I am sorry, Severus, but Mr. Potter is needed elsewhere," the Headmaster said. "We cannot begin the Wand Weighing Ceremony with one of the Champions absent."

"You're not going to find a Champion in this room, sir," Harry hissed without looking up from his potion he was stirring. He felt everyone's eyes on him, but ignored them.

"I believe I just did, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore's tone had lost a few degrees in warmth, but Harry still refused to leave for a stupid ceremony, where he'd only get stared at.

A silence followed. Harry was surprised the Potions Master had not said anything.

No one said a word for a few minutes. Dumbledore was staring at Harry, his blue eyes no longer twinkling; Harry was cutting his daisy roots while pretending the Headmaster was not there; Snape was walking around the dungeon, breathing down the students' necks; and the other students gradually returned to their brewing because they wanted to finish their antidotes before they'd run out of time.

Amazingly, Dumbledore eventually gave up, as he was gone when Harry finally looked up from his cauldron that was now full of emerald-green potion.

I actually managed to avoid participating in that wand weighing thing? Must've been nothing of crucial importance - either that or Dumbledore finally realized I'm not going to compete.

For the remainder of the lesson, Harry kept being at the receiving end of various looks; disbelieving, angry, and even admiring ones.

Potter had successfully defied Dumbledore? Severus had to grudgingly admit that that had been completely unexpected and highly surprising. The old man rarely, if ever, gave up like that – Severus should know. How many times had he applied for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, only to be denied the position every single time? How many times had he warned the Headmaster about Lupin, only to be ignored? Too many.

Whatever respect Severus had once had for Dumbledore had completely disappeared three years ago, when Potter had first come to Hogwarts. Ever since that day the old coot had been favouring the Gryffindor House and its so-called Golden Boy.

Now, Severus was not a hypocrite – he could easily admit he favoured his own House over the other three ones, only he was not so glaringly obvious about it. He might not take points from Slytherin, but neither did he award the Snakes over a hundred points the way Dumbledore had during the Leaving Feast after Potter and his little friends had "stopped" Quirrell from stealing the Philosopher's Stone for the Dark Lord. Severus knew perfectly well that the stuttering fool would never have been able to get the Stone from the Mirror of Erised – Dumbledore had simply wanted to let Potter play the hero.

Considering the pampering the brat no doubt received at his relatives', Dumbledore's special treatment of the boy could not possibly have positive effects. Potter would only get more and more like his father, the insufferable James Potter.

Then again, Potter seemed to have changed over the summer, and the changes had been for the better. Perhaps losing his mutt of a godfather had deflated the boy's ego. Or maybe it had been the werewolf killing the know-it-all Granger. In any case, coming face to face with loss had obviously stripped Potter of some of his Gryffindor attitude and behaviour.

The boy had also mysteriously gotten less hopeless at Potions. He kept brewing adequate potions, and writing acceptable essays. Despite that, Severus had been tempted to keep giving Potter fail grades, but had been stopped by his own sense of fairness. At first, it had been infuriating having to mark the boy's essays with an Acceptable or Exceeds Expectations. Soon, though, Severus had started thinking it was thanks to him that Potter had finally grasped the basics of the subject. It was the very same approach Severus had taken to Granger and her performance in his class.

Luckily the rest of the Gryffindors were just as hopeless as before – it would have been nothing short of a catastrophe, had all of the Lions suddenly stopped exploding and melting down their cauldrons.

Harry was halfway through his breakfast when the post arrived. Hundreds of owls flew in through the open window of the Great Hall, making quite a bit of noise.

A nondescript brown owl landed in front of Harry, delivering his copy of the Daily Prophet. Harry quickly removed the rolled newspaper from the owl's leg, and the bird took flight again.

As he caught sight of the front page of the Prophet, Harry felt a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. The man he had hired had obviously succeeded in his mission – not that Harry expected anything less. A small mountain of gold coins had been included in the deal, after all.

HARRY POTTER'S FAMILY ATTACKED VICIOUSLY!
By: Rita Skeeter

Late last evening, there was a nasty attack on a Muggle family living in Little Whinging, Surrey. This reporter was lucky enough to find an eyewitness who had seen everything that went on in the house.
Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley, the last living relatives of the famous Boy-Who-Lived, were enjoying the peace and quiet of the neighbourhood, when their house was suddenly broken in. A masked man had soon had the family cornered in the large living room of the house. The stranger was wielding a Muggle weapon – somewhat like a wand made of metal – plus a knife, and he tormented the three Dursleys for a good twenty minutes.
The Muggle equivalents of Aurors were called by the witness, but they did not arrive until after significant damage had been done by the masked stranger.
All three Dursleys have been taken to Saint Mungo's for treatment and memory modification.

We can only guess what Harry Potter is thinking, now that his home has been so brutally attacked. This reporter sincerely hopes the Boy-Who-Lived is well, and not too shocked by what has happened to his relatives.

Harry smirked at the article, more than happy with it. If Skeeter only knew her source was none other than the attacker... Philip had done a great job, leaving the Dursleys alive but seriously injured. Harry could have told him to off the bastards, but had not wanted to, because he intended to have his personal revenge as soon as he turned seventeen and was legally allowed to use magic outside of school.

Before Harry had the chance to turn the page and continue reading the newspaper, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry, my boy, I believe it is best you accompany me to my office," Dumbledore's voice said quietly. Biting back an angry reply, Harry stood up from the table, following the Headmaster out of the Hall.

They walked in silence, until the door of Dumbledore's office closed behind Harry. The fourth-year took a seat after he was asked to, and looked at the older wizard expectantly. He honestly wanted to know whether Dumbledore would deem the Dursleys unfit to "take care" of Harry anymore.

"I know you must be shocked," the Headmaster began softly. "It is always tough when one's family is attacked."

Harry said nothing. He could hardly say he didn't care, after all.

With a small sigh, Dumbledore continued, "From what the Healer responsible for your relatives told me, all three Dursleys will make a full recovery. Their memories of the attack have been removed, and you will be able to return to Privet Drive in June."

"What if the attacker decides to visit again?" Harry asked, despite knowing perfectly well that Philip would never even return to Great Britain.

Dumbledore's smile faded away, his expression hardening. "He will not be able to come within one hundred yards of the house. There is a new set of wards around your home now, and no one, wizard or Muggle, with ill intent shall be able to get past them."

Harry saw an opportunity, and seized it. "There were no wards against Muggle criminals until now? The Dursleys don't even have a burglar alarm, let alone security cameras."

"Ah, well, when the wards were first cast, our main focus was to make sure Death Eaters would not be able to get to you, my boy." There was a hint of discomfort in Dumbledore's voice – exactly what Harry had been hoping to hear when he asked his question. The old wizard was not infallible, but it was incredibly difficult to get him to admit it. Harry decided to continue on the subject.

"But that's stupid! I mean, the Death Eaters are a large threat, but so are Muggles. The number of murders and less serious crimes committed in Little Whinging is higher than anywhere else in the country! One of the Dursleys' neighbours was killed not three years ago, in fact."

"There is no need to use that tone with me, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said sternly, his eyes without their usual twinkle.

"Sorry, sir," Harry hastily apologized, not meaning a syllable of what he said. It was fun pointing out Dumbledore's mistakes. "I guess I'm just a bit upset over the attack." As if.

"Understandable, my boy." Dumbledore was back to kind tones and twinkling eyes. "Now, there is another matter we need to discuss. Why are you so set against competing in the Triwizard Tournament, Harry?"

"Because I don't want any more fame or popularity, and neither do I want to compete in a tournament that's all about reputation and money. I will rather have as ordinary a school year as possible – and I'll have more than enough to do with just the lessons, homework and exams. I don't need a bloody Triwizard Tournament to waste time on!"

"But as a Champion you need not take the end of year exams, my boy."

That was news to Harry. However, he realized he wanted to take the damn exams – he didn't want to pass his fourth year just like that. Merlin, I'm becoming more and more like Hermione... not that that's necessarily a bad thing.

"Well, all the more reason for me to refuse to be a Champion," Harry said determinedly. Dumbledore looked gobsmacked, so the teen went on. "I want to pass this year because I worked hard, not because someone put my name in a stupid goblet. What would be the point of even attending lessons if I skipped the exams? Nothing, that's what."

Dumbledore recovered from his surprise, and swiftly changed the subject. "Your Professors are impressed by how well you are doing in class this year, Harry. From what I have been told, you have suddenly become better in all of your subjects, except for Divination. What brought the change about, my boy?"

Would you please stop calling me that? "Dunno," Harry lied smoothly. "Maybe I'm just grasping things better this year."

"Perhaps the events of last year affected you more strongly than you realized?" Dumbledore suggested. "It is not unheard of that the death of a close friend causes changes in one's personality."

"No, that's not the case. The 'changes' happened after I had gotten over Hermione and Sirius' deaths," Harry said confidently. "I should know myself better than anyone."

"Sirius did not die, Harry. He –"

"Yes, I know what a Dementor's Kiss is! In my opinion, though, Sirius is as good as dead. He's a soulless shell with a fully functional human body, rotting in Azkaban! I hardly consider that living!" Harry shouted, and left the office before Dumbledore could lock the door or say another word.

How dare he! First he scolds me for not being the perfect Golden Boy he's trying to make me into, then he has the audacity to suggest I don't know myself, and finally attempts to teach me what a Dementor's Kiss does, as if I did not know it. How could I ever look up to that man? Seriously, he didn't even take into account that Muggles often attack other Muggles – and that they won't be stopped by wards designed to keep out wizards. I can only hope it's because of his age... though that is extremely unlikely. He's just a manipulative old man, who refuses to acknowledge his flaws until someone points them out.

And now Harry was late for Transfiguration, by more than twenty minutes. McGonagall was going to be delighted.

End of Chapter Note: A bit shorter, this one. However, chapter four should make up for it. The First Task is just 'round the corner. ;)
Stay tuned for the update!
PS. You would not believe how many times I wrote "ferret" instead of "weasel". -.-