(Word Count: 1,681)
Harry spent the rest of the evening flipping through the prophecies of Nostradamus. They were all pretty vague and didn't really seem to point to anything in particular as far as Harry could tell. Nothing that seemed related to "canon" either, which is mildly surprising, seeing how much Fate seemed to love it. Then again, Trelawney already gave a prophecy concerning him, so why have other seers do the same?
He finished the book and went down into his study/library room in his suitcase. Harry could have just sent it flying by itself to put the book back, but this book was picky just as the bookshop owner said. If he did do that, it would likely be in a mood for a long while, perhaps refusing to open when someone wanted to read it. He didn't want to risk it.
Inside the study, he was greeted by his crow book. It cawed a greeting and swooped down from its perch from atop the bookshelf and landed open faced on top of Harry's head like a hat. He just patted the book and went to place the Nostradamus book in its display case.
Luckily most books in the wizarding world weren't specially enchanted like these ones, or libraries would be very chaotic. Still, a handful of books like this did make things interesting. He quite liked them. When he eventually bought the Monster Book of Monsters, he wondered where it would end up making its claim here in the library. Maybe under one of the couches?
~ ITW,H ~
"Expelliarmus!"
The wand of Harry's most recent opponent flipped across the stage into Harry's hand.
"Disarmed! The match goes to Harry Potter!" Mr. Lazard shouted dramatically, and the crowd cheered.
The noise was deafening. As time had progressed and the tournament drew ever closer to the finales, more and more people came to watch. Just a few days ago Mr. Lazard had the venue move to the main stadium usually held in reserve for the adult circuits when held. The growth of the dueling scene seemed to be a good thing, it was revitalizing the nearly dead sport, but the feeling had changed. Before, when Harry had first arrived here, it had a seriousness about it. It was a sports competition. Yet now, it felt more like showmanship. It will likely settle back down in the coming years, but for now it was like it had grown too quickly, and Mr. Lazard and everyone involved with the tournament were showboating to keep as much of the audience as possible.
The man basically worshiped the ground he walked on now, and yet, at the same time, he had gotten even more pushy for Harry to do more and more interviews and everything else he can think of to increase exposure for the dueling circuits. Though luckily, they did expand out to take interviews from the other contestants as well. Harry had long since ceased to give any more ground on this front.
The reporters had gotten overbearing in their demands for any sort of comment from him, to the point of hanging around outside his hotel. After the third time one of them ambushed him, he had learned to just ignore them.
Harry walked over and gave his opponent's wand back, gave a brief nod, and walked off towards the locker room.
Sirius and Flitwick were there waiting for him. "Well done out there, Harry!" Flitwick said pridefully.
"One more down. Next up is the semifinals!" Sirius checked the schedule. "Just one more match tomorrow, then you'll be facing Ms. Delacour in the finals the day after."
"If she wins," Harry commented.
"Well, sure, but it's obvious she will. She's the only other one that stands even the slightest chance against Harry," Sirius said.
"I don't know, Sirius. Ms. Delacour has been facing a lot of prejudice these past few weeks. Lately she's been holding back her allure entirely. From my understanding, it takes a considerable amount of effort, and it's been taking its toll on her," Flitwick said worriedly.
Harry grimaced. It was his fault. Indirectly, of course, but she wouldn't have had to go through this if it wasn't for him. All of this media exposure around him had brought a lot more British magicals to the tournament, and they were far less tolerant of "creatures" than most other countries participating in the tournament. Which just so happened to be Harry's biggest fans.
It was another reason why he was beginning to hate this entire thing with Mr. Lazard. When he beat her, he wanted it to be a legitimate win, not because she wasn't at her best. Or worse, if she got knocked out of the running before she could even face him, then that would feel like he had ruined things for her.
Harry sighed. "Come on, let's get out of here." He cast a powerful notice-me-not on the three of them and they made their way out of the locker room just in time as Mr. Lazard came in with an overly cheerful smile plastered on his face, followed by a reporter. They passed by them unseen, and left the venue for the hotel.
The next day, Harry woke up to an owl nibbling his nose and hooting softly. He groggily patted Hedwig's feathers, then gently pried her away from his face when she didn't stop. "Alright, alright! I'm getting up, happy now?"
Hedwig barked proudly and flew over to sit on the desk where she lifted three letters for him.
Harry rolled out of bed and threw on a simple robe. "Alright, then. Let's see those letters."
One of the letters was from Hermione, one from Dora, and lastly one from, surprisingly, Draco Malfoy.
He opened the one from Hermione first.
Dear Harry,
I've been following along all of your matches on the wizarding radio, and I must say you've been excellent! Though I'm not surprised at all, you've always been the most powerful wizard I've known (minus the professors, of course).
My parents and I have managed to get permission to use an international portkey so we can attend the finals in person! Though we'll only be able to stay the day. Mum and dad weren't able to take any more days off since we had a vacation recently. Did you know that mum and dad aren't able to use the floo network, even if I were the one to throw the floo powder? Why do you think that is? Anyway, it was quite the hassle to get them permission to come along via portkey. The ministry workers really didn't want to allow muggles through. Sirius had to step in and recommend us. It was a nightmare.
I should warn you, Harry. The papers and magazines here are getting rather ridiculous. One of them, Witch Weekly, is putting you up to be the next most eligible bachelor in the coming years. They even said you would be marrying two wives! What nonsense. Just ignore them all!
Wishing you luck (though you won't be needing it),
Hermione
Harry groaned, and nuzzled his face into Hedwig's feathers. He didn't encounter any reporters from the Witch Weekly, so they likely just got their information and pictures second hand from the Prophet. As for the wives… His mind flashed back to what he saw in the Mirror of Erised. He groaned again, hugging Hedwig even more, until she nibbled his ear a bit too hard to get him to let go.
"I'll eventually have to talk to her about that, Hedwig," he mumbled. He wasn't blind to her ever growing affections for him. "She's going to hate me." Hedwig barked in amusement at his misery.
He moved on to Dora's letter.
Wotcha, Harry!
You've officially gone and became the Prophet's favorite shiny object. They won't shut up about you, and now they're scraping the bottom of the barrel, running speculations about what you may get up to in the next few years. They've gone mental.
Anyway, the family's been following every round, and we're all absurdly proud of you. You've got the whole of Magical Britain talking about dueling again. I've never done anything official myself, but I did have some impromptu tournaments amongst my friends in Hogwarts. Though it was more for defense practice than anything.
I'm taking a few days off so I can come see your final match in person. Try not to get disqualified before I get there, alright? Wait. Actually, if I'm right on the timing, you should be reading this letter the same morning I'll be arriving, so I guess I'll see you soon! Mum and Dad are coming along, as well as the old fart, Arcturus.
Love, Dora
Harry smiled. His family was coming today! They should be arriving in France any minute now.
He moved on to Draco's.
Potter.
The papers won't stop talking about you. It's like you can't even walk into a bookstore without making the front page. Do me a favor and make a fool of yourself so they stop.
Mother is insisting I invite you out again. I suppose I wouldn't mind going back to that game store we went to earlier. That gameboy I got had stopped working, so I need a new one. Send me a letter when you're back so we can make arrangements.
Draco Malfoy.
Harry huffed in amusement. He had honestly begun to wonder if Draco had been reading the comics he had sent him, or if he had been playing on his gameboy at all. Looks like he was worried for nothing. It was likely that Draco had either accidentally fried the electronics by passing it through a powerful ward, or hit it with a spell, or he had played on it long enough to completely drain the battery.
Either way, he didn't mind spending a day to corrupt Draco to the ways of muggledom further.
Harry stood up and stretched. Today would be an eventful day. He had some family to pick up at the French Ministry, and the semi-finals today.