Disclaimer

I don't own Final Fantasy, nor am I JKR. Therefore, I make no money.

Note

This has been completely written. I always enjoy constructive criticism and will think about any changes that are needed to better the story. Just be aware, any suggestions for future chapters may be ignored.

One

Harry Potter's first clue that something was wrong came early in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He'd been on his Firebolt and flying like a bat out of hell, when he was engulfed by dragon fire. Normally, that was the fast way to discover a new-found sympathy with vulcanized rubber. He should have fallen from the sky and exploded into a cloud of ash upon striking the ground.

To his great surprise, however, he did not burn. Fortunately, neither did his broom. Several minutes later, he was in the hospital tent convincing himself that he'd imagined it. By the time he went out to receive his scores, only the smallest voice in the back of his mind was arguing.

He was just grateful that Ron was over his petty jealousy. A small part of him was mildly disdainful of his friend and remained irritated. He didn't have enough problems in his life, he was supposed to go look for more?

The second clue was less obvious, though he did notice it. As he was swimming through the second task, the denizens of the lake were determined to avoid him. Kelpies, merfolk, even the grindylows went careening in any direction that they thought would be safe from him. Still, he forgot all about it as he towed the remaining hostages to the surface. Fleur's enthusiastic hug and kiss drove it further from his mind.

Looking in his mirror the morning of the third task, Harry was more than a bit amazed. He reached a hand up and traced a finger across the hairs at his temples and around his face. They had turned a silver gray. More gray was scattered through the rest of his hair. He was too young to go gray... wasn't he?

He ruefully admitted, after thinking about it, that his life was enough to prematurely age anyone. And that was before you included the Dursleys in the mix. He chuckled humorlessly. With them added in, he should look as old as Dumbledore.

He dressed, ate breakfast and visited with the Weasleys. All the while, a little voice in the back of his head was debating what would be in the maze and what he would need to do in order to survive. He reviewed statistics, strengths and weaknesses of all the local flora and fauna, even as he conversed and put on his 'brave face' for his best friend's family.

It didn't occur to him that he hadn't thought quite that... (analytically? or would that be coldly?)... less than a day before. He also didn't notice how his left hand kept trying to wrap itself around the hilt of a non-existent sword. He ignored the way he was searching for one more red-headed male to be present, standing side-by-side with a black-haired behemoth...

Entering the maze was like coming home.

He took a deep breath as the quiet and the damp surrounded him. He closed his eyes and listened to the stillness, broken only by the rustling of the hedges. There were no insects chirping, no animals moving nearby. It felt like an ambush in Wutai during the war. His left hand clenched convulsively and he opened his eyes. He had a mission to complete.

A quiet smirk crossed his lips as he started forward. He took turns at apparently random intersections and seemed to not notice the sounds that came just from the other side of the greenery. Appearances were deceiving, however. His mind was constantly mapping his path, and the turns led him past dozens of traps without springing them.

When he passed through the golden Confundus ward, there was a faint tingle of something trying to take root. His iron will brushed it aside easily and he continued on without breaking stride. He noted and cataloged the sensation as mostly benign.

Finally, he came across one that he could not avoid or simply ignore. Hagrid called them Blast-Ended Skrewts. He knew that they were really a mutated version of the Frozen Nail. The original beasts had been weak versus fire. These were weak against Ice. One stood before him, apparently of the opinion that he was dinner.

He dodged the initial assault and let the flame that propelled the beast wash over him. He smiled. He'd always loved Ice. His left hand came up. Power raced through him and out of the limb, completely bypassing the wand in his right hand. The Skrewt was engulfed in a solid mass of Ice that quickly shattered, rending the beast to shreds at the same time.

Harry froze. What...? He blinked. How...? He lifted his hand up to stare at it, then at the remains of the Skrewt. He shook his head. I will never be a memory... He shook his head again and strode resolutely forward. He could figure this out later. He had a tournament to win.

A flick of his fingers had the Imperiused Krum hit with a Stop. He paused and eyed the apparently petrified seeker and gasping Cedric, then turned and continued on his way. The Sphinx was no problem. It looked at him, paled and stepped aside without a word.

He didn't notice his robes slowly darkening and changing to leather. He paid no attention to his hair as it lengthened and gained gravity-defying bangs. He ignored the aches and increased distance in his stride as he gained over a foot in height, going from just over five feet to six foot one. His movements changed, changing from the gangly motion of a human child to the graceful lope of a predatory SOLDIER First Class.

Ahead of him, he saw the cup on a plinth. Cedric, coming from a side passage, fell into step beside him only to be quickly outdistanced by his longer legs and a Haste spell. An acromantula came barreling out in front of him, only to miss him completely as he leapt. His left hand snapped down and light flared as the overgrown arachnid was roasted by an overpowered Firaga. The dying beast crashed into the passage's exit and collapsed there in a smoldering heap.

He ran on, ignoring the sounds of Cedric cursing and casting spells to put out the fire and move the corpse. He skidded to a stop and his outstretched hand caught the handle of the cup. Thin lips curved into a trademark smirk. He had won.

A hook latched into him behind his navel and he was suddenly elsewhere. He was unaware that he had landed in a graveyard. Had he still been his smaller self, he would still have been conscious. As it was, he wound up smacking head first into a tombstone and knew no more.