A/N: This is definitely the hardest chapter as of yet in terms of both plotting and writing. I feel a little iffy on some parts, so tell me if you think anything's wrong.

A few days later, Harry found himself stalking down one of Hogwarts' corridors with an ever-present Amanda at his side, a disgruntled frown on his face as he glared at student, portrait and ghosts alike. For the last two days, over the weekend, Harry had pretty much stayed in his room and had ventured out only to eat and go to the toilet. He had spent hours of his time allowing Meciel to use his body and mind to scan the rule book for the Triwizard Tournament, trying to find a safe and painless way to get out of it. She had failed.

Despite Harry's whining, Meciel had badgered him into attending one of his classes. So instead of curling up in a warm, comfortable bed and sleeping in like he usually did on Monday mornings, Harry was entering the room of his Defence against the Dark Arts class. He had received his Hogwart's robes back but decided that he preferred the feel of his normal clothes. Besides, it got a stir out of the Professors and if there was one thing Harry liked doing, it was making a scene.

“I didn't think you'd come to another class,” Amanda told him brightly as he scanned the filled room for seats, a frown on his face. “Especially after what happened in Transfiguration.”

“The old cripple looks like he knows what he's doing,” Harry muttered half-heartedly as he strode through the room and took a seat. Much to his displeasure and a sharp, pointed look that Amanda totally ignored, the blonde girl sat down next to him.

“That's not a nice thing to say,” She scolded lightly.

“Well, I'm not a nice person,” Harry snapped in irritation. Amanda nodded at that as Harry looked away, his bored green eyes scanning the room and noting that Hermione, who was sitting in front of him, was eying him with a scowl on her face.

“You'd better not lose us points,” She huffed and whirled around, her bushy hair obscuring Harry's view of the blackboard.

“Down in front,” Harry called out, but it was at that moment that Moody limped through the door, his wooden leg making an oddly ominous clunk with every step.

The crippled man limped to the front of the room, his magical blue eye whirling in his skull as he rubbed his grizzled chin with gnarled fingers. The entire class instantly quietened under his powerful gaze, even Harry, who held firm as the blue eye stopped spinning and focussed on him. Moody seemed to grin, an expression that twisted and mangled his scarred face even worse than usually, but the eye moved away as he cleared his throat.

“Right- I've had a look at what you've done in the previous three years and it seems that I've finally got you up to date,” He began roughly. “Still, Lupin gave you a decent understanding of dark creatures and Quirrell managed to stutter some of the basics into you. But you really haven't focused on curses, have you?”

Several people in the class shook their head in response to his question and Moody frowned.

“You were meant to get touch on that topic in your second year,” He muttered gruffly. “That Lockhart was useless -but then he always was, wasn't he?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered brightly, nodding vigorously. “He was a useless old git, that's for sure.”

There was a soft snicker from one of the Gryffindor boys as Moody frowned, turning his eye on Harry.

“You weren't even here, Potter,” He growled out, pinning the boy with a scowl on his face.

“Hey, I'm not one to let that stop me from insulting other people behind their back,” Harry replied and he could hear Hermione give a soft sigh in exasperation.

He ignored her as he stared back at the Professor, not in the slightest bit intimidated of the glowing blue orb. Moody kept that eye on him but he turned back to the rest of the class, his voice suddenly grim.

“This year, it's time you finally learnt about curses,” He said quietly, but his voice captured everybody's attention as they all sat up in their seats. “For your first lesson, I'm going to jump straight into the nastiest ones of them all, the big three. The Unforgivable Curses, some of the darkest magic in the world.”

In the seat next to Harry, Amanda let out a small shudder, but Harry perked up and suddenly interested gleamed in his eyes as he leaned forward in anticipation. In his mind, Meciel spoke up softly, curiosity also gleaning her voice.

'I do not know these curses, beloved,' she told him and something akin to smugness entered her tone. 'You see, you may actually learn something of great value here. Aren't you glad that I pressured you into coming?'

Harry ignored her as Moody continued his lesson, pacing up and down the front of the classroom with a constant series of thuds.

“Now, these curses are the Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse and, of course, the Killing Curse,” The one-eyed man informed them gruffly.

Harry saw Neville shudder at the names and rolled his eyes mockingly but he payed close attention to the Professor, as quiet as the rest of the class as Moody let a nasty grin come over his face.

“Today, I will be showing you these curses and what they are capable of,” He finished thickly and the class burst out into sound, students muttering to each other in small hushed whispers.

“Professor, aren't these curses illegal?” Hermione asked in a shocked tone, her loud voice cutting straight through the mutters as Moody stroked his grizzled chin, eying the girl with approval on his face.

“That's right, girlie,” He said, nodding fiercely. “If you use one of these curses on a human being, they'll chuck you into Azkaban and let you rot there for the rest of your life. Still, Dumbledore thinks that it's better that you learn about them in a classroom instead of in a back alley with a dark wizard scum eying you down the length of his wand!”

“Still…” Hermione protested weakly, appearing startled at the old man's vehemence, but Harry frowned.

“Hey, Kill Joy!” He snapped loudly and Hermione whirled around, her hesitancy gone as she glared at him furiously. “Why don't you shut up and let the man teach?”

Hermione huffed at him but she fell silent as she turned around.

Moody raised his wand and whipped it through the air at something on his desk. Without a single word being uttered, a small, white sheet flew off a table and billowed out onto the ground, revealing three small glass jars. Each of the jars contained a black hairy spider and Harry saw Ron shudder at the sight of them, unconsciously leaning away from the jars, and made a mental note to bring it up in the redhead's company later on.

Moody took the first glass jar and opened it up, holding it over his desk and tapping on the back. The spider dropped to the polished mahogany and scuttled away but a small careless wave of Moody's wand and what Harry recognised as the summoning charm was enough to yank the spider back to the table. Moody quick jabbed his wand at it, his face intent and his eyes gleaming, and barked:

“Imperio!”

The spider suddenly started dancing on the table, moving faster and faster as it launched into a complicated rhythm of tapping and bobbing. The rest of the class started giggling and laughing; one of the boys pointing at the spider with a roaring smile on his face, but Harry was silent. He had felt the recoil of that curse from Moody's wand, a flash of icy-cold magic reeking with dark power, flowing with malevolence and an overpowering need to dominate, to control.

“Think its funny, do you?” Moody asked quietly, and the class quieted down, several smiles dimming at his blazing face. “I could make this spider do anything. I could make it jump out of the window, I could make it crawl across the table, burrow into your stomachs and lay its eggs in you, I could make it go home and brutally murder its family.”

The class was quiet, the humour gone.

“The Imperius Curse gives total control over a person to the caster,” Moody told them quietly. “If it's left on the person for too long, it can damage their mind to the point of no recovery. There are a lot of people in Saint Mungo because of this curse. However, it can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how to do that in a later class.”

'That curse would be most useful,' Meciel said speculatively.

'It would,' Harry agreed.

“For this next curse, it needs to be a bit bigger,” Moody said and swished his wand at the spider. “Engorgio!”

The spider twitched and it suddenly swelled up in size, until it was the size of Harry's fist. Harry frowned at the spell but his lips twitched as he saw Ron abandoning all pretence of bravery and scooting back on his seat, a nervous expression on his face. The amused look on his face vanished as Moody jabbed his wand and snarled out an incantation.

“Crucio!” The grizzled old man spat out, and Harry almost started in shock as a blast of pure dark emotions slammed into his ultra-sensitive mind.

Suddenly he was overwhelmed by a bloodthirsty urge to cause pain, to enjoy pain, to main and torture. His finger's convulsed in something like ecstasy as a wave of pleasure swept through him, alien to his own feelings. It was these sorts of feelings that gave power to the darkened denizens of Hell and the furthest reaches of the Nevernever, and for a moment Meciel, and by extension Harry, felt something that could only be described as a flicker of intense bliss. The spider started jerking madly, flailing and tossing on the desk as its legs collapsed and it fell down with a small thump. Although it had no mouth and no voice, Harry could almost hear its scream of pure agony as he leant forward, his eyes wide and glinting with an inner fiery darkness.

Although Harry could claim that he was enjoying the show, the rest of the class felt otherwise. The boys were watching with pale faces, Neville in particular was shaking uncontrollably as he stared at the spider with a haunted gaze. Several of the girls, including Amanda, had put their hands over their mouths, horrified expressions on their face.

After that brief moment, Meciel clamped down on her advanced senses and Harry was suddenly himself again. Ignoring the heightened rush of adrenaline and endorphins in his veins, Harry glanced at the blonde girl next to him and gave a soft sigh of exasperation as he saw her widened and almost tearful eyes.

Moody broke off the curse and the spider dropped to the table, still trembling and twitching as it passively lay there. The entire class was silent, including Harry, as they all stared at their Professor with wide eyes.

“The Cruciatus Curse,” Moody said quietly “The ultimate pain curse and one of the most powerful pieces of dark magic in history. Long ago it was my duty to hunt down and capture, or kill, anybody who used this on another human being. I'd do it again today.”

'You must learn that curse, beloved, I insist!' Meciel said into Harry's mind, her voice tinted with longing.

'So this is your coffee?' Harry asked in amusement and Meciel was silent.

Moody turned back to spider, raising his wand with a strangely hollow and intent expression on his face. Harry saw Hermione shudder and bury her face in her hands and knew that the small creature wouldn't survive this next curse.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A bright flash of green light filled the room and a rushing noise blasted into Harry's eardrums, as if a vast, large invisible something was soaring through the air. A coil of sickly green magic, moving too fast for Harry to get a proper look at, shot forward and suddenly the spider was on its back, unmistakably dead. An almost intoxicating scent of death and decay filled Harry's nostrils and he felt Meciel shudder again before she distanced herself from Harry's senses.

Harry watched with a blank face but his eyes glinted as he hid both a shudder of both pleasure and a shudder of pain. With Meciel's help, Harry had been able to drag up the memory of his parents deaths- of his mother screaming to the dark-cloaked and crimson eyed figure to spare his life only to be cut down, of the figure turning his wand upon Harry and suddenly screaming, vapourising underneath a bright flash of green light. He had watched the memories once and only once and had promptly buried them afterwards, refusing to speak about them with even Meciel.

“The Killing Curse,” Moody said quietly. “It's one of the most potent curses to have ever been created. It needs a fair amount of magic behind it for it to work. You could all point your wands at me right now and yell the words and I doubt I would get so much as a nose bleeds.” “

“Is that a challenge? Did that sound like a challenge to you?” Harry muttered, forcing his memories away as he reverted back to the most comfortable thing he knew of- insulting people. Amanda eyed him incredulously as he continued. “Because I think I could take him. I mean, he's old and crippled and I'm young and vigorous.”

Moody either hadn't noticed Harry's muttering and Amanda's splutter or had ignored as he continued, his face grim.

“There's no magical counter, no shield spell that can block it, no counter-curse to reverse it. When a witch or wizard is hit with this curse, they die,” Moody said softly and his magical eye spun around to zoom in on Harry. “There's only been one known survivor to the curse and he's sitting here in front of me.”

The class turned to look at Harry, who eyed them back with a deadly look in his eyes. Most of them hastily and wisely turned away but Amanda placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, a sympathetic expression on her face. Harry almost jumped at the contact and eyed the hand like it was a diseased rat, an expression of distaste on his face.

“What the hell are you doing?” He muttered coldly.

Amanda was saved from answering him as somebody knocked loudly on the door and a slight boy in Gryffindor robes and a beaming smile on his face entered the room.

“Professor Moody,” He called out chirpily. “I'm here to collect Harry Potter.”

“Tournament business?” Moody asked with a grunt.

“A wand-weighing, Professor, whatever that is,” The boy answered and his eyes flickered over at Harry with something like adoration in them.

“Potter, you're dismissed,” Moody growled and waved Harry off. “I'd assign you homework but after your little tantrum in McGonagall's class, I doubt you'd do it.”

Harry shrugged off Amanda's hand and stood up, letting a mischievous smirk cross his face.

“Moral of the story, act like a spoiled brat and you can get what you want,” Harry shot back and before Moody could reply, he had walked out of the room with the small boy trailing after him.

Outside the room, Harry wordlessly gestured at the boy to move and trailed after him as the brown-haired Gryffindor led him down a flight of stairs and through a series of corridors. Harry was content to keep quiet but the boy wasn't and a second later, he started talking.

“I'm Colin,” The boy said suddenly and stopped with a beaming smile on his face, stretching out his hand.

Harry glanced from Colin's face to the hand and then back again, looking clearly unimpressed and disinterested.

“I really don't care,” He said flatly and the boy flushed, lowering his hand hurriedly. Still, the almost fanatical look of adoration stuck in the boy's eyes as he stared at Harry intently.

“You're the boy-who-lived,” He breathed quietly. “That's so cool.”

“No, I'm the girl who lived,” Harry replied sarcastically and gave a beaming smile as Colin started in shock. He gestured to his robes, planting a serious expression on his face. “They hide my breasts well, don't they?”

Colin stared at him, blinking in surprise, before he suddenly let out a loud and high-pitch laugh.

“That's a funny joke, Harry,” He said between giggles.

Harry shook his head in head in disgust and let out an annoyed sigh as he began to walks faster. Colin had to rush up to catch up to the fifth champion as they turned the corner, Colin leading him past a series of dusty portraits.

“So you're the fifth champion,” Colin said after a few minutes of silence. “Is it cool?”

Harry turned his head and stared at Colin intently, something dark glinting in his gaze and Colin fidgets under the stare.

“What are you doing Harry?” The brown-haired boy asked nervously.

“I'm trying to see if I can kill you with my mind,” Harry answered calmly.

Colin laughed again but this time it was filled with uncertainty. He stopped laughing as he saw Harry's serious expression, gulped and edged away from Harry. He began to walk faster and Harry let out a pleased smile as the two of them approached an oak door, and without another word Harry opened it the door and stepped into the room.

He was in a fairly small classroom but most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle. Three of the desks had been covered with a purple velvet cloth and behind them were six chairs. Sitting in these chairs were the officials of the tournament, Crouch with his tired eyes and stern face, Bagman with his brilliant smile, Karkaroff and his icy cold eyes, Maxime, who loomed above all the others and Molly, who eyed Harry carefully, her face blank.

Standing next to the chairs was a witch with blonde hair, rigid curls and way too much makeup. She wore jewelled spectacles and clutched a sleek crocodile-skinned handbag to her arm. Her gaze flickered to Harry as soon as he entered the door and something akin to a predatory light entered her eyes as she darted forward.

“Harry Potter, charmed to meet you,” She said quickly, grasping his unwilling hand and giving it a tight squeeze as she shook it fiercely. “Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet, come on, let's have a few words over there, shall we?”

Harry blinked as Rita ushered him aside, scowling at her prodding as she directed him into a corner of the classroom. His hand flew to his wand and his eyes glinted angrily, but as he prepared to do something horrible to this woman, she stopped and whirled around, a notebook and bright green quill suddenly appearing in her hands.

“So Harry, what made you decide to enter the Triwizard tournament?” She rattled off quickly, making Harry blink.

“I didn't enter it,” Harry snapped out angrily, but he stopped as he cocked his head at the quill, which was scrawling rapidly across the notebook without any direction by Rita, who frowned.

“You can tell us the truth, Harry,” She said encouragingly. “Was it the gold? The fame? Are you trying to do your parents proud?”

“Er...my parents are dead,” Harry said slowly. “The last time I checked, rotting corpses couldn't feel pride.”

“You speak of your parents as if you hate them,” Rita muttered shrewdly. “Do you hate your parents, Harry? Are you disappointed that they died? What about your Uncle and Aunt? Are you sad that they died? What happened? How did they die, Harry?”

“Er...” Harry started, more bemused than angry- although his annoyance was rising as Rita prattled, almost as if she didn't care what he said.

“Why is Dumbledore blocking the Ministry from starting an inquiry into the death of your guardians? What manner of dark magic was used to kill your relatives? How did you escape the attack?” Rita rattled off and her quill sped up as Harry stared at her, his ire high as he clutched his wand. A curse was at the tip of his tongue as hellfire burned into his wand, small coils of smoke rising from the glowing runes, when somebody cleared their throat and Rita darted around.

“Professor Dumbledore,” She exclaimed sweetly, although her notebook and quill had vanished as quick as they had came. “How nice to see you again.”

“Ms Skeeter,” Dumbledore said pleasantly, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. “I am sorry to cut, but we are in need of our fifth champion.”

“Of course,” Rita said charmingly, but there was an undercurrent of annoyance in her voice as she gave her a forced bright smile. “Another time then, Harry.”

“Don't count on it,” Harry muttered under his breath as the witch strode across the room and began chatting with Bagman. He didn't look at Dumbledore, who stood next to him silently, but his next words were for the old man. “Does she know how close she came to dying a painful and horrible death?”

“It is unlikely,” Dumbledore said lightly, but warningly as he continued. “I suppose it is for the best, though. I would have not enjoyed stopping and restraining you - for your own good, of course. Assault is not a subject to be taken lightly.”

“She better be glad you came along when you did,” Harry grumbled and he hid his apprehension over the older wizard's not-so-subtle warning. From what he had sensed and heard, Dumbledore was not a wizard he would want to make an enemy of unless he was standing over the old man when he was sleep with a sword in his hands. “I was about to blast her with Hellfire. She's a twit of a woman, you know?”

“Yes, I do know how you feel,” Dumbledore said and smiled jovially. “Why, just last week she called me a doddering old man who was reaching his senile years. I naturally took offence at that- I reached my senile years some time ago.”

“Right,” Harry said slowly, and then frowned as something occurred to him. “She said that you were keeping the Ministry away from me. Why?”

“There are a number of answers for that question, Harry,” Dumbledore answered quietly. “For starters, I do not believe that you need the bureaucracy of the Ministry of Magic hassling you at this particular time, with the pressures of the Triwizard tournament. Furthermore, I can guarantee a certain measure of protection here at Hogwarts that I cannot at a Ministry of Magic prison cell. Finally, I did not want them running a comprehensive scan of you and discovering your…invisible friend, so to say, and taking her away from you by force.”

“Really?” Harry asked softly, surprise laced in his voice as the two of them started striding back to the middle of the room.

“From what I have learnt of your kind, I understand that you need to give up your coin willingly if you are ever to be free,” Dumbledore answered, his voice sombre, and Harry felt an animalistic burst of anger flare up inside of him.

“I'll never give it up!” Harry hissed menacingly, his eyes glinting with dark power. At the first sign of hostility, Dumbledore whipped his head around and his light-blue eyes met Harry's angry green. There was no twinkle, no look of joviality and for a second Harry saw something behind the kindly Headmaster persona- a deep seated and slumbering power that far outstretched his own. Harry was the first to look away as he cleared his throat, suddenly wary and uncomfortable of the man in front of him.

'Did I not advise against antagonising this man?' Meciel warned. 'He possesses great power, beloved- He may be one of the strongest Wand-Wizards on this planet. Please be wary around him, and do say thank you.'

Harry scowled but grudgingly obeyed.

“Thank you,” He muttered sourly. “From me and Meciel.”

“You're welcome,” Dumbledore replied brightly, no sign of the hardened aspects of his personality on his face as he led Harry back to the table with twinkling eyes.

The Headmaster took a seat with the other five and Harry sat down on a chair near the door with the other four contestants. Both Richard, the Salem contestant, and Cedric, gave him neutral nods of greeting. Krum gave him an almost-broody glower as he stared at Harry darkly, while Fleur sniffed haughtily, her disdain for Harry quite apparent on her face. Harry made a face back and Fleur twitched in anger, much to the amusement of the Denarian host.

'She does seem to have a problem with your presence,' Meciel noted thoughtfully.

'Who cares?' Harry thought back derisively as he gave Fleur a mocking smile. 'She's just a rich, spoiled daddy's-girl.'

Harry could feel Meciel's amusement as he focussed his eyes around the room, and suddenly he gave a start of surprise as he recognised the man leaning quietly against the window. It was the same silver eyed and white haired man who had sold him his wand all those years ago. For a split second, Ollivander's eyes met Harry's and the latter gave the former a pointed look.

Ollivander included his head in answer to Harry's unspoken question, barely a fraction but enough so Harry was sure that the vow of silence the man had made would still be applicable here. He relaxed a smidgen as Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“Ms Delacour, if you could please present your wand?”

One by one, the participants of the Triwizard tournament presented their wands to the silvery-eyed wandmaker, who seemed to inspect them carefully. Harry was barely paying attention to the actual process as he alternated between glowering back at Krum and making faces at Fleur, the former whose mood just darkened and the latter who huffed and looked away, her beautiful face showing annoyance and irritation. When it was his turn, he jumped out of his seat and strolled up.

“You break it and I'll break you,” He said cheerfully but there was a look of wariness and warning in his eye as he handed his wand over.

Ollivander accepted it almost gingerly as he handled the wand carefully, examining it in great detail. A brief flitter of surprise flickered over his face as he ran his thumb over the elaborately carved runes in the wand.

“Holly, eleven inches and phoenix feather, nice and supple,” Ollivander murmured.

Out of the corner of Harry's eye he could have sworn Dumbledore had started, but when he turned his head and looked the Headmaster was merely watching the proceedings with a pleasant face.

“These runes…interesting, very interesting,” Ollivander murmured thoughtfully as he inspected them. The old man inclined his head and widened his eyes and suddenly a small but noticeable shudder ran through him as he stared at the wand unblinkingly.

Harry frowned in confusion but suddenly comprehension dawned on him. The wandmaker was using his Third Sight to see the true magical nature of the wand and runes. He let out a small malicious smirk as Ollivander shuddered again. Hellfire was a potent but darkened energy source, rent with hatred, anger and the other dark desires of the human mind. Harry's wand, which channeled Hellfire every single day, would radiate these emotions, making it very painful to view under Third Sight.

Ollivander suddenly winced and broke his gaze on the wand, blinking rapidly. Most of the occupants in the room stared at him in puzzlement, but Dumbledore seemed to have recognized what had happened and had an expression of concern on his face as he stood up and quickly strode across the room.

“I am fine, Albus,” Ollivander muttered before Dumbledore had even opened his mouth and he turned his silvery gaze back onto Harry. “These runes allow you to amplify your magic from an alternate power source, correct?”

Harry nodded slowly as Ollivander continued his inspection of the wand, twirling it between his long and spindly fingers and letting a shower of dark red and black sparks shoot through the air.

“I would say that you have trouble with the delicate type of magic, but you can summon fire and other potent curses almost effortlessly.” Ollivander concluded breezily.

“Actually, yeah,” Harry said slowly, eying Ollivander strangely.

“Will that be a problem?” Dumbledore asked quietly. “Can this wand be used to compete in the tournament?”

“Oh yes, I am sure that Mr. Potter will give off a spectacular performance,” Ollivander answered. “But do not expect anything related to subtlety with this wand.”

“Indeed?” Dumbledore murmured softly, his eyes flickering over Harry carefully.

Ollivander leant in closer until Harry could practically taste him. An aged and dusty smell filled his nostrils as Ollivander breathed against his ear, his voice dropping down to a fraction of a whisper.

“This wand was not designed to channel Hellfire. There will be large branches of magic you will not be able to delve in using this wand, or indeed, any other,” Ollivander murmured quietly and quickly. “Unless you forsake the Fallen, your magic will forever become amplified with Hellfire, rendering all normal wands useless.”

“Can't you make a wand that can handle Hellfire?” Harry asked back, just as quietly as Ollivander had been. Dumbledore eyed the pair of them carefully but didn't intrude as he stepped back.

“No,” Ollivander murmured. “It would be impossible.”

“So I'll never get Transfiguration?” Harry asked and let a small smirk of victory cross his face. “That's what I told her.”

'You told me that because you were too lazy to study, beloved,' Meciel said amusedly.

“A win is a win,” Harry told Ollivander smugly, who looked at him strangely but straightened up and spoke up in a louder tone.

“It will always take more effort and concentration from you to use delicate magics, but with practice and patience you might be able to obtain an average skill,” He finished and handed Harry back his wand.

“Oh, you just had to say that,” Harry grumbled in annoyance. “That's what she says. “

“Not a win after all, Mr Potter?” asked Dumbledore from behind him and Harry whirled around, startled at the sight of the old man so close to him.

“Don't do that!” He snapped angrily.

“I apologise,” Dumbledore said sincerely, but with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

“Yeah, you're real sorry,” Harry muttered and glanced around. “Is there anything else or can I go and devour the soul of that cute Hufflepuff girl I saw on my way here"

“Photos!” Rita burst out quickly as Dumbledore frowned at Harry warningly.

“Eh, no,” Harry declared flatly. “I don't do photos, dancing or sock puppets.”

“Sock puppets?” Cedric muttered to Richard.

“But…” Rita started but Harry didn't hear the rest of the protest as he strode across the room, opened the door and left.

Outside in the corridor, Harry strode down the hallway, glancing at his wand with a frown.

“I suppose there's a disadvantage to every relationship,” He muttered as he tucked his wand back into his jacket.

'I had suspected that something like this could be possible,' Meciel told him quietly. 'Still, the benefits of Hellfire far outweigh the benefits of Transfiguration.'

“So, now what,” Harry asked after a moment's silence as he started making his way back to the Gryffindor tower. The Defence against the Dark Arts lesson was going to finish in less then ten minutes anyway.

'I believe you know what to do,' Meciel said and Harry groaned.

“Practise, practise, practise, it gets boring, you know?” Harry complained.

'First beloved, I demand that you search out the library for anything relating to these 'Unforgivables'' Meciel said and there was an odd note of eagerness in her voice as Harry hesitated.

“I don't think we're going to find them in a school library, Meciel,” He complained but he turned around and started walking to the library. “Still, if it gets me out of Transfiguration, then what the hell.”