Ron wasn't the only one whose attitude toward Harry had shifted. After witnessing the challenge Harry had faced, most students throughout the school began supporting him just as enthusiastically as they supported Cedric. Of course, this absolutely didn't include a single Slytherin.
The second task would begin at half-past nine on the morning of February 24th—which meant they had months to relax before then. Ron went to see Charlie off, Harry couldn't wait to rush to the Owlery to send a letter to Sirius, and Hermione planned to hit the library searching for clues about the golden egg—Bagman had made it crystal clear that the key to the second task lay hidden within it.
Left on her own, Orli walked back along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The evening sky blazed like fire above the treetops, and a dark figure stood beside the undergrowth.
"Professor?" Orli called out in greeting. She spotted someone in the distance heading toward the great ship by the Black Lake—it looked like Karkaroff.
"If you're aware there are suspicious individuals in this school, you shouldn't be wandering about alone," Snape said coolly.
"Potter used a powerful Sleeping Draught just now?"
"Yes, Professor," Orli nodded. "I can brew that potion myself now."
"Rather pleased with yourself?" Snape glanced at her sideways. "Spent considerable time brewing for Potter, did you?"
"No... Professor..." Orli had barely begun to explain when a witch suddenly leaped out from behind the trees. Rita Skeeter, resplendent in acid-green robes, her Quick-Quotes Quill matching perfectly.
"Miss Orli Waters!" She looked Orli up and down with brazen rudeness. "I wonder if you could spare me a few words? What did you think of today's task? Were you worried and nervous when Harry Potter was competing? You helped Mr. Potter prepare, didn't you? I seem to have heard something about potions..."
"No comment," Orli replied icily. "Professor, let's go."
"Don't be so unfriendly, young lady. Between Miss Granger and yourself, I rather favor you, actually. Look at you—the last little Waters girl, what a story! Such a poignant little orphan. You and Harry Potter must share so much common ground..."
Rita Skeeter chattered on relentlessly, her enchanted quill scribbling frantically across the parchment.
"She said—no—comment," Snape stepped protectively in front of Orli, shielding her behind him.
"Oh, Slytherin's young Head of House, Professor Snape." Rita Skeeter adjusted her jeweled spectacles, her gaze darting between him and Orli. "Why is Slytherin's Head defending a Gryffindor student? From what I understand, those two Houses have always been at each other's throats—unless..."
She never got to finish. Snape hit her with a Silencing Charm and swept Orli away toward the castle without another word.
――――
As Orli climbed the tower stairs, unease churned in her stomach. She worried about what Rita Skeeter might write this time—and worse, she feared her article might drag Snape into the mess.
But the moment she stepped into the common room, the uproar inside made her jump. Tables and chairs groaned under mountains of cakes, alongside pitchers of pumpkin juice and butterbeer. Lee Jordan was setting off Filibuster Fireworks, filling the air with cascading stars and sparks. Dean Thomas, ever the artist, had hung several eye-catching new banners—most showing Harry on his Firebolt, weaving gracefully around the Horntail, though a couple depicted Cedric looking rather worse for wear after his injuries.
Harry sat at the center of the crowd while Fred and George smeared cream on his face, Colin Creevey snapping photos nonstop beside him. The gleaming golden egg rested in his lap as he tried to pry open a crack in its shell with his fingernail...
Orli wanted to stop him, but it was too late. The instant Harry opened the egg, a horrifying, shrill, ear-splitting wail filled the entire room. She'd only heard something similar once before—at Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party, when the ghost orchestra had played with musical saws.
"Shut it!" Fred roared, clapping his hands over his ears.
Harry snapped the egg closed.
"What was that?" Lee Jordan stared at the egg in fascination. "Sounded like a banshee... Harry, maybe you'll have to get past a banshee next time!"
"Sounded like someone being tortured!" Neville said, his face chalk-white as he dropped sausages all over the floor. "You're going to face the Cruciatus Curse!"
"Don't talk rubbish, Neville—that's illegal," George said. "They can't use Unforgivable Curses on champions. If you ask me, it sounded a bit like Percy singing... Maybe you'll have to attack him in the shower, Harry."
By the time the celebration finally wound down, it was nearly one in the morning. Orli and Hermione trudged upstairs to their dormitory, drew the curtains around their four-poster beds, yawned deeply, curled up beneath their covers, and closed their eyes.
At least tonight, she could rest. That was Orli's last thought before sleep claimed her.
――――――――
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