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Harry stared at Tonks, his mind reeling from her unexpected offer. For a moment, he couldn't quite process what she'd said. Someone was actually offering to help him—not just with research or moral support, but with real, practical training that might actually keep him alive. Only Hermione had decided to help him, and she was his best friend, Tonks was a complete stranger compared to Hermione, so he wondered why she would bother herself with this.
"You'd do that?" he asked. "But why? I mean, you barely know me, and this isn't exactly your job."
Tonks shrugged, her hair shifting to a more determined shade of purple. "Maybe not officially, but someone your age shouldn't have to face this kind of danger alone. Besides," she added with a slight grin, "I've only been an Auror for six months. I could use the practice teaching someone else what I've learned."
Six months, Harry thought with a mixture of amusement and concern. So she's almost as new to this as I am to mortal peril. Though I suppose that's still more experience than I have.
Harry was sure there was more to this generous offer than just Tonks wanting to help him out of the goodness of her heart, she sounded geniune in her concern for him, but was she really willing to go through all the trouble of training him for something that she herself might be qualified?
But at the same time, Harry could see the opprtunity in front of him, and he wasn't about to look at a gift in the horse's mouth. "Right then," Harry said, making his decision. "Where do we start?"
"First things first," Tonks said, shouldering her bag and gesturing toward the castle. "We need somewhere private to work. Can't exactly have you throwing hexes around the grounds where anyone might see."
Harry considered their options. "There are loads of empty classrooms in the castle. Half the rooms aren't being used for anything, and most students avoid the unused sections anyway, so they most likely won't notice anything."
"Perfect. Lead the way."
They made their way back to the castle and through the corridors, Harry leading Tonks through a maze of staircases and passages that eventually brought them to a section of the castle that was largely deserted during the day. The classroom Harry chose was on the third floor, far enough from the main traffic areas that they were unlikely to be disturbed.
"This'll do nicely," Tonks said, surveying the space. The room was clearly designed for practical magic lessons—the desks had been pushed against the walls, leaving a large open area in the center. Dust motes danced in the afternoon sunlight streaming through tall windows.
Tonks waved her wand, muttering several spells under her breath. Harry watched in fascination as the windows grew opaque, preventing anyone from seeing inside, and he heard the soft click of the door locking behind them.
"Muffliato," Tonks added, pointing her wand at the walls. "Severus Snape invented that one, actually. Creates a buzzing sound in the ears of anyone trying to listen in. Quite useful for private conversations."
"Snape invented a spell?" Harry asked, surprised despite himself. "I thought he just specialized in making students' lives miserable."
"Oh, he's brilliant," Tonks said matter-of-factly. "Absolutely brilliant. Also a complete bastard, but brilliant nonetheless. You can hate someone and still acknowledge their talents."
Well, that's refreshingly honest, Harry thought. Most adults seemed to think they had to pretend all the teachers were wonderful, regardless of how they actually behaved.
"Right then," Tonks said, turning to face him with a businesslike expression. "Before we start learning anything new, I need to know what you can already do. What spells do you feel confident using in a dangerous situation?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. This was the part he'd been dreading—having to admit just how woefully unprepared he really was.
"Well," he began slowly, "I can do all the standard first and second-year spells. Lumos, Alohomora, basic Transfiguration. I know Stupefy, and I'm pretty good with Expelliarmus. And I can cast a Patronus, though I'm not sure how useful that'll be unless the tournament involves Dementors."
Tonks nodded, taking mental notes. "That's not bad for a fourth-year. What about defensive magic? Shielding spells, protective charms?"
Harry's stomach sank. This was where his education showed its gaps most clearly. "I know some basic healing charms," he said weakly. "And I can dodge pretty well."
"Dodging is excellent," Tonks said encouragingly, "but what about actual defensive spells? The Shield Charm, for instance?"
Harry shook his head, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment. "We haven't covered that yet. Professor Lupin mentioned it last year, but we never got around to actually learning it."
Tonks stared at him for a long moment, her expression shifting from mild concern to outright alarm. "You don't know the Shield Charm? Protego? The most basic defensive spell in the entire magical arsenal?"
"It's not taught until fifth year," Harry said defensively. "According to the curriculum, anyway."
"The curriculum," Tonks repeated, her voice flat with disbelief. "Right. Because following the curriculum is clearly more important than making sure students can protect themselves."
She began pacing back and forth across the room, her hair cycling through increasingly agitated colors. "This is insane. They've thrown you into a tournament against adult wizards, and you don't even know how to cast a basic shield? What were they thinking?"
"Probably that I wouldn't be competing," Harry pointed out. "Since I'm underage and all."
"That's not the point!" Tonks snapped, then caught herself. "Sorry. I'm not angry at you, I'm angry at the situation. This is exactly the kind of bureaucratic nonsense that drives me mental about the magical education system."
Harry found himself oddly comforted by her indignation on his behalf.
"So," he said, "I'm guessing you're going to teach me the Shield Charm?"
"Among other things, yes," Tonks said grimly. "Though honestly, I'm not sure where to start. There's so much you should know..." She trailed off, clearly overwhelmed by the scope of the task ahead of them.
"One spell at a time?" Harry suggested. "I mean, I've got to start somewhere, right?"
Tonks took a deep breath, visibly collecting herself. "Right. You're absolutely right. One spell at a time." She moved to stand about ten feet away from him. "Let's start with Protego. The Shield Charm is probably the most important defensive spell you'll ever learn."
"More important than dodging?" Harry asked with a slight grin.
"Much more important than dodging," Tonks said seriously. "Dodging is great when you can see the attack coming and you have room to move. But what happens when you're trapped in a corner? Or when someone casts a spell that covers too wide an area to dodge? Or when you're facing multiple attackers?"
Harry's grin faded as he considered the scenarios she'd outlined. "Point taken."
"The theory behind the Shield Charm is relatively simple," Tonks continued, falling into what Harry suspected was her teaching voice. "You're creating a magical barrier between yourself and whatever's trying to hurt you. The barrier can deflect most hexes, jinxes, and even some curses, though it won't stop the Unforgivables."
"Good to know," Harry said dryly. "Though I'm hoping the tournament won't involve anyone trying to kill me with Avada Kedavra."
"From what I've heard about historical tournaments, I wouldn't rule anything out," Tonks replied grimly. "But let's focus on what we can control. The wand movement for Protego is straightforward—a sharp upward flick, like you're pushing something away from you. The incantation is simply 'Protego.' The tricky part is the magical theory."
She demonstrated the wand movement, her motion crisp and precise. "You need to visualize a barrier forming in front of you. Not just any barrier—it needs to be solid, impenetrable, strong enough to turn away whatever's coming at you. The strength of your shield depends entirely on your focus and your magical power."
Harry nodded, pulling out his wand. "Right. Sharp upward flick, visualize a barrier, put power behind it. Sounds simple enough."
"Try it," Tonks instructed. "Don't worry about getting it perfect on the first try. Most people need—"
"Protego!" Harry said, flicking his wand upward.
Nothing happened. Not even the faintest shimmer of magical energy.
"—several attempts to get the hang of it," Tonks finished diplomatically.
Harry scowled at his wand as if it had personally betrayed him. "Well, that was embarrassing."
"Completely normal," Tonks assured him. "The Shield Charm requires a very specific type of magical focus. Try again, but this time really concentrate on what you're trying to achieve. Don't just think about a barrier—think about protection, about keeping harm away from yourself."
Harry took a deep breath and tried again, putting more intent behind the spell. "Protego!"
This time he felt a flicker of something—a tiny surge of magic that dissipated almost immediately.
"Better," Tonks said encouragingly. "I saw a bit of shimmer there. You're on the right track."
A bit of shimmer, Harry thought with frustration. How pathetic is that?
But he kept trying, adjusting his wand movement slightly each time, experimenting with different levels of magical force. Tonks offered suggestions and corrections, her teaching style patient but direct.
"Don't just flick your wrist," she said after his fifth failed attempt. "Put your whole arm into the movement. You're not tickling the magic—you're commanding it."
"More force behind the visualization," she added after the seventh try. "Imagine someone's about to hex you, and your shield is the only thing standing between you and serious injury."
That particular piece of advice hit closer to home than Harry would have liked. He thought about the basilisk's massive fangs, about every time he'd been in mortal danger with no way to protect himself.
"Protego!" he said forcefully, channeling all his frustration and determination into the spell.
A translucent silver barrier sprang into existence in front of him, hovering in the air for several seconds before flickering out of existence.
"Brilliant!" Tonks exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "That was a proper shield, Harry. Well done."
Harry stared at the space where his barrier had been, feeling a surge of pride and relief. He'd actually done it. He'd cast a spell that might actually keep him alive.
"It didn't last very long," he pointed out, though he couldn't keep the satisfaction out of his voice.
"Duration comes with practice," Tonks said. "The important thing is that you've got the basic technique down. That was excellent for a first successful casting."
She pulled out her own wand and pointed it at the far wall. "Stupefy!"
A red bolt of light shot across the room and dissipated harmlessly against the stone.
"Right," Tonks said, turning back to Harry. "Let's see if your shield can actually stop something. I'm going to send a very weak Stunner at you—just enough to give you a gentle push if it gets through. Ready?"
Harry raised his wand, suddenly nervous again. It was one thing to cast the spell in isolation, quite another to use it defensively against an actual attack.
"Ready," he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.
"Stupefy!" Tonks called, sending a pale red bolt toward him.
"Protego!" Harry responded, his shield springing to life just in time to deflect the spell harmlessly to the side.
"Outstanding!" Tonks said, beaming at him. "Absolutely outstanding. Do you know how impressive that is? Most people take weeks to manage that on their first day learning the spell."
Harry felt a warm glow of accomplishment spread through his chest. Professor Lupin had told him that he was very good with a wand, but usually, older people rarely complimented him.
"Again?" he asked, already raising his wand.
They spent the next twenty minutes practicing, with Tonks sending increasingly strong spells at Harry while he worked on maintaining his shield for longer periods. By the end of the session, he could keep a solid barrier up for nearly thirty seconds and deflect most of what she threw at him.
"Right," Tonks said eventually, lowering her wand. "I think that's enough shield work for today. You've made remarkable progress."
Harry lowered his own wand, feeling pleasantly exhausted. His arm ached from the repeated spell casting, but it was a good ache—the kind that came from actual accomplishment rather than just going through the motions.
"What's next?" he asked.
"The Summoning Charm," Tonks said. "Accio. It's not strictly defensive magic, but it's incredibly useful in dangerous situations. Need a weapon? Summon it. Want to retrieve something from a dangerous area without getting close? Summon it. Need to disarm an opponent by calling their wand to you? Definitely summon it."
"That does sound useful," Harry agreed. "How does it work?"
"Much simpler than the Shield Charm, actually," Tonks said. "The wand movement is just a smooth forward motion, like you're pulling something toward yourself. The incantation is 'Accio' followed by whatever you want to summon. The key is being specific—if you just say 'Accio wand' in a room full of wizards, you might get more than you bargained for."
She pointed her wand at a quill sitting on one of the desks against the wall. "Accio quill!"
The quill immediately flew across the room into her outstretched hand.
"See? Simple. You try it."
Harry pointed his wand at the same desk, focusing on a piece of parchment. "Accio parchment!"
The parchment shot toward him so quickly that he nearly dropped his wand trying to catch it.
"Blimey," he said, staring at the parchment in his hand. "That was... actually quite easy."
"Some people have a natural aptitude for certain types of magic," Tonks explained. "Summoning Charms seem to be one of yours. Let's try something heavier."
She pointed to a thick textbook on another desk. "Try that one."
"Accio textbook!" Harry called.
The book flew toward him with the same speed as the parchment, and this time he was ready for it.
"Excellent," Tonks said approvingly. "Now try something from further away."
They spent another fifteen minutes practicing the Summoning Charm, with Harry successfully calling objects from increasingly distant locations around the room. By the end, he was confidently summoning things from clear across the classroom without hesitation.
"This is brilliant," Harry said, catching a quill that he'd summoned from behind a bookshelf. "I can't believe they don't teach this until later years. It's so useful."
"Most of the truly useful magic isn't taught until the advanced years," Tonks said with obvious disgust. "The curriculum is designed more around academic theory than practical application. It's one of the many things wrong with magical education."
Harry was about to respond when he noticed the light outside the windows was beginning to fade. They'd been practicing longer than he'd realized.
"What time is it?" he asked.
Tonks checked her watch. "Nearly six. You should probably get to dinner before people start wondering where you've disappeared to."
Harry felt a pang of disappointment. The afternoon had flown by, and for the first time since his name had come out of the Goblet, he'd felt genuinely hopeful about his chances in the tournament.
"When can we do this again?" he asked as Tonks began removing the privacy charms from the room.
"Tomorrow evening?" Tonks suggested. "Same time, same place? I should have the afternoon free."
"Definitely," Harry said quickly. "And Tonks? Thank you. Really. This has been..."
"Useful?" she suggested with a grin.
"Life-changing," Harry said seriously. "Literally."
Tonks' expression softened. "You're welcome, Harry. You've got real talent—more than you realize. With proper training, you might just surprise everyone in this tournament."
As they prepared to leave the classroom, Tonks suddenly stopped him.
"Actually," Tonks said, pulling out her wand to reverse the privacy charms, "we've got a few more minutes before you need to head to dinner. Fancy taking a proper break? I've got some chocolate in my bag."
Harry's stomach chose that moment to remind him that he'd been too nervous to eat much at lunch. "Chocolate sounds brilliant, actually."
Tonks rummaged through her bag and produced a bar of Honeydukes chocolate, breaking it in half and offering him the larger piece. They settled onto the floor with their backs against the wall, the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the now-clear windows.
"So," Harry said around a bite of chocolate, "Auror training. That's got to be intense."
"You could say that," Tonks replied with a rueful laugh. "Though 'intense' might be putting it mildly. The first week alone nearly killed me. They had us running obstacle courses at five in the morning, then straight into combat training, followed by theoretical exams that would make your N.E.W.T.s look like child's play."
"Sounds delightful," Harry said dryly. "And here I thought Hogwarts was challenging."
"Hogwarts is a holiday camp compared to Auror training," Tonks said with feeling. "At least here, if you mess up a spell in class, the worst that happens is you lose house points. In training, if you mess up a shield charm during combat practice, you wake up in the medical wing wondering why your eyebrows are missing."
Harry nearly choked on his chocolate. "Your eyebrows?"
"Training accident," Tonks said, unconsciously touching her forehead. "My partner cast a Flame-Freezing Charm wrong during a rescue simulation. Instead of protecting me from the fire, it somehow made me twice as flammable. Took three weeks for my eyebrows to grow back properly."
"That's horrible," Harry said, though he was trying not to laugh.
"It gets worse," Tonks continued with a grin. "The instructor's response was to make us repeat the exercise until we got it right. Except this time, I was so nervous about getting singed again that I overcompensated with my own spell and accidentally froze my partner solid. Had to chip him out of a block of ice."
"That's not typical Auror training."
"Oh, that was one of the better days," Tonks said cheerfully. "You should have seen what happened when they tried to teach us Stealth and Tracking. I managed to set off every single detection ward in the training facility within the first five minutes. The instructors said it was the fastest anyone had ever failed that particular exercise."
"How are you still an Auror?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.
"Persistence," Tonks said with a shrug. "And apparently I'm quite good at the actual catching-dark-wizards part, even if I'm rubbish at the not-accidentally-destroying-things part. My final evaluation said I had 'excellent instincts hampered by a tendency toward creative disasters.'"
"Creative disasters," Harry repeated. "That's certainly one way to put it."
"What about you?" Tonks asked, settling more comfortably against the wall. "What's been your most memorable Hogwarts experience so far? Besides the recent tournament drama, obviously."
Harry considered the question, trying to think of something he could share without getting into the more classified aspects of his school career. "Probably my first year," he said eventually. "Everything was so new and strange. I'd never even known magic existed until I got my Hogwarts letter."
"Really?" Tonks looked surprised. "I thought someone like you would have known about magic since he could walk."
"Not me," Harry said with a slight smile. "My relatives are Muggles, and they spent ten years telling me that magic was nonsense and that my parents died in a car crash. Finding out I was a wizard was... quite a shock."
"That must have been incredible," Tonks said thoughtfully. "Discovering an entire world you never knew existed."
"It was," Harry agreed. "Though it took some getting used to. I kept expecting someone to tell me it was all a mistake, that I didn't really belong here."
"Did you have any particularly memorable disasters in your first year?" Tonks asked with a grin. "I'm always curious about how other people handled their introduction to magical education."
Harry thought about Fluffy, the Philosopher's Stone, and Voldemort possessing Professor Quirrell. Somehow, he didn't think "I accidentally defeated the darkest wizard in history" was the kind of story Tonks was looking for.
"Well," he said instead, "I did manage to accidentally defeat a mountain troll in the castle during Halloween."
"You what?" Tonks nearly dropped her chocolate.
"It wasn't entirely my fault," Harry said defensively, though he was grinning. "Someone else let it in, but I may have... redirected it toward the girls' bathroom where Hermione was hiding."
"And then what happened?" Tonks asked, clearly fascinated.
"...Ron and I had to go rescue her," Harry said. "Ended up knocking the troll unconscious with its own club. Hermione got us out of trouble by lying to the professors about it."
"She lied to protect you?" Tonks asked, sounding impressed.
"That's when we became friends, actually," Harry said, feeling a warm surge of affection for Hermione. "Before that, she thought we were irresponsible troublemakers. After that... well, she still thought we were irresponsible troublemakers, but apparently that was exactly what she needed in her life."
"Sounds like a good friend to have," Tonks observed.
"The best," Harry said without hesitation. "She's been helping me research tournament strategies and historical competitions. Spending all her free time in the library looking up ways to keep me alive, sadly she still has to go to classes."
"And the other one? Ron?"
Harry's expression darkened slightly. "We're... not speaking at the moment. He thinks I entered myself in the tournament for attention."
"Ah," Tonks said with understanding. "That's rough. Losing a friend when you most need support."
"His loss," Harry said with forced lightness, though the hurt was still raw.
Tonks studied his face for a moment, clearly sensing there was more to the story, but she didn't push. Instead, she changed the subject.
"So what do you think the tournament tasks will actually involve?" she asked. "I've been reading up on the historical tournaments since I got assigned to this case. Some of the challenges they used were absolutely mental."
"How mental are we talking?" Harry asked, remembering Hermione telling him about bloodworms.
"Well, in 1701, they had champions face a pack of fully grown manticores," Tonks said casually. "Had to retrieve a golden chalice from the center of their territory while avoiding both their venomous stings and their taste for human flesh."
Harry felt his stomach drop. "Manticores. Of course there would be manticores."
"The second task in that tournament involved champions being locked in an enchanted labyrinth that changed its layout every ten minutes," Tonks continued. "They had to solve a series of ancient runic puzzles while the walls literally tried to crush them if they took too long."
"Naturally," Harry said weakly.
"And the final task was particularly creative," Tonks said. "Champions had to brew a complex potion while being attacked by conjured dark creatures. One wrong ingredient and the cauldron would explode, taking half the arena with it. Meanwhile, they had to defend themselves from wraiths, boggarts, and animated suits of armor."
"Right," Harry said, his voice coming out as barely a whisper. "So basically, the tournaments were designed to test whether champions could think clearly while everything around them was actively trying to kill them."
"That's a rather accurate summary, yes," Tonks agreed. "The tournaments were meant to test courage, magical skill, and intelligence under extreme pressure. The theory was that only a truly exceptional wizard could handle all three challenges."
"Courage, skill, and intelligence," Harry repeated. "I've got courage down, at least. The other two are a bit more questionable."
"Don't sell yourself short," Tonks said firmly. "What you accomplished today proves you've got plenty of magical skill. You just need proper instruction to bring it out."
"And the intelligence part?"
"You figured out how to defeat a mountain troll in your first year," Tonks pointed out. "I'd say your problem-solving skills are adequate."
Harry felt a flutter of genuine hope. "You really think I can do this? Actually survive whatever they throw at me?"
"I think," Tonks said seriously, "that you're stronger than you realize. And I promise you this—whatever the tasks involve, we'll make sure you're as prepared as possible. No matter how long it takes or what we have to do."
The sincerity in her voice made something tight in Harry's chest loosen slightly. Here was an adult who wasn't treating him like a celebrity or a victim or a problem to be solved. She was treating him like a person worth helping. He still wasn't sure why she was trying to help him in the first place, but he was grateful.
"Thank you," Harry said quietly. "Really. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't offered to help."
"Probably figured it out on your own and Hermione," Tonks said with a smile. "You seem to be good at that."
Harry finished the last of his chocolate and checked the time. "I should probably get to dinner before Hermione starts checking every room for me."
"Good idea," Tonks agreed, standing up and offering him a hand.
Harry accepted her hand and stood up. "I'll spend tonight reading up on defensive magic theory. Try to give you something to work with."
"Don't overdo it," Tonks warned. "Getting proper rest is just as important as studying. You can't cast spells effectively if you're exhausted."
"I'll try to remember that," Harry said with a grin. "Though knowing me, I'll probably end up reading until two in the morning anyway."
"Typical Gryffindor," Tonks said with mock exasperation. "All enthusiasm, no sense of self-preservation."
"Hey," Harry protested. "I have excellent self-preservation instincts. That's how I've survived this long."
"Fair point," Tonks conceded. "Just... try not to exhaust yourself before we've had a chance to teach you how to not die horribly, all right?"
"I'll do my best," Harry promised. "And Tonks? Thanks again. For everything."
Harry made his way through the corridors toward the Great Hall, his mind still buzzing with everything he'd learned during his training session with Tonks. The Shield Charm, the Summoning Charm—for the first time since his name had come out of the Goblet, he felt like he might actually have a fighting chance.
Almost unconsciously, he found himself practicing the wand movements Tonks had taught him. His wand was still in his hand from their session, and as he walked, he went through the motions of casting Protego—the sharp upward flick that had felt so awkward at first but was now beginning to feel natural.
Sharp upward motion, he thought to himself, repeating the movement. Like pushing something away from you.
He wasn't actually casting the spell, just rehearsing the physical mechanics, but muscle memory was important according to Tonks. The more natural the movements became, the faster he'd be able to cast when it mattered.
As he turned down a particularly quiet corridor lined with portraits of sleeping witches and wizards, Harry practiced the Summoning Charm movement—a smooth forward motion, like pulling something toward himself. Then back to the Shield Charm, flicking his wand upward.
It was on his third repetition of the Protego movement that something strange happened.
As Harry brought his wand up in the sharp, defensive gesture, the tip suddenly glittered with silver light. Not the usual red sparks that sometimes came from idle wand-waving, but something brighter, more substantial. Before he could react, he instinctively continued the motion, bringing his wand downward in a slashing movement.
A line of silver light followed the path of his wand, hanging in the air like a luminous scar across the corridor. It was like a scar, about three feet long, and so bright that Harry had to squint to look at it directly. The line seemed to pulse with its own internal energy, as if it had cut through the very fabric of the air itself.
Harry stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the phenomenon in complete bewilderment.
What the hell was that?
He'd never seen magic like this before. The silver line hung motionless in the space in front of him, neither growing nor shrinking, just... existing. It reminded him vaguely of a sword cut, as if he'd sliced through reality itself with his wand.
"What..." Harry whispered, reaching out tentatively toward the line, then thinking better of it and pulling his hand back.
Even as he watched, the line began to fade. The brilliant silver light dimmed gradually, becoming thinner and less substantial with each passing second. Within moments, it was barely visible.
And then it was gone entirely, leaving no trace that it had ever existed.
Harry stood alone in the corridor, his heart hammering against his ribs as he stared at the empty space where the impossible line had been. He looked down at his wand, which appeared completely normal—eleven inches of holly and phoenix feather, exactly as it had always been.
Did I just imagine that? he wondered, but he knew he hadn't. The line had been real. He'd felt the magic flowing through his wand in a way he'd never experienced before—not the warm, familiar tingle of ordinary spells, but something else entirely. Something powerful and strange and completely outside his understanding.
Harry tried to recreate the movement, bringing his wand up in the same sharp motion and then slashing downward. Nothing happened. He tried again, putting more intent behind it, more force. Still nothing.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath, repeating the gesture with growing frustration. But whatever had caused that silver line to appear seemed to have been a fluke—a one-time accident that he couldn't reproduce.
After several more failed attempts, Harry gave up and continued toward the Great Hall, he was still hungry, but his mind couldn't help but ask a hundred questions he couldn't answer. What kind of magic had that been? He'd never read about anything like it in any of his textbooks. Was it some kind of advanced spell that he'd accidentally triggered? But how could he cast something he'd never learned?
Maybe I should ask Tonks about it tomorrow, he thought as he approached the Great Hall doors. She might know what it was.
But even as the thought occurred to him, Harry felt strangely reluctant to share what had happened. Something about the silver line felt... personal. Private. Like it was meant for him alone to discover and understand.
He slipped his wand back into his robes and pushed through the doors into the warm, noisy comfort of the Great Hall, the mysterious magic already beginning to feel like a half-remembered dream. Hermione ran up to him, asking where he has been, and Harry told her that he would explain later as he sat beside her and started eating.
Dumbledore
The evening shadows stretched long across Dumbledore's circular office as the headmaster sat behind his ornate desk, a stack of Ministry correspondence spread before him like autumn leaves. The flames in the fireplace crackled softly, casting dancing light across the portraits of former headmasters, most of whom appeared to be dozing in their frames. Fawkes preened quietly on his perch, occasionally trilling a soft note that seemed to harmonize with the gentle ticking of various magical instruments scattered throughout the room.
Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles and rubbed his tired eyes, feeling every one of his one hundred and thirteen years. The day had been long and filled with careful maneuvering—discussions with Amelia Bones about the investigation, subtle arrangements regarding young Nymphadora Tonks, and the constant tension of knowing that somewhere in his castle, someone with malicious intent was moving pieces on a board he couldn't yet see clearly.
He wondered how Amelia's investigation was progressing. The Aurors had been thorough in their examination of the Goblet of Fire, but Dumbledore held little hope that they would find concrete evidence of tampering. Whoever had orchestrated Harry's entry into the tournament was skilled enough to cover their tracks well. Still, Amelia Bones was nothing if not persistent, and her team was among the best the Ministry had to offer.
More pressing on his mind was the question of how Harry was faring with his unofficial training sessions. Dumbledore had observed the boy's departure from the castle grounds that afternoon with young Tonks, and his return in the Main Hall when the entire castle was enjoying their dinner. Harry had seemed... lighter, somehow. Less burdened by the weight of impossible circumstances.
Nymphadora will be good for him, Dumbledore mused, allowing himself a small smile. She's young enough to relate to his situation without the baggage of adult preconceptions, yet skilled enough to provide real assistance. And her unconventional approach to magic might be exactly what Harry needs.
Of course, there would inevitably be questions. Amelia was far too sharp not to notice if one of her Aurors began spending an unusual amount of time with Harry Potter. When that conversation came—and it would come—Dumbledore would need to be ready with explanations that were both truthful and diplomatically phrased.
A soft tapping at the window interrupted his thoughts. Dumbledore looked up to see a large barn owl perched on the sill, an official Ministry seal visible on the letter clutched in its talons. He waved his wand, and the window opened to admit the bird, which dropped its burden onto his desk with obvious relief before immediately taking flight again.
The envelope bore the distinctive green wax seal of the Minister's office—not the usual departmental correspondence that crossed his desk daily, but something directly from Cornelius Fudge himself. Dumbledore felt a familiar knot of apprehension form in his stomach as he broke the seal and unfolded the parchment within.
Office of the Minister for Magic
Cornelius Oswald Fudge
Albus,
I trust this letter finds you well and that the Triwizard Tournament preparations are proceeding smoothly. I write to inform you of several exciting enhancements that the Ministry has decided to implement for this historic event.
In the interest of increased public engagement and spectacle, we have determined that certain modifications to the traditional tournament format would be beneficial for both participants and spectators alike. These changes will serve to showcase the very best of magical Britain to our international visitors while providing our citizens with entertainment worthy of this momentous occasion.
Dumbledore's expression grew increasingly grave as he continued reading. The language was typical Fudge—flowery, self-important, and completely devoid of actual substance. But it was what lay between the lines that sent a chill down the old wizard's spine.
The specific details of these enhancements will be revealed in due course, but I can assure you that they will add considerably to the excitement and drama of the competition. Our consultants have suggested several innovative approaches to champion selection and task design that I believe will revolutionize the tournament experience.
I trust you will cooperate fully with these necessary improvements. The reputation of magical Britain is at stake, and we cannot afford to appear provincial or backwards in the eyes of our international guests.
Yours in service to the magical community,
Cornelius O. Fudge
Minister for Magic
Dumbledore set down the letter with calming hands. "Enhancements." "Increased spectacle." "Public engagement." The bureaucratic euphemisms couldn't disguise what this really was—political grandstanding at the expense of student safety.
"Infinite wisdom indeed," he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with sarcasm that would have surprised those who knew him only for his typical warmth and geniality.
The implications of Fudge's letter were deeply troubling. The traditional tournament format, while dangerous, had at least been designed with the assumption that adult wizards would be competing—witches and wizards with years of advanced magical training and the maturity to handle life-threatening situations. Whatever "enhancements" the Minister had in mind would almost certainly make the challenges more dangerous, more spectacular, and more likely to result in serious injury or death.
And somewhere in the castle, Harry Potter—fourteen years old and woefully unprepared for even the standard tournament challenges—would be expected to face whatever horrors Fudge's consultants had devised.
Dumbledore immediately pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and began writing rapidly, his quill scratching urgent words across the page. If Fudge was planning to modify the tournament, there were people who needed to be warned, preparations that needed to be made, and contingencies that required immediate attention.
First, a letter to Amelia Bones. If anyone at the Ministry could provide advance warning about what Fudge was planning, it would be her. Her department might not have direct oversight of the tournament, but her network of contacts was extensive, and she had little patience for Fudge's theatrical tendencies.
Second, a carefully worded message to several members of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. If the Ministry was planning to endanger students under Hogwarts' care, the school's governing body needed to be prepared to push back through official channels.
Third, and most importantly, he needed to accelerate Harry's training. Whatever Fudge had planned, the boy would need every advantage he could get.
As Dumbledore sealed the first of his letters, he found himself thinking of Tom Riddle's diary, of the Philosopher's Stone, of every crisis that had somehow found its way to Harry Potter's door. The boy seemed to attract danger like a magnet attracted iron, and now Fudge's "enhancements" would likely add yet another layer of complexity to an already impossible situation.
"Forgive me, Harry," Dumbledore whispered to the empty office, addressing a young wizard who was probably sleeping at that very moment, blissfully unaware that his circumstances had just become significantly more perilous. "I fear this tournament will test you in ways none of us could have anticipated."
The portrait of Phineas Nigellus stirred in his frame, opening one eye to observe the headmaster's urgent letter-writing. "More troubles brewing, Dumbledore?"
"I'm afraid so, Phineas," Dumbledore replied without looking up from his correspondence. "The Minister has decided to... improve upon tradition."
"Ah," the portrait said with knowing disdain. "Politicians. They do so love their grand gestures, don't they? Particularly when someone else bears the consequences."
"Indeed," Dumbledore murmured, reaching for another piece of parchment. The night was going to be long, and there was much work to be done. Whatever Fudge had planned for the tournament, Harry Potter would need every ally and every advantage they could provide.
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