Artificer

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, but I play in his world. If you recognise it, it's Rowling's.

A/N: Not exactly what I had planned for my first work of fanfiction, but we all have to start somewhere, right? This will be a short (~10 chapters at ~3k works) fic, and will likely be free of pairings, horcruxes and hallows. Till then, Slightly AU.

Chapter 1

Professor Binns' History of Magic class has long been known for its almost unending commentary of the Goblin wars, Giant wars and the tensions of wizard-muggle relations in the fifteenth century. On the rare occasion the work is based on the life of a great and powerful witch or wizard, it always seems oddly incomplete, not that anyone notices. Rolls and rolls of parchment can be filled with the actions of these greats; the things they achieved with their notoriety and power; for example, the four founders of Hogwarts were all powerful, influential and charismatic mages, they founded a magical school that endured for a thousand years and set the standard for teaching young people how to harness their power and skills. But who were they beforehand? What were their experiences in life? What drove them, moulded them into the legends we know them as today? When did these relative unknowns rise up, and become the world renowned figures they are today?

Closer to the present, everyone knows Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the most enduring school of magic in the world, Chief Warlock of the British magical courts, Head Mugwump of the international confederation of wizards. The single most politically powerful wizard in the world, known for his apprentiship under the notoriously reclusive Flamels and the resulting uses of dragon's blood, and for the actions he took in the war against Grindlewald's forces and the eventual defeat of Grindlewald himself. He went on to lead a specialist force in the defence against Voldemort's terror tactics, holding the darkness at bay until the events that cost my parents' lives and saved the Wizarding world. But who was he as a child? How did he attract Flamel's attention in the first place? Who were his family, his friends?

Grindlewald was an idealist. In a few short years he united half of magical Europe under the banner of the greater good, pushing for magical supremacy and an age of co-operation and enlightenment. On the other hand he was callous and immoral, ordering the deaths of hundreds of thousands of the unworthy, of the halfbreeds, of the rebels. Was he always like this? As a child did he dream of a world where might is right, and where everyone is united in a common purpose? Was he born a dark lord, or did circumstances make him into the person he became?

About a year and a half ago, I learned that the most feared wizard in modern times, the self-titled 'Dark Lord Voldemort', commonly known as 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' or most casually, 'You-Know-Who' to the fearful masses once went by another name, one not tied down by the fear of the first war's Taboo. Not an honoured pureblood name, not even a classy Latin one. Over fifty years ago and at the age of sixteen, Voldemort was known as one Tom Marvolo Riddle. If you read any books that mention the Dark Lord, Voldemort became known and feared in the early seventies when he and his marked followers began their campaign of terror that lasted just short of a decade.

No-one knows anything of his childhood, no-one knows he was terrified of going back to the orphanage where he lived, and no-one knows he was a respected prefect. No-one knows that his first kill was a girl called Myrtle at the young age of sixteen.

Had his upbringing been different, would history have changed?

Ollivander once told me, on the day I got my wand, that Voldemort did great things. Dark things, evil things maybe, but those actions still changed history. He was powerful, he was influential, and as such he was great. Before that day I used to think 'Great' was synonymous with 'Good', but childish ideology changes. The Founders, Dumbledore, Grindlewald and Voldemort; they were all great in their own ways, and yet history will never remember how they came to be the forces of nature they are.

On Halloween night of 1981, a new name was added to the list of great witches in wizards known the world over. Was the name James Potter, who bravely duelled the Dark Lord to a standstill to give his wife and child time to escape? Was the name Lily Potter, who in her last moments conferred a powerful protection onto her son by sacrificing her life out of love for him? No. On the fateful night one name was toasted up and down the country as people celebrated the end of those dark times.

They raised their glasses to Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

At the age of one, I had survived the unsurvivable killing curse with nothing but a scar from the spell that kills without leaving a mark. With this my name entered the history books alongside those that actually fought, who knew there was a war and gave everything to stop it. Even now, a good thirteen years later my fame from that night influences people, even if I had nothing to do with it.

Even if my only fame is that I survived.

The world sees me as one of those Great wizards, but as far as most are aware, I've done nothing in those past thirteen years to earn it. If you listen to the gossip in Hogwarts, you will hear how I fearlessly tackled a mountain troll to save a cowering first year student, how I duel challengers at the stroke of midnight and smuggle dragons out of the school. How I lead two of my brave friends in the defence of a priceless artefact that was being stored in the school, and that I protected everyone from a wraith-possessed teacher.

Then you'll hear how I bravely confronted the heir of Slytherin after he and his monster started attacking the school and kidnapped a young child, and how I slew him and his beast with nothing but a sword.

Then you'll hear how I stood firm as hundreds of Dementors broke the leash of the ministry and moved to attack the school, and how I drove all of them of with but a single charm.

All of these rumours are true, but they cannot be proved after all. Should the public discover that Voldemort is still in our world and was able to possess a teacher, enter Hogwarts and fool Albus Dumbledore himself, there would be widespread panic. If the public were to find out that Ginny Weasley was opening the chamber of secrets and attacking the muggleborns of the school, the Weasley family would become pariahs, shunned for endangering Britain's children. If the public were to find out that the ministry cannot fully control the jailers of Azkaban, there would be riots as the people live in fear not only of the soul-eating wraiths, but the prisoners they are supposedly guarding.

No, no-one can know of my legend, for, if I may borrow a phrase, the greater good.

Of course all of these rumours go both ways. With careful use of listening and eavesdropping charms, the huddled groups in the library and the corners of the common rooms often tell slightly different tales; more often these days than in the past. You might hear the story of how Harry Potter lured poor, stuttering Professor Quirrel to the forbidden third floor corridor, and left him to be savaged by a Cerberus that was stationed there; how he claimed the 'credit' for protecting the school. Or you might hear the tale of how Harry Potter lured his fellow student into the forbidden forest in an attempt to leave him in sacrifice to the acromantula colony there so they could be encouraged to attack the school. Or even better, how he was caught in the middle of a ritual by Lockheart, trying to sacrifice Ginny Weasley's life in order to raise Salazar Slytherin from the grave.

If I still bothered to listen, I'd be willing to bet there are rumours that last year I was using Sirius Black to get in touch with a group of evil minions so I could become the new dark lord.

All these rumours, all the lies, all the half truths.

I may not be able to clear my name of any of them, but I can start something new. I can do something that cannot be denied, and I can start getting people to see me, not as the boy who lived, not as dark lord potter, but the Harry James Potter they raised up on a pedestal that night and forgot to take down.

Which is why I've decided that today, I'll make a name for myself once and for all.

"By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real…"

The hall grew once again silent as the fire in the goblet once again turned red. Timed slowed as it is wont to do, in those life defining moments where something is going to happen, something that will change everything.

"Harry Potter."

Something that should never have happened.

In the beginning, when I first found out that I was forced to compete in this tournament, I was understandably angry. One spurt of flame, one fragment of parchment and one announcement was all it took to confirm that once again someone seeks my demise, and this time to turn the entire school against me.

If anything, I was angry at the timing. If the tournament had been the year previous I might have found myself supported by my friends; Hermione would have made sure I was fine and keep me focused on surviving by organising a training schedule, researching in the library, making sure I was eating properly. Ron would have kept my mind off things through inane Quidditch conversations, by encouraging me to take time to relax, and supply quite random insights into problems we otherwise couldn't solve. Neville would continue to stay unnoticed, but still offer useful advice and prevent the other's bickering from turning into a heated argument.

In truth, my heart yearns that things could have been that was this year too.

Even now, right before my curtain call, my grand entrance, I entertain some of the ideas that in a perfect world might have been made by my old friends. In my daydreams, we sit around one of the tables in the common room, talking as friends tend to do, and Ron makes his predictable comments about Quidditch. I sigh, and say that it would be a lot easier if I could play to my strength as it were and take a broom, instead of the wand which the rules state may be my only tool in the first task. Hermione would know from her reading ahead that the summoning charm could be used in order to get my broom from the castle during the task, and Neville would mention that I'd need to practise for weeks to become proficient at it.

Out-flying a dragon! That would certainly add to the only legend I've truly earned, as the 'Youngest seeker in a century'. It's almost a shame that I don't honestly care for Quidditch, as the idea is probably quite a good one. Unfortunately I can't summon anything heavier than a book for more than ten feet.

Coming back to reality, I shake my head. Perhaps had it been more than a daydream, I'd be leaving this tent to a small group of supporters that would cheer me on regardless, in victory or defeat.

I run over the plan I've been crafting for the last fortnight, the transfiguration, charms, runes and arithmancy that I painstakingly crafted together for the sole purpose of defeating a dragon. It stands to reason that this isn't classroom variety magic; Numerology isn't going to help me predict the horntail's movements, there are no porcupines around on the slim chance that dragons are terrified of pincushions, a levitation charm is unlikely to be able to best a dragon even if it can stun a troll, and no amount of knowledge of ancient languages is going to help; not that I haven't considered it.

The so-called gift of parceltongue is hereditary, so it stands to reason that no-one outside of the Slytherin line has any knowledge of what it's fully capable of. Since the last descendant of the line was Voldemort, there's little chance that I'll ever be able to learn anything about it, which leaves me with a problem. Do dragons understand parceltongue? They are highly magical creatures after all, and being related to snakes it stands to reason that they might.

But then again, I already have a plan, and proof that dragons are intelligent and capable of communication is only going to make my job harder. If the Basilisk wasn't trying to kill me, I doubt I would have even been able to kill it, even though I swore to.

Running over my plan in my mind, I distract myself thinking of my course choices. I wonder would things have come to this had I not elected to take runes and arithmancy both? Ron wanted me to take divination so we would have an extra free period and the easy lessons, but I knew I couldn't continue to be lazy. Hermione was singing the praises of these two subjects, and her opinion that they're important was good enough for me at the time.

Maybe if I had just told him sooner? Maybe if we hadn't grown apart so much Ron wouldn't have blown up over this whole tournament fiasco to the point where even Griffindors can't stand the sight of me. With what I know now I know I could never have given up this for divination, but what I would give to at least have a quarter of the people out there watching on my side, hoping for an outcome where I don't become a snack.

Ah, it looks like my turn is up. In hindsight it works out well that I'm the last champion, as this way the other three don't have to sit around and wait for me for almost an hour. Win or fail, I'll have some sort of victory at least. I can't promise my plan is particularly exiting, death defying, or fun to watch, but it'll be worth it at the end; far better than the standard plan of walking in with nothing but a wand, and trying to steal an egg from a nesting mother without being killed.

Whoever decided this challenge should be a surprise deserves the bill for this one.

True to my predictions, the crowd boo loudly. It's not the disappointed boos from when a chaser misses a penalty that would net them a game, nor the comic ones you might hear directed at the bad guys in a childhood pantomime. As far as this crowd is concerned, I don't deserve to be here. Not in the arena, not in the Triwizard tournament, not in this school. All I'm doing is stealing the attention, money and fame from the three champions that are here by right, who were selected from the best of their schools. I look towards where the Griffindor crowd is sat with a small part of me holding out in hope that maybe some of them are supporting me, are cheering me on.

That hope dies when I see Ron's trademark red hair and angry red face. While he's calling for my blood, Hermione, Beautiful Hermione is sat up against him, pointedly looking away from me, from the dragon. Some of the lions are looking almost uncomfortable, maybe these few at least now believe my claims that I didn't enter myself into the tournament. That someone else entered me without my knowledge. That someone, that someone might be out to kill me this year.

Their guilt now isn't going to help me forgive them. They had plenty of time to help me survive this, now it's too late.

Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical games and Sports announces my name to the sound of more jeers and angry yells. The man has been nothing but nice to me since this whole fiasco began, though I discovered that he's bet virtually all of his life saving on me winning this tournament. Supposedly he has gambling debts with the goblins, and my victory this year will help him a long way towards keeping his head.

He's been nice to me so far, so the least I can do is to help him. I was planning on winning anyway.

The Gambling in the student population seems to have me at rather long odds, if the listening charms I placed where the twins handle all the money are telling the truth. I'd be willing to bet that the odds would be shorter if a certain trio of redheads weren't going out of their way to threaten anyone who tries to help me though. Not that I need the help, but some human company would have been nice; house elves can only hold a conversation for so long.

But if those charms are to be believed, the odds of me coming away from this first task in one piece and with an egg is a comfortable 35-1. I managed to place a bet of one galleon on myself with the help of an odd fourth year Ravenclaw, in exchange for showing her where the kitchen is. I don't even know if I look forward to bankrupting the twins more than the possibility of human company during meals.

Ah, Bagman's announced the start of the task. I pull my wand from my sleeve and begin.

Walking as far as possible from the dragon, I cast a simple silencing charm over myself to muffle the sounds of the crowd and commentary, not to mention the dragon's hungry roars. It was almost by accident that one of my charms picked up that the dragon handlers were instructed not to feeds the dragons for two days before the task to make things, and I quote, "More exiting". Then again a well fed dragon is a sleeping dragon, so they may have a point.

And as the schools motto warns us not to tickle sleeping dragons, maybe it's better that she's awake for this. Awake, I have a far higher chance of being spared it's anger.

Odd creatures, dragons.

The second charm is for my glasses. An entry level cursebreaker's tool, it lets you 'see' an object's magic at the cost of being able to see any further than a few feet. While it's almost useless for anything beyond training in cursebreaking, I'll need it to make up for inexperience; there are some things fourteen year olds just shouldn't be trying to do.

Things such as facing a dragon.

I only managed to find this charm while reading about the fabled skill of 'Mage sight', the ability to see magic. It's a matter of legends, as everyone seems to have heard of it, yet no-one can actually use it. Or ever has used it, for that matter. If I'm still alive this time next year, researching it'll be something to keep me occupied, I suppose.

The third charm I cast inside my small bubble of silence. A magical metronome, it'll keep me from losing track of time while I work, with a chime every minute. From now, I hope to be finished in a little under an hour.

Over the top of my glasses, I glance up at where Hermione is sat. I wonder what the brown blur would think if she realised that she inspired this plan, from an idea she had a long time ago? It's a shame we never continued that conversation, though it was going nowhere after she simply started quoting Hogwarts: A History at me. I hate that book with a passion, if only for the number of things it simply dismisses without reason.

But I'm sure she'll recall that she told me that the astronomy tower's telescopes contain a space expansion charm to increase the magnification.

I'm sure she'll remember the list of muggle ideas with magical solutions we put together last year.

Smiling inwardly, I find a suitable stone, and levitate it over to me. As the first chime rings, I begin the transfiguration that makes for the first step in my plan.