Muggle-Raised Champion

Wants, Needs and Regrets

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

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7:45pm

Saturday, 24 June 1995

Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

.

Jumping from a height of ten feet is never a good idea. Jumping from a height of ten feet with a pair of large boards strapped to your feet was only ever going to end in disaster. Harry intended on landing with his knees bent and rolling with the momentum. But he didn't take into account his footwear. There was no way that he was going to roll, instead, the boards tangled together and he ended up faceplanting.

Everything hurt, but especially his right ankle from which he'd heard a suspiciously ominous crack when he landed, and his nose and tongue, which he'd bitten when his jaw hit the ground.

Ah good. Help's coming, he absently thought as he heard the stampede of feet getting louder.

"Harry? Are you alright? What were you thinking, jumping from there?' Sirius asked.

"Let me through, let me through," a second voice demanded.

A tingling sensation washed over his body before he was gently levitated, rolled over so that he was face up and laid back on the ground.

Madam Pomfrey's wand was a blur as she waved it about it. A wiggling and a slight crack in his nose fixed that injury. A golden glow encompassed his ankle and he sighed in relief. Numerous other, smaller injuries were similarly wiped away.

"Here, Harry, you might need these," Sirius said, handing him his glasses.

"Thanks," he said, putting them back on.

"You understand that by exiting the maze, you forfeit the Third Task and the TriWizard Tournament, don't you, Mister Potter?" Bartemius Crouch asked with a frown.

Harry pushed himself up so that he was leaning on his elbows instead of lying flat on his back.

"Yep. It's bloody dangerous in there," Harry stated.

"That was the point, you know," Ludo Bagman stated. "To challenge the Champions and to test their mettle."

"Mister Potter, David Fowl, reporter for The Daily Prophet," a short stocky man introduced himself, a piece of parchment and quill floating alongside his head. "Can you tell us what happened inside the maze? What challenges you faced that forced you to exit in such a dramatic fashion?"

"First you have to remember that I never wanted to be in the Tournament in the first place," Harry replied. "And I never considered myself a Champion. The three still in there are true Champions. Not to mention the fact that, with my lack of magical education, I was never going to be a serious competitor."

"One could argue that point, Mister Potter," Fowl replied. "Regardless of your scores, you did successfully complete the previous two Tasks."

"Sheer dumb luck," Harry replied with a shake of his head. "I never expected to complete them, thus, I never tried; my only goal was to 'put on a bit of a show for the audience'."

"And tonight?" Fowl asked.

"My goal for tonight was to walk into the maze and to take a seat until it was over," he stated.

"You never intended to even try?" an incredulous Crouch asked.

"Nope," Harry replied happily. "Unfortunately, the maze had other ideas. The hedge grabbed me and dragged me deeper into the maze before closing up passageways that I assume prevented me from getting back to the start again. So, since I couldn't go through it or around it, I found a way to go over the maze."