Harry Potter :Diamond Heart

Professor Mcgonagall caught him on the staircase up to the Fat Lady's picture and the entrance to the common room.

'Mr Potter,' she greeted him tersely. 'Where have you been?'

Harry didn't answer. It wasn't like he was about to tell her he'd gone back to the Chamber of Secrets to practice rituals that were now considered dark magic.

'And why are you wet?' she snapped when he didn't respond.

'I performed the water-summoning spell a little too proficiently,' he relied dryly, ignoring his head of house's tone.

'That's a sixth year spell, Mr Potter,' the transfiguration teacher responded slowly. She did, however, look less displeased with him than she had before. 'If you can perform it then very well done, and all the better since you are excused from all lessons you do not wish to attend as Triwizard champion.'

No more potions, Harry exulted internally. Every cloud.

'I hope that smile has nothing to do with not having to attend your lessons, Mr Potter,' Professor Mcgonagall admonished. 'You've come forwards in leaps and bounds from last year, but this tournament is still much too dangerous for any child, let alone a fourth year. I can't believe that so many of the younger years would have the irresponsibility to try and enter their names.'

She swept off abruptly, both warning and compliment delivered in her typical, stern, Scottish-accented fashion.

The Fat Lady gave him a cool look upon presenting her with the password, but swung out of his way regardless.

Really, he wanted to ask, even the portraits?

The common room grew unnaturally quiet when he entered and the moment he was out of sight up the stairs he heard the room break back out into animated conversation. No doubt some choice rumours were about to spring up about his damp appearance.

His dormitory was empty, none of his friends were around, but somebody had charmed the hangings around his bed a dull white rather than Gryffindor's red and gold. It struck him as quite a petty, spiteful thing to do. He returned them to their original colours and ran his eye over everything else for traps or pranks. The Weasley twins had never taken a serious run at him before, but with Ron so clearly against him he wasn't sure whose side they would come down.

It was nice to be dry again. Harry discarded his wet robes onto the pile of not-so-clean clothes and had just begun to cast some locking spells on his trunk when he heard someone enter the room.

'Harry,' a quiet voice greeted him nervously.

'Neville,' he kept his tone neutral. Harry didn't remember seeing Neville's face among those of his hostile reception yesterday, but he wasn't so naive as to believe that Seamus, Ron and anyone else opposed to him being champion wouldn't have given him an earful about his actions already.

'I'm sorry about the others, Harry,' the shy boy said awkwardly. 'They're just angry that you told them you wouldn't enter, didn't want to, and still managed to come away with something they all wanted.'

'Do you believe I put my name in, Neville?' Harry asked him flatly.

'I don't think it really matters,' he admitted, shuffling by the end of his bed. 'I didn't ever want to take part, but everyone else, they were so hopeful, and then you, who never wanted anything to do with it, became champion. It's annoyed them, especially the older students who thought they had a chance.'

'If I could've I would've swapped with them, Nev,' Harry sighed.

'Yeah, I know, but that doesn't mean all that much when you can't.'

He's right, Harry realised. It doesn't really matter what I say. I still have what they wanted.

'Anyone share your opinion?' he asked as lightly as possible. 'Or is it just you?'

'Most of the younger students are annoyed you managed to get past Dumbledore when they couldn't, the older ones are resentful, especially Angelina, and Ron, Seamus and Dean were really angry.'

'I'll take that as a no, then.'

'Lavender, Parvati and some of the girls in our year and below don't mind. Hermione seems more worried about you and wherever you're spending all your time than anything to do with the Triwizard Tournament. It's Angelina Johnson and the few who were tipped to be champion who you need to watch out for. They're really not happy you stole their place.'

'I didn't steal anything, Neville. I didn't even know what was happening until I was in the antechamber being told I was the fourth champion.'

'I don't think that's going to make much difference to them, Harry,' Neville shrugged apologetically. 'As far as Angelina and Ron are concerned you promised you wouldn't try and then you did, and got chosen. I don't think she's going to choose you to be seeker next year either.'

'At least it isn't everyone,' Harry replied tiredly. 'I can deal with the hostility as long not all of my friends have abandoned me.'

'I don't think very many people are going to risk openly crossing Angelina or the seventh years,' Neville muttered.

Harry looked up at him sharply, hearing the implied apology for ending their friendship in his tone, but Neville had already left.

Is Angelina that upset over this?

It seemed a little over the top. Cedric had been chosen champion for Hogwarts anyway; if anyone had the most right to be upset with Harry it was him. He supposed that if he had what they all wanted after so obviously not being interested in the competition it was going to step on some peoples' toes.

Getting out of lessons and suddenly improving in classes is only going to exacerbate things, he realised.

There didn't seem to be much of a way out for him. He was damned to be ostracised until everyone realised that he hadn't put his name in or got over their own jealousy.

I will be nothing again.

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