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Hogwarts : I AM NOT DEMON KING!
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"The Triwizard Tournament was shut down at the end of the 18th century, and all records of it were sealed. But you can't find any of the files in the Hogwarts library. There's even less information here than in the Daily Prophet archives. I figure they were either lost during one of the school's renovations, or they're just piled up in some hidden room."
Hermione dragged Harry along, explaining everything with the rapid-fire, lecturing tone of a professor.
"I had a colleague at the Prophet make me a copy of some files. Historically, the first task almost always involved capturing a magical creature. The most detailed record we have is from the 1792 tournament, where the champions had to catch a magical parrot. It was incredibly dangerous—the bird went completely berserk and actually injured all three headmasters."
"You mentioned before that it was in Hogwarts: A History too..." Harry said, looking thoughtful. "I've actually always wondered—what kind of parrot is that vicious?"
"There's no detailed record of it. It's not even mentioned in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. It's probably extinct by now. But that doesn't matter! We need to focus on prepping for the actual tasks!"
"How are we supposed to prep with no reference materials and sketchy historical records? Open our Inner Eye and divine it?"
Professor Trelawney wasn't around to hear the jab at Divination. The two of them were sitting in a quiet corner of the library, staring despairingly at a mountain of over a dozen massive, heavy tomes piled on the table.
If you knew the context, you'd know they were cramming for the Goblet of Fire. If you didn't, you'd think they were prepping for some extreme trivia bowl.
The library was dead silent. Sitting by the window, Harry discreetly watched Viktor Krum in another corner. The young Seeker was completely buried in an English textbook. The seats directly around him were empty, but the surrounding bookshelves were absolutely packed with starry-eyed witches.
They were all Krum fangirls, nervously twisting their hair or the hems of their robes, faces flushed with shy red. They didn't dare make a sound, terrified of disturbing the peace and getting thrown out by Madam Pince.
"Where's Ron? I haven't seen him all morning," Hermione asked, taking a breather after finishing one of the massive books.
"No idea. He was already gone when I woke up." Harry tried to sound casual. "Didn't see him at the party last night, either. By the time I got back to the dorm, he was already asleep. Didn't say a word to me."
He guessed Ron was harboring some resentment. They had all been punished together by Professor McGonagall, yet Harry was the only one who had managed to get an entry parchment from a professor before the deadline. To be fair, Ron hadn't seemed to care much when Harry actually filled the form out. Entering didn't guarantee selection, and plenty of people had entered—Angelina, Nott, Reginald, and so on.
But against all odds, both Harry and Hermione had been chosen.
Honestly, if their roles were reversed, Harry knew he'd feel awful about it too. He understood where Ron was coming from, but getting the sudden silent treatment still stung.
"He's probably just jealous," Hermione said. She paused her reading and sighed helplessly. "I get good grades, and you're the star Seeker—you're always in the spotlight. Think about it. At home, Ron has to compete with all his brothers and always ends up feeling overlooked. Here at school, his best friend is incredibly famous. Every time people notice you, he gets pushed to the sidelines."
"He was already a bit upset when we started taking those private tutoring sessions without him. Now we're both champions..." Harry let out a heavy, depressed sigh. "I'm starting to regret this. Why didn't I just ask the professor for an extra entry form so Ron could compete with us?"
"When you really think about it, getting selected isn't exactly a good thing anyway. I was only happy about it for, like, an hour last night."
Harry shot Hermione a look, pressing his lips together to swallow the words that might damage their friendship.
"This tournament is dangerous. The professors can guarantee we won't die, but we could still lose an arm or a leg. We could end up missing an eye like Professor Moody, scarred for life."
Hermione let out a woeful sigh of her own. "And it completely disrupts our classes. I won't even be allowed to take my final exams this year."
"..."
"The library is for reading! Do you understand?!"
Madam Pince's furious roar shattered their shared melancholy. They looked up to see that Fleur had entered the library at some point, drawing a massive crowd of gawking boys.
Veela charm was evidently much stronger than Seeker fame. Dozens of guys had completely short-circuited—picking aimlessly at the bookshelves, spinning books on their fingers to look cool, or blurting out incredibly stupid things at top volume.
Madam Pince looked angry enough that her hair was practically standing on end, like a lit fuse.
With more and more fanboys flooding in, Harry and Hermione couldn't take it anymore. They quickly checked out a few reference books and fled.
Navigating the corridors and heading downstairs, they crossed paths with a few other champions. It suddenly dawned on them that compared to the others, the two of them were completely unremarkable. They had absolutely zero presence.
Never mind Fleur from Beauxbatons or Krum from Durmstrang—even Pickett Graves and Nancy Boot carried themselves with serious authority. As Ilvermorny's Head Boy and Girl, they were constantly flanked by an entourage of students sporting the Gordian Knot.
The Slytherins had closed ranks to fiercely support Peregrine. And Cedric was constantly surrounded by sixth-year girls from other houses, practically begging him to sign their bookbags.
It was an undeniable fact: Fleur, Krum, and Cedric simply looked more like champions than Harry and Hermione did. Straight noses, glossy hair, classically handsome or stunningly beautiful—they radiated star power wherever they went.
Hermione pressed her lips tightly together to hide her slightly oversized front teeth, while Harry nervously pushed his glasses up his nose. They exchanged a look, both struck by a sudden, intense wave of inadequacy.
Reaching the ground floor, they peeked into the Great Hall. It wasn't mealtime, but the room was still buzzing. Seamus and Dean were huddled over a collection of Chocolate Frog cards, cataloging which famous wizards had competed in past Triwizard Tournaments. Ron was nowhere to be seen.
Quietly avoiding the crowds, they slipped through the Entrance Hall and stepped out of the castle, hoping to find a quiet spot to sift through their books.
They soon reached the lawns bordering the Black Lake. The dark Durmstrang ship lay moored on the water, casting a massive black shadow over the surface. The Beauxbatons Abraxans were drinking by the shore, their heavy, rumbling snorts echoing across the grounds.
Harry caught a whiff of something incredibly weird—a rich, pungent, overwhelmingly strong scent that made him sneeze violently.
"Hey, look over there—is that Hagrid... with Madame Maxime?" Hermione poked his arm.
Following her gaze, Harry spotted two massive silhouettes. They were nearly as tall as the Abraxans themselves. You'd never find a Muggle that huge, and you could count wizards of that size on one hand.
The two were strolling side-by-side along the lake, chatting and laughing, their heavy boots thudding against the dirt like horse hooves.
Before Harry could yank Hermione into the tall grass to hide, Hagrid spotted them and waved, calling out a booming greeting.
Beaming from ear to ear, Hagrid closed the distance, bringing that eye-watering, overpowering scent of cologne with him. He slapped Harry heavily on the shoulder.
"Harry! How's it feel to be a champion? I'm so proud of you! And you too, Hermione..."
Hagrid suddenly crouched down, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tonight, after lights out. Come to my cabin at midnight—and make sure you bring the Invisibility Cloak."