Chapter 13
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HARRY WAS BORN WITH A PLACE CARVED OUT FOR ANGER IN HIS CHEST.

It came in handy. When, he let that place fill up and take over his senses. When he let it overcome any other emotions, replacing the droop of dread and anxiety in his stomach with anger and shouts until his throat throbbed.

Harry wasn't patient. He was angry, and he knew that. He wore his anger like a knight donned his armour, shielding himself with it from disappointment before any other emotions got to him first.

It flared like a hot fire in his chest, almost like it was keeping him warm. Almost like it was comforting.

The blue fire in the goblet flickered like the wind, spitting out parchment and names and ink. For once, the houses cheered as one united school instead of four different ones.

Then, the goblet howled once more. It spat out Harry's name like it was a lie, the Great Hall going silent as ice settled in Harry's stomach.

Harry froze.

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Adhara's head snapped towards Harry before Dumbledore even finished reciting his name. Her brother's eyes were blown wide, mouth hanging open as fear visibly took over his expression.

She felt a hand on top of hers.

"Adhi," came Millie's voice, "unclasp your hands. You'll hurt yourself again."

But Adhi wasn't listening. Her eyes turned towards Hermione and Ron. Weasley seemed deceptively calm, though Mione was trying to get Harry out of his head since he was obviously not hearing anybody.

Which was a good thing, Adhara thought. Because silence soon diminished, words of outrage flying around the hall.

Adhara took a deep breath, fingers squeezing even tighter into a fist. Halloween really wasn't a pleasant day.

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The year Harry discovered the existence of the magical world, he had been too gullible. Too trusting, too innocent, too stupid to see things for what they were.

He trusted Hagrid's words too easily, taking the man's views of good and bad and aligning them with his own childish ones. Harry drank up every word that Hagrid fed to him. That the Light fed to him.

He drank up all the applause they threw at Dumbledore and saw him in the same way they did: a powerful man with good intentions.

Harry knew that Dumbledore was the one who ensured Harry attended Hogwarts. He was the one who sent all the owls and then Hagrid, not stopping until he was sure Harry would be at school on September 1st. He was able to get him out of the Dursleys'.

Harry had been grateful for that. So much so that he started to look up to the Headmaster. After all, he was a powerful man with good intentions.

But then, the man sent him back to Privet Drive once school was over. In the end, it was Adhara who helped him leave that place again in the summer, and she did so without power.

She was the one who kept Harry out of the Dursleys' house two summers in a row. And if there was anything he learned from his time gallivanting around the city with Adhara, it was that nothing about this goblet situation made any sense whatsoever.

The ice melted away when anger slowly took over. Harry fixed Dumbledore with furious eyes, wondering why this powerful man wasn't doing anything to solve the matter.

"The goblet was clearly tempered with. Is none of you going to do anything about it?"

Dumbledore turned towards him, finally looking at him. He looked surprised that Harry even bothered to speak up.

Madam Maxime stopped bickering too, following the old man's gaze. Snape was glaring at him, as per usual, impersonating a rather spoiled-looking cat, standing behind the Headmaster. Nonetheless, all eyes were on Harry.

Dumbledore gave a sad smile, clearing his throat. "What is done is done, Harry. You must compete, you took an oath."

"I didn't take any oath," Harry bristled, looking straight at the man. "I am not the one who put my name in there. You yourself put the Age Line around it, how would I have crossed it?"

"It is possible I made a mistake."

McGonagall tsked, sounding disbelieving.

"Are you insinuating that I may be lying?"

The old man blinked, almost startled. "Now, my boy —"

"I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire," declared Harry firmly, emphasising every word. "Someone must've done so behind my back. Is there no protocol for that?"

Dumbledore stared at him for a minute longer, unmoving, before he slowly closed his eyes, releasing a discounted sigh. "I'm afraid not, Harry."

"You're telling me there's nothing you can do?"

"No."

Harry's jaw clenched tightly. So much for being a powerful man.

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The next morning, Harry opened and closed the door to his dorm room several times before trudging down the stairs with his head determinedly angled toward the ground.

He didn't want to hear the cheers nor the applauses, he didn't want to hear the curses nor the insults. Harry just wanted to be. To be at school like a normal student, to live a normal and peaceful school life.

Though, no one seemed to care for that to happen.

To say he was glad to walk into Hermione that morning would be an understatement.

"You believe me?" Harry asked, feeling relieved.

She did. Of course, she did. She almost even rolled her eyes when she saw that Harry questioned it.

Ron, on the other hand, was a different story. Apparently, the lad was jealous of him.

Harry scoffed, because, honestly, what the fuck? "Great. Really great. Tell him I'll swap any time he wants."

Because it really was great, wasn't it? It was great having people gawk at his scar everywhere he went, it was great having people thank him, congratulate him, and express their condolences for his dead parents all the time. It was great being a hero, it was great being an orphan. Because what does the death of his parents even mean if it meant having eternal glory, right?

"Maybe he'll believe I'm not enjoying myself once I've got my neck broken or—"

"That's not funny. In no way is any of this funny," said Hermione quietly. She was biting the nail on her thumb, hooking her teeth between the skin and nail until it was raw.

Harry snatched her hand out of her mouth, breaking the girl out of her thoughts.

"Harry, I've been thinking — you know what we've got to do, don't you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?"

"Yeah, give Ron a good kick up his—"

"Write to Sirius!"

Harry's mouth snapped closed.

Well. Absolutely not.

"Why? I can take care of myself perfectly—"

Hermione groaned frustratedly. "I swear, you and Adhara — pot and kettle, the both of you. Listen, Harry, don't be stupid, alright? I get enough of that already. But think about it, the tournament is famous. No doubt the Prophet will be writing about it—"

Fantastic. Really, what else more?

"—and McGonagall probably wrote to him already seeing as he is your guardian. But he also needs to hear it from you, otherwise he will be wondering why you aren't writing."

Harry stared at Hermione, who looked back with gleaming eyes as more logical excuses spilled out of her mouth.

Fuck.

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Unlike what Adhara first assumed, she didn't dislike the Three Broomsticks. In theory, she should. It was everything she hated, after all. Too many people with no awareness of their surroundings, sounds of clashing glasses, spilled drinks, and shouts with no particular purpose. An all-around pandemonium that should make Adhara want to escape with no second thought.

Yet, here she was, sharing a round of butterbeer with her friends, and she wasn't regretting her choice to join them.

"I swear, it's like living with two toddlers! Toddlers who don't want to listen!" complained Hermione before she chugged the rest of her drink.

Millicent put a reassuring hand on the girl's back, trying to calm her down. On the other hand, Adhara eyed the two other empty mugs of butterbeer, wondering if the barmaid accidentally gave them the alcoholic version.

Adhara felt a kick from under the table, startling her. Millie was giving her a stern look, gesturing at their frustrated friend. Adhara simply rolled her eyes.

"Ron's refusing to listen, and Harry doesn't want to talk to him! Why can't they just understand that they still love each other and that this whole fight is ridiculous? Honestly, don't they know that everything would solve itself if they just talked it out?!"

At this, Adhara felt personally targeted. She squirmed in her seat, not liking where this conversation was going.

"I understand completely," replied Millie. She was talking to Hermione, yet she looked straight at Adhara. "I know exactly how you feel. Two idiots who keep ignoring each other even though we've learned already how quickly a situation can be resolved if people just talked."

Adhara narrowed her eyes.

"Perhaps, Adhara can talk with Harry?" suggested Millie.

Hermione's head shot up. Hastily, she grabbed Adhara's hands from across the table. "Oh God, could you? Harry'll most definitely listen to you!"

Adhara pulled her hands away, refusing the girl with a firm "No." And it wasn't even because she didn't want to speak to Harry. She just didn't think he was in the wrong here. Weasley was the one who should approach him.

Ignoring her two friends, she turned instead toward the other customers at the inn. Adhara heard a very distinctive "—are just the same, why did we even bother—" coming from her friends which was definitely aimed at her, but Adhara very stubbornly kept her attention away.

She caught sight of another group of students nearby. They had a newspaper laid out on the table in front, and kept stealing glances of Hermione, snickering amongst each other.

Mood souring almost in an instant, Adhara glared. Without much thought, she lifted one of the empty mugs of butterbeer and loudly smacked it against the table, garnering the attention of the entire inn. Hermione and Millicent had stopped talking already. The dolts' attention turned to Adhara too, their smiles dropping as they took in the particularly nasty look Adhara was aiming at them.

Adhara smacked the mug against the table once again, this time hard enough to crack the glass. She never broke eye contact with the lads.

At the sound of the crack, they flinched. One of them hurriedly hid the paper in their coat as all of them scrambled out of their seats to bolt for the door.

Adhara took a deep sigh, turning back towards her friends. The restaurant around her stayed quiet still, but the girl knew that wouldn't last. With the scene being over, the clatter of the inn should restart soon enough.

Millicent broke the silence first. "Most probably reading about that ridiculous article Skeeter wrote."

"It's no matter," Mione assured, looking somewhat bored. "Ignore them. I deal with more annoying business in my personal life."

Adhara felt like rolling her eyes again. Instead, she lead the conversation to another topic. "Speaking about articles, have you thought about writing to the Prophet about S.P.E.W?"

Hermione's eyes lit up. "I thought about it! It would be a fantastic way to raise awareness. Though, I wonder if the Prophet will even want to. After all, I'm barely able to get any signatures at school."

"Why not? If they allow Skeeter to publish absolute rubbish, they can certainly allow real news to be published."

Millie squirmed slightly, going somewhat quiet. Adhara pretended not to notice the girl's discomfort though it wasn't very unexpected. The Bulstrodes were rich, it wasn't very surprising that they had a few house-elves.

"It wouldn't hurt to try," suggested Adhara. "Maybe you should expose how atrociously they were — are being treated."

Wizards have no qualms treating any beings they considered 'creatures' as inferior to them. And although the kitchen elves at Hogwarts were treated somewhat well, that doesn't mean it was okay everywhere else.

Most people don't see that there was anything wrong with how the elves were being treated. Not the Dark, nor the Light. After all, humanity, to them, applied only to humans, and elves were categorised as creatures. They can't even extend their humanity toward werewolves, let alone a whole other species.

Millicent squirmed again, looking frustrated. "We don't treat our house-elves badly. My father is very against any sort of violence against them, you know."

Hermione closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. Adhara leaned back in her seat, knowing that her friend would be able to handle the situation properly. And either way, Hermione's voice mattered more here than hers.

"And I'm sure your family isn't the only one. But that doesn't make it right. Creature or not, they're still people. Don't you think they deserve to be free, like you and me?"

Millicent's furrowed brows relaxed as she took in the girl's words. "You're...you're not wrong..."

Hermione smiled.

Adhara tried to be patient. She knew it only a matter of time until the pink-haired girl understood fully. In fact, Adhara knew Millie wasn't a complete dunce, after all, she didn't even think twice before joining S.P.E.W when Hermione brought it up. So, Millie definitely knew something was wrong with the way the house-elf system worked, but things always got a bit fuzzy for her whenever her father was involved.

"May — maybe we could start paying them?" thought Millie out loud. "I always found it weird that we didn't. After all, we can definitely afford to."

A smile surfaced on Hermione's face just as fast as it disappeared, replaced by an exasperated look. "I wish! The elves at Hogwarts started crying when I mentioned the word wage!"

Adhara sighed. "Centuries of brainwashing would do that to a person." The word itself reminded Adhara of Matron, of how the woman manipulated her and the others for years simply for her own amusement.

Adhara understood what it felt like to be controlled by fear. She hated it, so how could she wish that upon anyone else?

"So, what do we do?" asked Millie.

Hermione groaned. "To be completely honest, I don't think writing to The Prophet would help much. They will never publish anything that would go against the Ministry!"

"How does S.P.E.W. go against the Ministry?"

"Are you kidding? You think the Ministry wants to deal with a house elf revolt?"

Adhara thought it over, drumming her fingernails against the wooden table. "Then, we need to find a paper that isn't afraid to question the Ministry," she declared.

Millie and Mione looked at her.

"Which one?"

Adhara had no clue.

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It turned out, Gryffindor was the only house that was cheering on Harry. The others seemed to have collectively decided that he was currently the worst person alive.

Predictively, the Hufflepuffs were supporting their own Champion. Ravenclaw and Slytherin were siding with Cedric, too. And, honestly, how could they not? Devilishly handsome and annoyingly nice. The sixth-year was not only talented and smart, but he was one of the kindest people Harry ever met. The boy didn't even sound angry at him when Harry was announced as a Champion, too. Cedric even sounded like he believed him when Harry told him he didn't put his name in the Goblet.

There weren't that many people who believed him, though. Harry knew Hermione did, as did Hagrid.

Ron, however, did not, and Harry was finding that hard. Shunned to the side once more, he wished he had his best mate by his side as he did during their second year.

Unfortunately, Ron was not there. Instead, Harry was hearing a lot of jabs and insults, with the occasional applause, and annoyingly, people who claimed they weren't surprised at all.

In fact, they found this entire ordeal to be quite expected.

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A/N I have absolutely no excuse for such a late update. I'm sorry :(