Chapter 1:

Rebirth Under Moonlight

Harry struggled with the box of butterbeer as he descended down Gyrffindor tower towards the bridging hallway connecting it to that of Ravenclaw.

The box of refreshments wasn't particularly heavy, it was just awkward to lug around. If only the packers had seen fit to ship them in a proper square container instead of the rectangular baker's dozen.

He'd never fully appreciated how inconvenient some of the tasks needed to open certain doors and passageways in the castle could be until he'd attempted to do a one-armed pull-up on the lever/chandelier on the fifth floor while propping a twenty-pound box of glass bottles on his hip. Maybe he just needed to work on his upper body strength? Then again, the fact that he could even DO a one-armed pull-up despite being weighed down by an additional twenty pounds served as a cogent counterpoint to that idea.

Soon enough he rounded the fourth floor and turned down one of the more utilitarian sections of the castle.

In one of the hundred or so storerooms tucked away on the east end was the room that had once contained the Mirror of Erised. Most of them now contained food stock and potions ingredients. He wondered why they didn't store them closer to the kitchens and dungeons, respectively, but figured with magic, and house elves, choice of storage place didn't prioritize distance so much as total cubic meters of area.

This evening's jaunt, for once, was not for purposes of mischief, research or stealing potions ingredients. Tonight was a much more relaxing affair and his destination was at the end of the hallway.

He took a deep, steadying breath to calm his nerves when he reached a tapestry overlooking the entire hallway. It depicted a somewhat burly, though in no way unattractive, witch wearing overalls and a straw hat. With one gloved hand she held a pair of sheers, and with the other a freshly picked rose.

Unlike most secret passageways in the school this one was convenient to open. Even moreso than regular doors.

He leaned forward, pressed his nose against the rose and inhaled deeply. Unsurprisingly, it smelled of dusty old fabric, but he let out a deep sigh of contentment of contentment as if it smelled of the real thing. That part was important, even if you did have to fake it.

The freckled gardener giggled as her tapestry shimmered and faded into a ghostly mirage, allowing Harry to step through into one of the Hogwarts secret gardens.

The Ravenclaw Rose Retreat, as it was called by those who knew of it, was one of four secluded greenhouses within the castle proper. It was little more than a glass dome at the very top of one of the peripheral towers fused to Ravenclaw tower. Inaccessible from below, and impossible to spot from above, roughly the size of the greenhouses Professor Sprout used for classes.

The copper frame holding the glass panels was obscured by thick morning glory and blueberry vines, blotting out all but the sky directly above. Forming a large circle at the center of the room was a veritable forest of rose bushes, each as tall as a man and every petal the color of a dazzling sapphire. Each of the thornless bushes was nested in a carpet of bronze coral bells.

"Fleur?" He called out when his reason for being there near curfew failed to materialize.

"We are ovar 'ere 'Arry." The French Veela called from somewhere behind the thicket of flowers.

We? When Fleur had asked him if he knew of a quiet, secluded place where they could talk and drink he had expected a private meeting. With just the two of them. As such he struggled to keep a friendly smile on his face when he navigated through the maze of stone benches and turned the corner to find the other male champions there waiting with her.

"Evening Cedric, Viktor. You all three managed to escape from your damsels in distress to join me here?" He greeted his older competitors.

They looked as impressive as ever. Even in their simple school uniforms Fleur was breathtakingly beautiful and Cedric was enviably handsome. Viktor looked like Viktor. No compliment or denigration about his appearance could be made. It was exactly the kind of visage Harry strived for, and one which he assumed the Bulgarian seeker crafted deliberately.

"Indeed. Hermonei vent to sleep against my shoulder at dinner and I had to recruit the girl of Lavender to guide her to her room." Viktor explained.

Harry glanced to Cedric, who didn't need more than the nonverbal cue to add his two cents.

"Cho made it all the way until it was time for me to come meet with ya. She's a trooper. As good a seeker as either of us, and we have stamina to spare after the lake don't we?" Said Cedric as he elbowed Viktor, who smiled politely.

He finally turned to Fleur.

She shrugged cutely with her hands curled in her lap and a smirk tugging at her lips

"Gabrielle did not make eet past lunch. I 'ave been acting as 'er pillow evair since you pulled her from the lake."

With their greetings out of the way, Harry placed the box of butterbeer on the stone bench between the one Fleur and Viktor sat on and the one Cedric had monopolized before plopping down beside the Hufflepuff. On any other day Cedric probably would have stopped by the kitchens on the way there to fill a few picnic baskets with treats, but the feast they all gorged on after completing the second task was still settling. At least it was for Harry.

"And vat of your lovely hostage?" Viktor egged. "The tall, petite redhead. I do appreciate the freckled girls."

Harry snorted in place of dignifying the joke with a response.

"Zho, she does leave much to be desired in ze way of table manners." Fleur added.

This was true. A paragon of table manners Ron was not.

"Ron is soaking up some of the attention from being a hostage, more for my sake than his." Harry finally answered.

He hoped the others would catch his meaning.

"Running interference to save you from suffocating crowds again? Good man." Said Cedric, confirming Harry's hope.

He figured the conversation had gone on long enough and withdrew the knife Sirius had gifted him just two months back. It took more effort than he expected but he eventually managed to slice through the plastic covering of the box and remove the lid to show off his prize.

Twenty crystal bottles of butterbeer gleamed in the fading light from the sunset. Each with an equally dazzling crystal stopper sealed with golden wax.

Viktor let out an impressed whistle.

"How did you manage to get your hands on aged butterbeer?" The Bulgarian seeker asked.

Butterbeer can be aged like wine to make the dairy content sweeter and thicker to drink, almost like whipped cream. The meek alcohol content, and a few added ingredients known only to the makers and likely magical in nature, kept it in a liquid enough state to drink despite being of such a thick constancy.

Needless to say, the stuff is expensive.

"My godfather was originally born to wealth and recently came back into possession of his family estate." Harry told them, leaving out his godfather's identity. "He managed to dig up a lot of beverages from the long abandoned cellar and decided to ship off the "weak stuff" to me. I'm worried the old dog is becoming an alcoholic."

That last bit was more a concern of one Remus Lupin, but one that Harry was beginning to share if the werewolve's stories were to be believed.

Fleur reached in and plucked an emerald green bottle to examine it closely.

"How long have zey been sitting in zat cellar?" She asked.

He wondered for a moment why she would care, after all they only got better with age... Oh.

"About thirteen years. So it's aged by at least that much. I can't promise they're older than us, but they're at least not fresh from the factory." He explained.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer Fleur gripped the crystal stopper and pulled with all her might. Unsurprisingly, the dainty French witch didn't have the strength to uncork it by hand. That didn't stop her from repeatedly trying until her hands and face were flushed red from the effort.

It was all Harry could do to not laugh when Viktor reached over and nonchalantly twisted it open with just the strength in his hand and wrist. Show off.

Fleur, in turn, brought it up to her nose for a whiff, once she stopped glaring at their muscle-bound companion that is.

"Mmm, eggnog. Mon preferee!" She said.

Really? That was his favorite too! At least he thought that's what prefer-whatever meant. So, he grabbed one of the green bottles as well while Fleur rummaged around the box in search of something.

"Where are zee glasses?" Fleur asked.

Harry did laugh that time.

"Do you not see how many bottles we have here? We don't need glasses. There's enough for each of us to drink one of each color." Harry chided, knowing that this went against her higher breeding and etiquette-centered upbringing, but as with most things posh and proper he didn't much care.

Cedric snapped a red one open and made to take a swig before Harry stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"Constant vigilance!" He told Cedric with a wicked grin before drawing his wand.

Harry then performed a series of diagnostic and detection spells on the bottle in Cedric's hand. It was a series of spells he could now perform by muscle memory alone, having gotten into the habit of using them on all of his belongings this last year. They counted ten in number, but having to repeat them on each of the twenty bottles left his arm and shoulder aching.

"Alright. We're clear. Everyone grab a bottle." He instructed them as he did just that.

"A bit paranoid aren't you?" Cedric complained as he took his first sip.

Harry shook his head bemusedly.

"I have to be careful. The twins have spiked my drinks more times than I can count, but it only took drinking one unprepared to learn my lesson." Harry explained as he took his first sip as well.

"I do not see how zat would be much of a problem. Or can leetle Harry not handle his firewhiskey?"

Harry smiled at the French witch's unapologetic callback to their wretched first interaction. He knew she regretted it, but he'd let her keep her pride.

"It isn't firewhiskey that they spike food and drinks with." He told her.

That got their attention. The frightened glances they shared with each other, and increasingly inquisitive glances they threw in Harry's direction, hinted at assumptions far darker than the reality. Harry would have let the impressively erudite nonverbal conversation continue, as it was entertaining in it's own way, but he figured it might sour the mood for the rest of the evening if he didn't correct whatever misconceptions they were undoubtedly inventing by the dozen.

"But none of us have sprouted feathered elf ears, warthog tusks or beaks in place of our noses so I think we'll be just fine." He said.

They looked at each outer again and burst out laughing. He could see why, as he himself was picturing Fleur with such ears, Viktor with such tusks and Cedric with such a nose. The Tolkeinesque ears would suit Fleur beautifully, he decided.

"Who are these twins?" Viktor baritoned. "I vould like to meet them.

"Oh I'm sure you already have. They're hard to miss." Said Cedric. "They're Ronald's older brothers and obnoxious pranksters."

Recognition flooded the eyes of their foreign guests.

"So, what? Do zey go around dosing people's food with potions?" Fleur asked.

Harry smiled at her, knowing that there wasn't enough time left in the year for him to tell her about the exploits of the Weasleys.

"They do a lot of things. But lately they've been inventing a lot of prank snacks and sweets. They make people real nervous at meal times." He assured her.

"I can imagine. If it vere me, I vould stand over people I dislike and kindly ask how their food is. Repeatedly." Viktor said with what passed for a mischievous smirk on his dour face.

Harry almost choked on his butterbeer imagining Fred and George doing exactly that to Malfoy.

From there the conversation flowed like the butterbeer. Talks of Quidditch and seeker training gave way to talks of family when the boys realized they were being inconsiderate of Fleur, who hated heights and flying in general.

The silver-haired girl lit up at the mere mention of her sister. She waxed poetically about the many ways "Leetle Gabby" earned the angelic name their fundamentalist mother had bequeathed her. Harry had to agree. In the few minutes he had spent with the bouncing Veela hatchling she had worked her way into his heart, completely bypassing his skelegrow repaired and hardened ribcage.

He wasn't alone in thinking her laughter was like chick chittering, and when Fleur pointed out that her pouting reminded her of a bird ruffling it's feathers to appear more aggressive and intimidating ,but only ever succeeding in looking adorable, he couldn't help but imagine her throwing a temper tantrum and how unimpressive such displays must be to Mr and Mrs Delacour.

He needed to introduce the precious girl to Hedwig. Hopefully he could invite a glaring contest.

Harry found himself cursing the unfairness of biology at the epiphany that the little angel would one day grow up and become a teenage girl. A nasty, mean, vindictive, hairy, vain, boy-obsessed and rude teenager. The injustice of it all!

They nearly dusted through the entire box of butterbeer before the conversations started to fizzle out. Harry himself had managed to go through his own eggnog, cinnamon and a third of the mint flavored butterbeer bottles assigned to him. Cedric and Viktor, the gluttonous bastards that they are, had gone through their amaretto and chocolate ones as well. Fleur had barely finished her eggnog bottle and started on her chocolate flavored one before deciding she had had enough.

"I think your prankster friends may have spiked your butterbeer after all, Harry." Viktor said as he groggily stood up, and nearly fell over from the effort. "That or this batch has a higher than normal alcohol content."

Cedric was stumbling to his feet as well, and Harry had to admit his head was starting to swim in that way he associate with firewhiskey-spiked butterbeer. A sensation he experienced once when he hadn't known what he was drinking. Once had been enough.

"I reckon you might be right." Harry said. "You think we should sit down for an hour and wait for it to wear off before sneaking back to our common rooms?"

Fleur groaned in a very unladylike, but somehow still dignified coming from her, manner.

"It eez already past ze curfew. How are we going to get back unseen?" She asked.

Harry had a plan for that. Had, being the operative word, as that plan had been shot to hell when he realized it wasn't just Fleur and himself attending this romantic rendezvous.

"I have an invisibility cloak." He said simply.

"Big enough to, urg..." Cedric tried to ask before a bubbling noise from his stomach interrupted his question.

"No, not big enough for four people." Harry replied, pulling the family heirloom from his school robe's interior. "But definitely big enough for Fleur and me to sneak out and grab something else that'll let you two get where you need to go, undetected."

He was sure Cedric could fit under it with him, but he was in no state to go on a stealth mission into a paranoid ex-auror's office and steal anything. And Viktor sure as hell wouldn't fit inside with him. The massive teenager probably wouldn't fit by himself, now that Harry thought about it.

"And vat is this tool of guile, my friend?" Viktor asked.

Harry smiled at the Bulgarian. He could tell them, but he'd rather show them.

"A map. A map that shows every person, place and thing on the school grounds." Harry told them. "It's called the Maraud..."

That was it.

That was the last thing Harry could remember from the night before - flashes of fire, lust and roaring laughter notwithstanding.

His inability to recall the rest of his evening was made all the more infuriating by the revelation that Fleur Delacour, garbed in nothing but a thin and VERY transparent pair of skyblue panties, was using him as a body pillow. The two were laying down in the soft underbrush beside the rose bushes and coral bells they had drunken beside the night before. arry would have gladly sold his soul and exhumed his own parent's graves before galivanting their reanimated bodies down Diagon alley in exchange for the memories of how he had gotten to be tightly embraced against her bare chest like that.

Trying not to panic, Harry took a steadying breath and gently pushed Fleur off of him, or at least he tried to. She clutched onto him painfully with sharp claws and pulled him tighter into her embrace.


Sure enough, where perfectly manicured nails should have been were instead obsidian talons like those belonging to a bird of prey. Crescent blades of death jutting from the charred remains of her hands dug deep into his shoulder and back, drawing blood. They were wretched, an abomination on the perfection that was Fleur Dela- oh wait, nevermind. They were turning back to normal.

He took a slower and even more gentle approach in prying her fingers off of him the second time. Instead of pushing her aside he sort-of rolled over until she lay on her back with him on top of her. He was certain the position would look pretty bad to an outside observer. Holding her hands against her flat stomach by the wrist he, ever so slowly, pulled away while trying not to stare at her.

He failed in the latter.

She was perfect. Aside from the blood on her fingertips from where she'd sliced into him moments earlier and the soot on her hands, he could not find a single imperfection on the girl's, no, woman's body.

She wasn't well-endowed or shapely, but her small breasts - What comes before A? - and thin figure were beautiful to him all the same as he raked his eyes over her with wanton hunger. Even fast asleep after a night that he knew included drinking in excess and rolling around in dirt together her hair was immaculate, without so much as a single metallic strand out of place. Speaking of hair, there wasn't any to be found on her body save for the enticing patch of silver he could see through the single piece of transparent fabric she wore. so it was her natural color after all.

With sudden nervousness Harry realized he was wearing even less and scrambled for the articles of clothing that hung from the rose bushes on either side of them. The lack of pain or other evidence of fornication alleviated Harry's worries that they might have gone too far the night before, if her still partially clothed body wasn't enough to do so. After successfully hiding his body's intention with the wayward pairs of boxers and jeans he threw his own school robe over his peaceful companion like a blanket.

She apparently decided it made as delightful a body pillow as Harry had and snuggled up to it as well.

He searched for the remainder of their clothes and alternated between donning his own and folding hers into a pile for when she woke up. He winced as the rough fabric of Dudley's old sweater irritated the slicing wounds on his back, but was hardened enough by far greater wounds in the past to avoid hissing in pain. It was as he donned his shoes that he discovered a dozen or so metal tubes littered about them along with a few other feminine contraptions.

It didn't take a genius to realize they were lipstick and makeup, but why was each tube opened and discarded like that? And why would she need so many colors?

There were different shades of blues, reds, greens and purples in both glittered and matte varieties. A closer inspection of Fleur's face - which he had somehow bypassed in his first ever experience of seeing a woman's naked body - revealed that she was indeed wearing lipstick. Orange. It looked wrong on her, as makeup in general simply could never add to her appearance, but take away from it.

Except maybe the navy blue one with silver glitter. He could imagine that looking damn nice on her.

A sudden sneaking suspicion took Harry over and he snatched up one of those makeup clasps with the mirrors inside and opened it.

The good news was they had not spent the night putting makeup and lipstick on him. The bad news was his entire face was now an abstract, rainbow-colored portrait of kiss marks. Putting two and two together, Harry realized the night had gone even better than he had dared hope.

His cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so wide.

Deciding it was likely Fleur wouldn't remember the night before either, and figuring she would be much less thrilled than he was, Harry scrambled out of the bed of rose petals they must have made for themselves and out into the greenhouse.

He soon found Viktor passed out on a stone bench on one end of the room and Cedric tied up against the wall on the other. He had made the mistake of falling asleep near a magical vining plant, so naturally the morning glory's vines had grown to completely envelop him. Thankfull they had been conscientious enough to leave his head unaccosted.

It was probably best not to leave him there.

Peeking back into the bower where Fleur snoozed cutely, Harry searched for his wand as quietly as he could manage. He found Fleur's in the bushes beside her and figured his must have been in the robes she was currently holding onto for dear life. He was still in pain from the last time he tried to pry something away from a sleeping Veela and was reticent to relive the experience anytime soon.

The rosewood wand was hot in his hands, like wood left in a sauna, to the point it was uncomfortable to hold. He got the distinct impression that the wand didn't want him holding it. With a few waves of it he managed to cut Cedric down from his vertical hammock. In his drowsiness Harry had forgotten to make proper use of cushioning and lightening charms in anticipation of the Hufflepuff champion falling flat on his face.

"Ow! What the bloody hell?!" Cedric complained as the fall woke him.

Oh. So the golden boy could get angry. Neat.

"Morning. Rough night?" Harry asked, offering Cedric his hand.

Together they managed to get him to his feet and brush off the remaining leaves and vines from his person

"I... Can't rightly recall." Cedric admitted, roughly running his hands through his hair.

Damn. Well there goes Harry's hope of bribing the others into giving him pensieve memories of the night before. He wondered at the chances of sneaking out and back to Gryffindor tower before Fleur woke up, maybe exchange hostage wands at a later date when she cooled down.

"Ello?" Bollocks. "What 'appened?"

Harry's back was turned to the rose bushes, but somehow the fearfulness in her voice made him feel so much worse than the anger he had been anticipating. She sounded on the verge of tears.

He turned around to look at her.

Whatever expression she was wearing before melted away and in its place was the guiltiest smile he had ever seen and she clearly tried not to laugh at the kiss marks on his face.

"Oh. I zee." She said as she covered her mouth and nose with a hand.

This was not the reaction Harry had expected.

She handed him his robes while muttering what he assumed were a string of excuses and apologies in French. He, in turn, handed her wand back. Oddly enough, he could feel it almost protest at leaving him. It was as if the magic inside the wand was clinging to that within his body in the same way Fleur had clung to him earlier.

Temperamental indeed.

"You don't seem all that upset." Harry said nervously as Cedric left them to go and rouse Viktor.

She was back in her school uniform now and he couldn't help but miss the view from earlier.

"Why would I be 'Arry?" Asked Fleur, her guilty smile getting even guiltier. "I am zee adult, whatever 'appened last night is my responsibility."

He saddened a bit at the implied reminder of his age.

"I must say zho, I am glad I did not do anything naughty wiz someone I had not planned to." She confessed.

Whatever dredges of sleep still infected his body left him in that moment. Is this what people referred to as an emotional rollercoaster? Seemed like an appropriate name.

"Zho, it saddens me zat I do not remember eet." Fleur said sadly.

Damn. Well, fourth times a charm.

"Hey Vik!" Harry yelled at the man leaning against Cedric on the other side of the room.

"Vhat!" Viktor yelled back.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" Harry called.

"No!" Viktor yeleld before clasping his head in pain.

"Alright thanks! Well I guess we'll never know for sure." Harry said, going from yelling at the clearly hungover Hungarian to whispering to the fraternizing Frenchie without skipping a beat. "But I'm sure I enjoyed the kisses."

She actually giggled at that. Harry didn't know she could make such a sound. It was nice.

"Ooh. Speaking of, I meesed a spot." Fleur said.

And like that she leaned down and planted one final kiss on the bridge of his nose. When she pulled away her lips had gone from the vibrant orange back to the pale pink they were supposed to be.

"You know, Muggles sell lipstick that doesn't smear, right?" Harry told her.

She gave him a dazzling smile.

"Zey are charmed to never smear UNLESS you kees someone. Very popular brand, zey are." Fleur told him.

Hmm. Made sense. Lipstick for recreation and presentation. For not the first time in his life Harry marveled at the literal mountains of money wizardkind was sitting on by not marketing their products to Muggles.

Sometime during their talk they had started holding hands and by now their fellow champions had joined them.

"You are not allowed to bring drink or food ever again, Harry." Viktor grumbled. "Vhat in the hell did you give us?"

Harry did his best impression of Fleur's guilty smile.

"I'm caught between killing Gred and Forge when I get back, or leaving everything in my will to them." Harry said. "On the bright side it looks like we didn't get into trouble last night. It'll be easier to act like we never snuck out at all."

Cedric hummed in agreement.

"I am about ready for breakfast. And I think I speak for Viktor too when I say coffee would help a lot." Cedric told them.

Viktor nodded enthusiastically before wincing and rubbing his forehead. "I don't suppose you could have some delivered here, could you?"

Harry considered it.

"You know what. I reckon I could. Dobby?" Harry called out.

He heard two soft pops and when he looked over at the benches they had occupied last night there now sat a tray loaded with a large, white mug and four coffee cups. Beside it was another tray loaded with flaky pastries.

"Do you guys ever get the feeling you're being watched?" Harry laughed as he helped Cedric lead Viktor towards the smell of salvation.

They devoured the pastries and inhaled the coffee in silence, save for the grunts and moans of satisfaction at the private breakfast.

"So. Did you actually go get this map or do you owe us ten galleons?" Cedric prodded.

Ten? He had only wagered ten galleons on a guaranteed win? Damnit drunk Harry!

"I don't remember. Last I recall is getting ready to tell you guys about the Marauder's map." Harry confessed.

He looked to Fleur.

"I do not know. I remember you mentioning a cloak, but zen..." Fleur made a motion that was something between a shrug and the act of throwing confetti.

She was interrupted by Viktor holding up a large, folded piece of parchment in Harry's face. He could feel his face lighting up and then darkening again as he examined it.

"This isn't it." Harry bemoaned as he took the parchment.

It was too clean, too new to be the one made by Sirius and his friends. Despite this, the resemblance was uncanny. It was the exact same shape and folded in the exact same way. Maybe it WAS the map but they had thought to bleach and iron it the night before? Seemed like a dumb enough thing for one of them to come up with.

"Meh. Why the hell not?" Harry shrugged as he tapped the parchment with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

And the map materialized. Ink stretching across the paper like vining plants that looped back in on themselves to reveal the same bold pronouncement he had seen play out a million times before. Or maybe not.

Messyr's FireBird, TrionSkin, PaddleCul and VoulgeNeb are proud to present:

The Marauder's Map, Version 2.0

Durmstrang Edition

Harry could only stare dumbly at the map.

Who, who, who and who?


Igor Karkaroff, reformed Death Eater and headmaster of Durmstrang Institute of Sorcery, was having a great morning.

He had woken up with time to spare and without the many body aches brought on by age and the lifelong after-effects of the nastier curses he had suffered in service of a Dark Lord long ago. Both tended to ebb and flow, flaring up and calming down as they pleased.

If that wasn't enough the birds of Britain were singing an especially fine tune this morning and the house elfs had prepared a pine-tree and honey tea for him, piping hot instead of the luke warm it usually fell to when he slept in.

Cup in hand, he made his way from the captains cabin down a small flight of stairs to the door that opened directly from his private quarters to the ship deck.

The morning air was brisk, a shock of cold, though not as frigid as he was accustomed to. He could have done without the tree branch slapping him in the face.

That was when his morning took a turn to the strange.

Instead of the slightly salty smell of the black lake and clear horizon his nose was assaulted with the, admittedly pleasant but unexpected, smell of damp leaves, old wood and coniferous trees. When his vision finally adjusted from the artificial darkness of his cabin the reason for the strange olfactory sensations became evident.

The Durmstrang ship was moored.

This wouldn't have been particularly strange if it was moored on the beach of the black lake, but to be surrounded on all side by towering trees so thick they almost blotted out the light was an impossibility. Almost as great an impossibility as the ship finding itself on top of a mountain surrounded by several other mountains.

Above the peaks of another mountain in the distance he could barely make out, through the throng of branches, the highest towers of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Igor did what any responsible headmaster of Europe's finest magical institution would do. He turned around, stomped back into his cabin, discarded his morning tea, crawled back into bed and went straight to sleep.

It was too early to deal with this shit.

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This story was partially inspired by the story "It's Always Hazy at Hogwarts" by TurtlePig which you will absolutely love if you enjoyed this first chapter. In it, the four champions smoke gillyweed in the prefects bathroom and get higher than the moon. And another terribly written comedy titled "We All Fall at the Tule Ball" by Don E. Delivery.

It was further inspired by the severe lack of stories revving around all four champions, or even the three surviving ones. I would know, I searched through all of them and so far the best one I've read was about the survivors getting tattooes to remember Cedric. Come on people, write more will ya?