Magical Marriage Mayhem

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Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the fourth contestant in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, the Universe's Bitch, sat in Dumbledore's office. Why was he there? He had no clue, since once again, people just dragged him somewhere, and once again assumed that someone else would explain things.

He was getting a little tired of that. Would it really have been so hard for people to explain why he was being dragged somewhere while they were doing the dragging? Maybe explain the fuming attitudes?

But no, people couldn't be bothered to do a simple courtesy like that. Maybe it was some stupid rule only in the magical world. Given what he had seen so far, they weren't exactly a group filled with common sense. How was it they could track him if he used a spell, but if some Dork Lard or his followers used a spell, it was see no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil?


At least they could have given him time to dry off first. He was cold, wet, hungry, had the bad and foul taste of gillyweed in his mouth, and a bubbly eight-year-old French girl sitting next time him, holding his arm, and smiling.

For a brief moment, he wondered if this was like whatever set Voldermonty off.

The head of Beauxbatons; Olympe Maxime, was having a yelling match with the school champion, Fleur Delacour. Dumbledore was sitting in his chair, snacking on something undoubtedly lemony—Harry wondered if it was an addiction—Gabrielle continued to hold his arm, Severus Snape continued to sneer at him, Minerva McGonagall tried to calm herself down, Moody just snorted on occasion and took a sip from his flask, and the paintings just either pretended to sleep or watched with interest.

And once again, not one single ... er ... person here would tell him what the hell was going on. He was half tempted just to leave, maybe track down a house elf and see if he could get him some food. Hell, he'd put up with Moaning Myrtle's peeping for a hot bath in the Prefect's Bathroom.

Maybe he should try and catch a nap. It looked like they'd be busy yelling for a while.

Deciding that he was too hungry, too cold, and once again too lacking in information because those who had it felt some undeniable need to keep such things from him, Harry decided to try and excuse himself kindly.


Then again, he was too hungry, too cold, and once again lacking in information to really give a damn about common courtesy at this point.

"Quiet, Potter," growled Snape.

Harry snorted. "Leave it is then."

"Sit down!" yelled Snape.

"Now Severus, I'm sure Harry is a little confused at the moment. If we all—Harry, please sit down," said Dumbledore, seeing the boy ready to exit the office, silvery-blond girl still attached to his arm.

"Does this mean I am going to finally figure out why I'm here?" he asked. "Cause if not, I got a date with a warm bath and a hot meal."

"Yes, I do believe it is time you learned what has apparently occurred," admitted Dumbledore.

Harry just stood at the door. "Well?"

"Please have a seat, Harry."

"Professor Dumbledore, with all due respect; get on with it," growled Harry. "I really am not in the mood for these delays."

"You were told to sit, boy," growled Snape.

Before Harry could respond to the attitude of the Potions teacher with a question about what sort of material the pole up his ass was made from, his little tagalong leapt at the man, transforming from a small maiden to a Bird Bitch from Hell, complete with razor-sharp beak, talons, warped wings, and balls of fire in her hands.

To be honest, he sort of hoped she did set Snape on fire; he was really cold.

"GET HER OFF!" yelled Snape, as he tried to fend the BBH off.

"Gabrielle!" yelled Fleur. "Stop this at once!"

Gabrielle, the youngest Delacour sister, stopped trying to see what Snape looked like on the inside, settled for kicking him in the shin, and walking back to Harry, transforming from the BBH back to the innocent maiden in the steps between.

Harry blinked as he looked at the formerly innocent girl, now spitting out a bit of robe she had ripped off Snape, as she grabbed his arm once more. For some odd reason, he didn't find what had just occurred odd or off in any way. He wondered if that was because he was tired and hungry, or because he had become jaded.

Still funny though to see Snape unable to fend off an eight-year-old. He'd have to remember to get Gabrielle a gift.

Olympe sighed. "Mr. Potter, do you know what occurred when you rescued Gabrielle?"

"Not a clue, since no one decided to tell me squat," he said.

She nodded. "Well, did she say anything to you?"

Harry nodded. "Couldn't tell you what though, I am afraid I never learned French."

"She tends to fall back to that when she is emotional," said Fleur in perfect English.

Harry blinked. Where was the accent? Where were the slang-style pronunciations? Why the hell was she dry and he was still soaked? "What happened to your accent?"

"I cast a small charm so that we could understand each other with no problem," said Dumbledore with a smile and a twinkle.

Harry blinked. Wow, such a charm might actually be useful to be taught. He had to sigh at that. That would assuredly mean it would never be taught here. "Anyone going to explain anything or should I just go to sleep while you keep me in suspense?"

Did he mention how irritated being cold and hungry made him?

"It is quite simple, Harry," said Fleur, raising his hopes that he might finally learn why he had been sitting there for the last forty-five minutes. "Gabrielle has claimed you as her mate."

The only sound heard was the snorted chuckling of Moody.

"... What?" asked Harry. That had to have been a glitch in the translation charm.

"You saved my sister, and she viewed you as the perfect male, so she claimed you as her mate. What she told you on the docks were the mating vow of the Veela tribes."

Snape wanted to comment that obviously the girl's standards were pretty low, but he was currently still trying to bandage his wounds.

Harry just blinked. "You all realize she's eight, right."

"She could not have transformed as she did unless she had begun to enter Veela maturity," said Fleur.

"She's eight."

"As such, she is free to choose her mate."

"She ... is ... eight."

"And such vows are for life."

Harry just growled. Why was everyone missing the fact she was eight? But then Fleur's last words struck him. "This is just like that Goblet contract, isn't it?" he asked Dumbledore.

"I am afraid so Harry," said the elderly man. "And by the Ministry laws in France, she can claim such a title. Veela are very selective of who they make that vow to."

Mental note: study laws. Harry was really beginning to wish that dragon had killed him in the first task. "She's eight," he pointed out once again.

"It need not be now," said Fleur. "But she will seek you out when the desire strikes her."

"And when will that be?" he asked, not noticing the blush on the face of the girl on his arm.

"It depends on the Veela," said Fleur. "But in the eyes of the law, you two are now wed.

"I will need to contact my family; they will want to know of this."

Mental note: check and see first if there is some law that says don't tell Harry Potter about any laws. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"Did you not allow her to say the words and kiss you on the cheek?" asked Fleur.


"Then you accepted."

Mental note: study Dark Lords; they may have started out because stupid laws screwed them over, want to make sure I don't repeat what led them to die.

"Do I upset you, beloved?" asked Gabrielle in her sing-song voice.

Harry turned towards her, wanting to explain that he truly had no idea what had occurred until just now. Sadly though, those thoughts disappeared as he literally saw fire in her eyes. "Um ... just for information, what happens if I do not wish to ... mate?"

"Veela are temperamental creatures, boy," said Moody with a snort. "Trust me, saying no ain't an option. It'd be safer to walk up to Voldermont and piss on his robes."

Harry gulped, turning quickly back to his ...wife. "Nope, not upset at all."

"YEAH!" cried the mini-Veela, as she hugged him.

Not in the mood for anymore surprises—and knowing that anymore would only come if he didn't know about them and thus would never be told about them beforehand—he decided it would probably be best to go eat, bath, and sleep. Hopefully, he'd wake up to find out it was all some dream brought on by nearly drowning. "I ... I'll be going now."

Dumbledore nodded. "Sleep well, Harry."

The boy nodded as he left, not even trying to remove the girl from his arm, since doing so might bring forth the BBH and send him to the hospital wing.

"Albus," said McGonagall with a glare, "how could you not inform the boy of the rules that he needs to comply with now?"

"He's tired and hungry, Minerva," said Dumbledore in a calm voice. "We can deal with these issues for him."

"The boy deserves to have input on the woman who will be his First Wife!" said McGonagall exasperated.

And thus one more unknown law was coming forth to bite Harry in the ass. Since Gabrielle had declared their marriage by Veela custom and not legal marriage through the Ministry, she could only classify as either Mistress or Second Wife. That meant Harry needed a first wife within two weeks, or he could be fined, beaten, and sentenced to community service. Of course, that could all be fixed if Harry and Gabrielle would undergo a civil marriage service. Unlike the Muggle system, where there were age limits to marriage, the Wizard system was still working on laws based off the early millennia, and as such did not require age limits. Some said it was a throwback to old Pureblood meddling—you married them young, then they couldn't disobey and marry someone beneath their station. Others believe it was just the fact the ruling bodies never took the time to revise old laws for the current times.

But the important thing that once again, it was an option that common sense would have fixed, but people who believed they were helping Harry by keeping him in the dark would prevent from ever being seen.

Olympe just growled. "Just get them married in a civil ceremony," she snapped. Why were the British Wizards so stupid?

"I'm afraid it is much too late for that," said Dumbledore with a sad frown. "By now, it is probably going to be announced in tomorrow's Daily Prophet. Gather the Heads of the Houses. We must have them select the best candidates for marriage to Harry Potter."

"Shouldn't we ask Harry's opinion?" asked Fleur. While she was upset that her sister was going to have a co-wife—and promising that if whoever she married tried that, she would clip certain fun parts from them—she was most upset that this information was being held from her brave brother-in-law.

"No time," said Dumbledore. "Now go and select your candidates."

Olympe sighed. No matter what happened, she was never going to allow her school to compete in another Tri-Wizard Tournament with Hogwarts. Aside from Hagrid, they were all idiots.

"And how will you decide who will marry Harry?" asked Moody.

"Why the Goblet of Fire, of course," said the Headmaster.

"You mean the bloody thing that put four people in a three-person tournament and no one knows why?" asked Moody.

"I'm sure it will be fine by then."

Snape sat in his office, considering his students. True, he had some care for the boy he would have sacrificed to save Lily Evans, and while part of him did want to see the boy marry a girl who would make him suffer—especially after the BBH attacked him—he knew he would never be able to face Lily in the next life if he did so.

No, he would need to suggest a Slytherin who had no ties to the Dark Lord, whose family remained neutral enough to stay out of the War. The last thing he would want to do is give Voldermont a tie into the Potter boy to set him up for a trap. If he did come back like many believed, and the Dark Mark suggested, he needed a level of deniability.

The Greengrass family did have a daughter, a noble pure-blood heritage—which meant they didn't marry too many close cousins and unlike the Malfoys, had yet to be brought up on any charges—and no ties to the Dark or Light side in the War. They mainly sat back, waited it out, and made no waves. After all, there resourcefulness did keep them alive, and disregard for demands to choose a side went unanswered. Many of their fortunes came from what occurred after such wars. Someone did have to rebuild, and the contracts for such did generate lots of galleons.

When he scanned her mind, she truly didn't care about muggles and muggle-born one way or the other. She felt they just weren't worth any effort to think about.

Nodding slightly—and fighting the urge to choose Millicent Bulstrode—he placed her name on the parchment.

Professor Filius Flitwick looked over his notes on the female students in his dorm. The problem was choosing a female he knew to be single, as well as a complement to Harry Potter, as well as his ... other wife.

He still blinked at that. "Only the Purebloods could have made such a stupid rule," he muttered, but promised to assign it as extra credit to his students to see if they could find out whom and why it was used for first. Part of him concluded it was a Slytherin, while another part concluded that whoever it was, had to be a politician.

He narrowed it down to two names, one in Harry's current year, and one a year younger. While Mandy Brocklehurst was single, it was quite obvious that a few of the male Ravenclaws and at least two Hufflepuffs had eyes for her.

Of course, Luna Lovegood... Honestly, he was worried the girl would ever find a boyfriend, let alone a husband. He had had to discipline several students for harassing the poor girl, and he had noticed how lonely she was.

Well, it wasn't a completely logical choice, but he figured it would at least help the two out. Nodding, he placed Luna's name on the parchment.

Professor Pomona Sprout, the Head of Hufflepuff House, sat in her favorite greenhouse, trying to decide on which student she would have to choose to submit for the possibility of First Wife to Harry Potter.

"I didn't even know he wanted to get married," she murmured, looking at the parchment containing the names of students in her House. She had already crossed off many of those names, either deciding they were too old, too young, or had character traits that wouldn't likely help precipitate a long marriage.

"Really, I just don't understand why they are marrying so early these days," she muttered, crossing off another five names, pretty sure those were boys. "I do wish I could have asked the boy why he wanted to be married so soon. You think he'd want to marry for love. Must be some pureblood promises or such going to bite him on the bottom if he's still single soon..."

This was yet another case of needed information not being given out. After all, she hadn't seen the Second Contest, nor been part of the blowout in the office. She'd only received a request to submit the name of a student of her house for the chance to be the First Mrs. Harry Potter.

"A student who displays tolerance, loyalty, and a fair attitude," she said, looking at the remaining names, and immediately crossed off the name of Hannah Abbott, remembering the badge the girl had worn to one class.

"Just leaves a few names," she said with a sad sigh. Really, was so many taken out by so few requirements? "I'm going to have to talk to them about this. This isn't shaping up to be a very Hufflepuff House. I can understand the age and gender knocking out a few, but really, I'm down to three names."

Looking over the girls, she decided it would probably be best for her to choose Susan Bones. The girl did have political connections, had a history of family lost in the War, and had enough humility not to pester the boy about things he'd rather not discuss.

"I just hope her Aunt will forgive me for submitting her name. I had hoped they would all find love.

"Then again, could have been worse. At least the Potter boy didn't die during the Mandrake class. A lot better than my first beau.

"Then again, Fredrick wasn't a real bright boy; cute, but not bright..."

The rest of the night was spent remembering her own years as a little girl at Hogwarts.

Professor Minerva McGonagall sighed as she went over the student records. She had just informed her students of what was being asked of them—well, the female ones and not Ms. Granger, even she could see the girl had eyes for the Weasley boy—thanks to Albus keeping Harry in the dark ... again.

She was starting to worry. Was the Headmaster still all there?

"Sir?" asked Fitch.

"Yes?" asked Dumbledore.

"Why are you dancing naked in the Great Hall?"

"Um ... fixing the Goblet of Fire, complicated ritual."

The caretaker nodded slowly as he left.

No, doubting him at this moment would not do. She was certain he was preparing to contact the families of the girls they suggested for this match up. It was bad enough they had been unable to legally wed Harry to Gabrielle. But this first wife would need to be special and understanding—since she would be expected to share her husband.

And by Merlin, it would be a Gryffindor girl if she had anything to say about it.

But who to choose... There were a few possibilities that she had decided, those she had noticed were unpaired.

But then she recalled the Yule Ball, and how well Harry had looked with his date. Sure, they had gotten off poorly, but it did remind her of how she met her own husband. Even Harry's parents had started off poorly.

Nodding her head, she placed Parvati Patil's name on the parchment.

Molly looked at the tray before her, the final stages of her plan already to begin. She remembered the frantic floo-call from her daughter, telling her what had occurred to poor Harry. Really, the boy had no luck.

Well, she was going to help the boy right now! Tossing some powder into the fire, she placed a call.

Dumbledore had finally placed his robes back on, having finished enjoying his moonlight dance ... that was supposed to fix the Goblet. Yes, that was what he did.


He turned, looking towards his fireplace. "Molly, what can I do for you?" he asked; a twinkle in his eye.

"I was hoping to come through. I need to discuss something with you."

"Of course," he said, stepping back to allow her to come through the fire.

She emerged easily, being far more used to floo-travel than Harry was, a platter in her hands showing no damage on the intricate pattern of snacks on it.

Dumbledore was about to ask her what her question was, when his nose pointed out just what those snacks were. "Molly, are those..."

"My famous tart lemon wedges," she said with a smile.

"R-r-really?" He felt his throat dry as his mouth began to water at the sight of those delectable candies.

"Extra sour," she murmured, waving the platter under his nose. "I believe this is my best batch yet."

The elderly Headmaster was hypnotized by the sweets. "What is thy bidding, my Master?" he said in a soft voice.

"I want my daughter's name in the Goblet of Fire."

He came out of his daze at those words. "I'm sorry Molly, but the Tournament has already begun. Maybe next year we can—"

"I mean for Harry's First Wife," she said, pulling the plate back. Really, why would he joke at a time like this?

He blinked owlishly. "Harry; right, right," he said, turning to his desk, and looking at the magic parchment. It had four names on it already, but there was just enough room to add a fifth name. Writing down Ginny Weasley's name, he turned back towards his reward. "Now then, may I perchance have some of those delectable snacks?"

She nodded happily as she handed him the tray, as he scampered off to the other side of the office, muttering "the precious". It looked like her daughter would get her chance to marry poor Harry. After all, surely Professor McGonagall would have chosen Ginny as the Gryffindor representative.


Barty Crouch Jr, still in the form of Alastor Moody, looked at the Goblet of Fire, an insane smirk on his face. All he had to do was place a Confoundus Charm on the Goblet once again, insert his parchment that had the four names of Death Eaters whose daughters attended the school, and wait till it chose one of them instead of those selected by the Houses. After it did, it would be easy for the new 'wife' to send Mr. Potter directly to Lord Voldermont.

Nodding at the brilliance of the plan, he stepped towards the Goblet, wand raised.

Sadly, he didn't see the 'magic circle' Dumbledore had drawn on the floor, since it was supposed to help him with his dance moves.

Reacting violently now thanks to the charms already on the Goblet, the Moody imposter was electrocuted in a violent display like none before, reducing both him and his bespelled parchment to dust.

The good news was that the real Moody would be found in three days, since only the trunk key remained in the dust.

The bad news was that Harry would be too screwed to be saved by then, since he did have time to confound the object once again.

Well, that and it would take that long for the house elf that had cleaned the mess to discover that the shiny key wasn't theirs to keep.

As daylight entered the Gryffindor dorms, Harry Potter's mind slowly came awake. After a large meal, a hot bath—which took some doing so his ... wife ... didn't follow him into it—he decided sleep was what the medical witch ordered.

Opening his eyes slowly, he frowned as he caught site of a mop of silvery blond hair lying against his chest. I swear to Merlin, if Fred or George transfigured something or someone to look like Malfoy and put him in my bed again, so help me...

"Bonjour, mon amour," came the sweet and innocent voice of said silvery-blond head, as she smiled at him, looking up once again, before burrowing her head back into his side.

Harry could only blink. How the Hell did she get in my room? I thought I left her at the carriage?

It was then that he finally realized something: security sucked at Hogwarts. That is unless of course she did many painful things to the Caretaker and his annoying cat.

Well, there are worse ways to wake up. I mean, we're both clothed. He quickly used his free hand not currently being forced to hold the dangerous Veela, to check under the sheets and confirm that they were both wearing night clothes. But her being here ... I feel like such a pervert.

And she's only eight! Why the Hell am I always ending up in stuff like this? I mean, can't I have a normal school year where no one tries to kill me or anyone else, where I just go to class, eat, sleep, and play Quidditch?

While Harry was silently fuming about the unfairness of life, the poor protection at Hogwarts—I mean, a possessed teacher, a troll, a Basilisk, Dementors, and who knew what else had no trouble getting in, as well as things like the Mirror of Erised just laying about where anyone could find them—and the possibility of never having a normal life; his part-Veela companion was enjoying her first night with her husband. He didn't hog the covers, which put him leagues ahead of her sister. He didn't become pushy like she had heard most married guys were, demanding something called 'happy endings'.

She didn't know what it was, but she had heard her mother and several of the neighborhood women complain about it. Gabrielle wondered why 'happy endings' were so bad.

But so far, her husband had been a perfect gentleman. Yes, she had chosen well. Now, if they could just get a room by themselves. She didn't like the way they looked at her.

"Ron!" gasped Lavender, seeing her house-mate come down the stairs from the boys' dorm, holding a bruised wrist and sporting a black eye and a busted lip. "What the hell happened?"

"I fell," he quickly said, not wanting to admit he had been beaten up earlier by an eight-year-old for snoring too loudly.

"UNACCEPTABLE!" yelled the father of the neo-bride. "I shall not let such an injustice stand!

"How dare that boy play with my daughter's feelings and not marry her properly, insisting he have another wife!"

Fleur would have corrected her enraged father, but he tended to be more proactive if he was severely upset. It was odd though, she had told the complete and unspun truth, and somehow, Harry had come out the villain. The man must have been cursed with bad luck...

"That's it!" bellowed the round man. "We're going to that blasted English School right now and beat some sense into that boy, before he further dishonors my little petite angel!"

Well, it wasn't quite what Madame Maxime had meant when she insisted Fleur get her parents help to straighten out this mess, but it was close.

Harry had no idea why the Goblet of Fire was back in the Great Hall during breakfast, or why it looked like someone had tried to pour something on the ground that spelled out 'Dumb" in English using something he severely hoped was not what it smelled like. But he knew it couldn't end well.

"Well, well, Potter," sneered Malfoy, walking towards the Gryffindor table with his two bodyguards, "it looks like you finally found a girlfriend. Never figured you for liking them that young, but I guess considering how pathetic you are at dates, you need to get them before they know better—OW! GET HER OFF! GET HER OFF!"

Well, at least he had a good show for breakfast, considering his self-proclaimed wife was now tearing into Malfoy, Goyle, and Crabbe.

"Harry," said Hermione, focusing more on what she thought was important, as Ron cheered on the little girl's maiming of the Syltherin boys, "what's in the book?"

"Trying to learn a translation charm," he said. The last thing Harry wanted to do was get caught in some other promise ceremony that would bury him.

"They have those?" asked Hermione in awe. "That would be great for going places where they don't speak English."

"Or in a school where two others don't," said Harry, as his 'wife' came back, spitting out some blond hair, and wiping some blood off of her shirt.

Hermione just looked as the little school girl attaching herself to Harry. Wanting to get a second opinion and perhaps find out if he knew if this was expected for some sort of reason, she turned towards Ron. "Ron, why is... What happened to your eye?"

"I FELL!" he cried quickly.

Ginny just giggled. "Someone apparently was upset at brother-dear's snoring habits."

"Bloody time," said Fred.

"Too true, Brother dear," said George.

"Communis Commercium," Harry finally said, waving his wand, as a white sphere formed and popped.

"That was beautiful," Gabrielle said in perfect English.

"She knows English?" asked Ron.


Everyone turned to the now bursting open doors, revealing the champion of Beauxbatons, following a bellowing round man with a short black beard and a stately woman with long silvery-blond hair.

"Mama!" screamed Gabrielle. "Papa! You have come to meet my mate, yes?"

Harry cringed as the two glared at him from across the Great Hall. I sense a great need to run.

He would have too, had not his 'wife' been holding onto him so tightly.

"There," growled the man, as the stately woman—now known to be Gabrielle and Fleur's mother—barely restrained from going into her BBH form. The duo marched over, with Fleur racing to the main table to talk to her Headmistress.

The two parents finally arrived, glaring at the boy.

"So this is ... him?" spat Apolline Delacour.

Harry blinked. "Um ... did I say or do something wrong no one told me about?" he asked. Damn it, it would be his luck to have something like that happen.

"Why are you angry at my Mate?" growled Gabrielle, her own form showing she was just as close as her Mother into turning into a BBH.

"Do you know what this ... this ... this little piece of shit is doing?" growled the mysterious father.

Harry just sagged into his seat. "Great, what am I being blamed for this time."

"I believe I can answer that," said the large and imposing form of Olympe Maxime. "If you would calm down, Jean-Luc, we could discuss this."


"WHAT?" came the yell of everyone in the Great Hall.

"Harry?" growled his wife, slowly turning towards him, eyes filled with fire ... literally. "Explain?"

"I'm afraid the boy doesn't know," said Olympe. "The stupid British wizards have wanted to let the boy remain ignorant, claiming it is for his own protection."

Harry blinked, before he started to pound his head on the table. "It is a bloody law, I knew it!"

"Then the boy doesn't know?" asked Jean-Luc.

"Know what?" asked Gabrielle.

"If you and Harry had been married last night, then all would have been fine," said Olympe. "Sadly, the British Wizards decided otherwise, and now Harry must marry a witch selected by that bloody Goblet so your marriage will be legal."

Harry stopped pounding his head, which snapped to view the half giant at those words. "DON'T I GET A BLOODY SAY IN THIS?"

"Excuse me," said Dumbledore from the Head Table, taking his place at the podium. "We are about to begin. We merely need to wait for the Goblet to produce the name of the selected new Wife for Harry Potter, chosen by the Heads of House.

Harry paled. He knew several Slytherin females he most certainly did not want to see the naughty bits of. As a bit of parchment emerged from the fire, his wand quickly came up. If they never read the name, he was safe. "Incendio!"

Sadly, the flame missed a direct hit due to the random flutterings of the paper. But a good bit was removed before it was caught by Dumbledore, who extinguished it.

"Now, that wasn't very nice, Harry," said the elderly man with a twinkle in his eye. "We almost lost the winner, a Ms.," he said pausing, as the first name had been burned away. "Ms. Patil, would you stand up?"

A glaring Gryffindor and a confused Ravenclaw stood.

"Two?" asked Dumbledore confused, before he remembered he did have several pairs of twins in the school. "Hmm, well it seems Mr. Potter has gained two wives this day. Now we—"

He was cut off not by a flying hex from Harry—who was raising his wand to do so—nor from as angry father or a Delacour in her BBH form—which they were changing into, including peaceful Fleur—but by the Goblet spitting out four more pieces of parchment, each which were caught by Dumbledore.

"Ah, it appears I was mistaken," he said, reading the parchments. "Ms. Ginevra Weasley, Ms. Susan Bones, Ms. Luna Lovegood, and Ms. Daphne Greengrass are also to be wed to Mr. Harry Potter this day, so says the Goblet of Fire."

Harry just fell to his knees. In the span of two days he had not only gotten one wife, but now five others—the fact that there were only four Heads of House and five names popped out was beside the point.

"Bloody hell," gasped Ron. "Why does Harry get so many women? What about the rest of us?"

His tongue was stopped by a vicious right cross from Hermione.

"Now, Harry," said Dumbledore, "if you and your new fiancées could come here for—OW!" he cried as three BBHs, one female half giant, and one irate father began to attack him.

Before anything else could happen, Harry ran for it, barely getting out the door, and praying he could make it to safety before his ... wives ... wanted certain words with him.

He wasn't going to move from this spot, not one foot.

Some would wonder why Harry felt safe at the moment. After all, surely there wasn't one spot he could hide and be safe from angry teachers, father-in-laws, new wives, first wives, friends, enemies, Goblets of Fire, and Headmasters that were so going to get a Bat Bogey hex when he figured out how to do it.

But there was one place: the Chamber of Secrets.

"Dobby has finished, Great Harry Potter," said the happy house-elf, as he finished shifting the place into a suitable bunker for the Boy Who Lived to hide in until either the pressure died off or he did.

"Thanks Dobby," he said. "Now remember, I don't want anyone else to know I'm here, to be able to get to me, or force me to leave. I just want you and you alone to be able to come down here with food and drink, to help me out."

"Dobby will do!" cried the ecstatic house elf, as he popped away.

Harry smiled. He was finally safe. No Veela, no multiple witches as wives, no Ron glaring at him for both having more women than him as well as the Weasley girl, no Snape...

But most of all, he knew for all certainty that it couldn't get worse.

Boy Who Lived Marries!

First Wife Speaks

By Rita Skeeter

I spent the afternoon at Hogwarts this day in preparations for the festivities of the Triwizard Tournament today, expecting the usual hoopla that occurs between the events, namely boring speeches and such, as they wound down from the Second Challenge.

I certainly did not expect this day to have an interview with a nice young woman who had apparently married the Boy Who Lived, Harry James Potter. And dear readers, it was not Hermione Granger, whom I had reported earlier was in a torrid love affair with him.

It was the sister of a fellow contestant of the Tournament, Gabrielle Delacour.

In case you haven't heard of her, or read the previous articles I ran on the selected Triwizard Champions (see Page 4 for a reprint), she is an eight-year-old quarter-Veela.

I was lucky to get a chance to chat with this young bride and learn some more about how they met, and what their plans are now.

Rita: So you are married to Harry now. How did this come about?

Gabrielle: When he rescued me from the Second Challenge, I just looked into his eyes. Mama always said you could see a lot about someone when you looked there. And they were filled with everything I always wanted to find in a husband. So I asked him to marry me in Veela customs, and he said yes! I was so happy!

Rita: But what about his unsorted past?

Gabrielle: Oh, I don't mind. We have our entire lives to get to know each other.

Rita: Have you already had a honeymoon yet?

Gabrielle: Our wedding night? Oh, it was wonderful! He held me in his arms, he was so gentle...

"I'LL KILL HIM!" came the scream that thundered throughout the halls of Hogwarts, as one father-in-law read only a small sample of his daughter's interview.