Pre-Chapter Note :Okay, so my other story is struggling a bit. I have a few things to change in previous chapters, my plan for future ones seems to have a life of its own and the last months of my school year are being especially difficult to top it all off. So right now, I don't have a choice but too let the flux dissipate a bit.

But something else kind of wrote itself. A bit of an easier write. I've envisioned it up to around 10k words organised in 5 chapters, and I may or may not keep going afterwards.

Evidently none of these characters belong to me, though. They're someone else's. I forget who. John Rawls, maybe? Rudyard Kipling?

On the big screen, Harry gulped. The arena was big enough that he could hide from the dragon and gather his courage from the safety of the shadow of a large rock.

Their first idea had been to learn the summoning spell to bring his broom in play, but after a long conversation, Harry and Hermione had changed it. They had thought long and hard about the possible motivations of whoever had forced him in the tournament, and after reviewing what they knew of the rules they decided that there actually was a way to play it even safer, while thwarting most possible plans his enemies could have.

Losing.

He brought his wand to his throat, and Hermione saw him mutter 'Sonorus'. He got up, carefully staying outside the field of vision of the dragon and spoke in a powerful voice which seemed to come from everywhere at once

"I give up."

The crowd silenced itself in surprise. A few laughs arose after a while. It was certainly a bit humiliating, but he continued nonetheless.

"I fail, give me zero and let's move on to the next task..."

The laughter and disbelieving noises were steadily growing in volume.

"Well, what did you expect? I was very clear that I don't want any part of this. I'm here against my will, and I have no wish to battle a dragon so I give up. I only came down here because I'd lose my magic if I didn't."

There were a few cries of 'coward' in the crowd.

"What do you mean coward? Of course I don't want to battle a dragon, do you want to battle a dragon? Whoever called me a coward can just come down here and steal that egg themselves if they find it so important to prove their worth to a bunch of strangers... Also, I've done my share of reptilian assault two years ago, thank you very much."

Hermione chuckled at that, and the rest of the crowd started laughing more and more at the show he wasn't putting. The audience seemed to split between the few who agreed and the rest, who made it very clear that they didn't.

"And as a wise person told me, being brave isn't always running into mortal peril. Sometime it's also doing what's right even if people don't understand. I'm not even supposed to be here..." "

Hermione was a bit flustered that he had repeated almost word for word the argument she had used to convince him that it wasn't running away.

"Anyway, this Triwizard tournament should be between the other three. The least I can do is get out of their way, and resist whoever wants me in here as best I can."

Bagman finally regained his composure, and started talking directly to Harry. His voice overpowering the boos with the same magical amplification spell: he was the one she had learnt it from and taught it to her friend.

"Uh... I'm afraid you can't 'give up', boy. You have to try, and either you end up stealing the egg or fail and be extracted from the arena."

"Okay then. I didn't know that. I guess that just goes to show that the best contract are the written-on-a-piece-of-paper-kind. You know, the kind one can actually read? And sign themselves? So If for some reason I'm unable to fight, the medical team will come get me?"

"Well of course."

"Okay then. I hope they get here fast."

He cleared his throat, and spoke in a phony voice that was somewhat reminiscent of Lockhart's boasts.

"I will now attempt to stupefy this dragon through this rock. Gosh, I sure hope I'm not holding my wand backwards. Stupefy!"

There was a red flash behind the rock, and a thud. The medical team immediately trotted into the arena to retrieve the self-stupefied boy, while the dragon tamers came in to carefully subdue the Hungarian Horntail who hadn't even bothered to uncurl from her nest during the exchange. Some of the crowd booed, some laughed; Hermione was among the very few who cheered... The jury was torn: 0 from Karkaroff, 0 from Mme Maxime, 0 from Bagman and 10 from Dumbledore.

"Reelly, Professeur Dumbly-door, if ze boy wants to lose, let 'im lose." She heard Madame Maxime say.

"I wanted to show my support, but I didn't know what to choose between zero and ten." He joked

One task down, two to go. Hermione reviewed her friends in the audience, trying to ascertain the reaction of her house. The Weasley twins were crying with laughter in each other's arms, and so did a few other of the more prank-savvy Gryffindors, who just had to admire Harry's gumption. Ron looked like he hadn't yet decided what to think of what had just happened. The rest was outraged. They had wanted him to get the cup for Gryffindor, as stupid as that was, and were appalled at what they surely perceived to be cowardice. Well. They were lions. Even Harry had been reluctant at first. Most of the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs looked very happy, though.

Well at least a few more people would realise he really was doing this against his will. She hoped at least Ron would get it now, but based on the way his expression was evolving, it didn't look that way.

Harry was reading in the common room, painfully aware that his friend was staring a hole in his left temple, seeming to hesitate angrily whether or not to bring something up.

"I seriously don't get you, Harry."

Harry seriously didn't get Ron. But he didn't tell him that, instead he laid down his book and waited patiently for his friend to develop his sudden statement. Harry had gathered from Ron's initial reaction to the fourth name popping out of the goblet that he wasn't actually very good at expressing his feelings in an orderly fashion. More specifically, he wasn't very good at sorting what feelings deserved expressing in the first place. It became clear that Ron needed to be beckoned to continue.

"What don't you get, Ron?"

"Why would you do that? How can you make a fool of yourself, of the school, Gryffindor, the whole tournament..." He was obviously cross.

"And why does what I did make you so angry?"

"Why? Look. I don't care how you got in the tournament. You say it's a plot against you, and I must admit that I find it hard to believe that giving you one of the best opportunities for the future, one of the most sought after spot in the school and in society in general and giving you a chance to win even more fame and fortune than you already have could be construed as a plot against you. But let's just disregard all that. You insist that you don't actually want the attention. So what do you do? Why of course! You just disrespect everyone, make a very public scene and make a fool of yourself and everyone present on purpose. How does that reduce the attention? It doesn't! It's just you putting yourself above what we all – what everyone else would kill to have."

There was a long pause; Harry needed to sort Ron's points. Eventually he found a seam to try and unravel the ball of red hot anger that his comrade in arms had become:

"So... This has nothing to do with the tournament, then, right? You're just angry at me for finding myself at the centre of something big again, right?"

"What?" Harry sighed loudly, trying to manage his exasperation.

"Listen, Ron. We've said some pretty hurtful things to each other, and the truth is I want nothing more that to make good with you. But I just don't see how I can make you... What I can do for you to stop being angry at me. First, you're certain that I entered on purpose, to the point of calling me a liar to my face; I try my best to prove that I do not, in fact, want to be a part of this. But that's not okay either because... because what? Because I disrespected an institution? I'm fighting for my life, here, Ron. I do not care about this tournament. I don't want any part of it and never have. You seem to want my spot in it; if I could, I would gladly give it to you – except for the fact that I highly suspect someone is going to try to cut it short during one of the tasks and–"

"So you insist on calling me jealous? Well fine! You know what? I am! I want fame and fortune – everybody does, by the way – but it looks like I'm just destined to look at it from the sidelines. And Okay! That's fine. I guess I'm from a family of sidelines dwellers and it looks like I've found myself trapped in a pretty big shadow on my first trip to Hogwarts. I can be okay with that! But do you have to be so... so scornful about it all? Is it not enough that you have everything and me nothing, do you absolutely have to shit all over it too?"

"But it was already covered in shit when I found it, Ron! This is not a fun adventure! This is the people who killed my parents trying to kill me!"

"Right, Harry. This is not you having fun. This is some unseen threat who wants to kill you. And in order to do that, they just have to make you even more of a superstar. They just couldn't find anything more convoluted than make you an impossible fourth champion, and hope against hope that a lethal accident would somehow occur on a tournament overseen by the most powerful wizards in the world, under the supervision of dozens of trained professionals whose only concern is your safety. Because it's perfectly clear that this unseen threat couldn't just – oh, I don't know – wait for the summer vacations to follow you home from King's Cross and pluck you from a defenceless muggle house. Well no! That wouldn't be dramatic enough! "

At this point, Harry was pretty thankful that Ron stomped off with billows of angry smoke trailing from his fiery head, because though Ron's bad faith regarding the possibility of an assassination attempt on the boy-who-lived was painfully obvious (especially after the last few school years), his final point left him befuddled. Why didn't they just do that? He turned and looked between the figures of other Gryffindors trying to pretend they hadn't heard all that, to find Hermione wearing a similar look of sudden interrogation as she slowly turned to him from across the room.