The Great Hall was filled with its usual first-night excitement, students chattering amongst themselves, the floating candles casting a warm glow across the enchanted ceiling. McGonagall had unfortunately noticed Neville making his way to the Ravenclaw table and pulled him aside, forcing him back to Gryffindor. He sent Harry a look as if thanking him for the safety in Ravenclaw while it had lasted.
The Sorting Hat had finished its song, the first years had been sorted, and now the plates were piling high with food as the feast began.
Harry took his usual seat at the Ravenclaw table, Luna at his side.
Luna was twirling a strand of hair between her fingers, humming softly.
"The stars are aligning for something big this year," she said airily. "New opportunities are on the horizon."
Harry arched a brow. "Good or bad?"
Luna simply smiled mysteriously, taking a bite of pudding.
As Harry was about to respond, Dumbledore stood up, raising a hand for silence.
"Welcome, welcome to another year at Hogwarts!" His twinkling eyes swept over the students, his usual grandfatherly demeanour on full display. "Before we begin the year properly, I have a few important announcements."
The hall quieted, students turning to face the headmaster.
"Firstly, I regret to inform you all that this year—there will be no Quidditch House Cup."
The reaction was instantaneous.
"What?!"
"You can't be serious!"
"This is an outrage!"
The Gryffindors were especially loud in their outrage, while the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs were voicing their own complaints.
Even Harry felt a twinge of annoyance—no Quidditch?
"Instead," Dumbledore continued, ignoring the outcry, "our school will be hosting a most exciting event—The Triwizard Tournament."
A murmur swept through the hall—some students gasping, others looking at each other in disbelief.
"For those unfamiliar, the Triwizard Tournament is a legendary contest between three prestigious schools: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang," Dumbledore explained. "Each school will select one champion to compete in a series of dangerous tasks, testing their skill, courage, and intelligence."
The noise level rose again, excitement crackling through the air.
"However," Dumbledore's voice cut through the chatter, "this year, in light of past tragedies, the Ministry has decreed that only students of age—seventeen and above—may enter. I will be personally ensuring that no underage student will be able to bypass this rule."
At that, Harry felt a sudden, sharp jolt of suspicion.
Dumbledore, ensuring there was no tampering?
Right. Because his past record was so trustworthy.
Luna simply smiled knowingly. "The tournament will bring many surprises, Harry. Some expected, some… not."
Harry stared at her, uneasy, but before he could ask what she meant—
The doors to the Great Hall burst open.
A loud crash echoed through the hall as a cloaked figure stomped inside. The man's long, ragged coat billowed behind him, his face scarred and weathered, one eye rolling wildly in its socket while the other fixed straight ahead.
Some students gasped; others whispered excitedly.
"Who is that?"
"That's Mad-Eye Moody," one of the older Ravenclaws whispered. "He's a legendary Auror—well, he used to be. Apparently, he's paranoid beyond reason. Heard there was a commotion at his house last night, something about his dustbins attacking someone!"
"I read that in the Prophet!" another Ravenclaw chimed in. "They said he set off half a dozen defensive spells over an innocent post owl!"
Harry glanced at Luna, who was staring at Moody curiously.
"Two faces," she murmured.
Harry didn't even bother to ask what she meant.
After the feast ended, students began filing out of the Great Hall, heading toward their dormitories.
Harry was just about to leave with the others when Professor Flitwick approached him, looking concerned.
"Mr. Potter, the Headmaster has requested to see you in his office," Flitwick said. "Would you like me to escort you?"
Harry stiffened slightly but nodded. "Actually, sir, I'd prefer if you came with me."
Flitwick blinked in surprise, but then his expression softened. "Of course."
Together, they walked through the dimly lit halls, stopping at the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office.
"Sherbert Lemon," Flitwick supplied, and the gargoyle moved aside.
They ascended the spiralling staircase, entering the circular office where Dumbledore sat waiting for him.
"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore greeted, his blue eyes twinkling. "Please, come in."
Flitwick stepped forward. "As his Head of House, I will be staying."
Dumbledore's twinkle dimmed slightly. "There's no need, Filius. This is a personal matter—"
"As long as Harry is under my house, I have the right to be present for any meeting regarding his well-being," Flitwick said firmly.
Dumbledore's smile thinned, but he nodded, gesturing for them to sit.
"Harry," he began, leaning forward, "what exactly were you thinking, leaving your relatives' home this summer? I had arranged for you to stay with the Weasleys—"
Harry stiffened. "Excuse me?"
"The Weasleys wasted a ticket on you, only to find you had abandoned them for the Lovegoods, and those—" his lips pressed together, "Slytherins. Surely, you know the dangers of associating with the bad side of their families?"
Harry's fists clenched. "Theo is nothing like his father," he said coldly. "And Blaise's mother has always remained neutral. Or is it only Gryffindors you approve of?"
Dumbledore sighed, looking pained. "Harry, the events at the Quidditch World Cup could have been disastrous for you. You should have been with people I trust to keep you safe."
"I was safe," Harry snapped. "And I had permission from my guardian."
Dumbledore's expression hardened slightly. "As your magical guardian when you are in the wizarding world, my decisions overrule any muggle arrangements."
Harry prepared himself to put on a show.
"You're my what?"
Flitwick looked just as shocked, his tiny hands clenching into fists. "Albus! You never informed him?!"
Harry glared. "If I had known you were my guardian, I wouldn't have stayed silent about how you abandoned me in an abusive household for over a decade."
Dumbledore's smile tightened. "Now, Harry. Let's not exaggerate, you will return to the Dursleys. It is for your own safety."
Harry stood abruptly. "If that's all, Headmaster, I'd like to go to bed."
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed briefly, but he nodded. "Of course, my boy. But do consider my words."
As Harry left the office, a headache pounding behind his eyes, he knew one thing for certain—
He couldn't wait for Dumbledore to be taken down a peg.
~
Their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Moody had everyone on edge.
Mad-Eye Moody was unlike any professor they'd had before. He was gruff, unpredictable, and his magical eye made him incredibly unsettling to look at for too long.
"I'm here to teach you how to survive," Moody growled, pacing in front of the class, his wooden leg clunking loudly with each step. "Not the fairy tales the Ministry feeds you about defending yourselves, but real, practical survival."
Harry watched as his gaze swept the room, lingering briefly on him before moving on.
Moody snapped his fingers, and a small wooden box floated from his desk, landing on top of it with a sharp thunk.
"Today, we talk about curses," Moody continued, his scarred face twisting into something grim. "The worst ones. The ones you should never—under any circumstance—cast unless you're prepared to throw your soul into the fire."
The class fell into a hush, the atmosphere shifting into something heavy.
"Can anyone tell me the three Unforgivable Curses?"
Theo raised a hand lazily. "The Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, and the Killing Curse."
Moody nodded. "Correct. Let's start with Imperius."
He opened the wooden box, and a large black spider crawled out, its legs clicking against the desk. With a flick of his wand, Moody cast Imperius, making the spider dance in the air, flipping and spinning unnaturally.
The class giggled nervously, some students looking fascinated while others looked uneasy.
Harry was among the latter.
Controlling another being's will… that was beyond horrifying.
Moody eventually dropped the curse, and the spider scuttled in confusion.
"Under the Imperius Curse, you would do anything I told you," Moody said darkly, his magical eye spinning in its socket. "Anything. Even kill your best friend while laughing about it."
That killed the laughter instantly.
"Now, onto something nastier," Moody muttered.
He lifted his wand again, and suddenly, the spider twitched violently, its legs curling in on itself.
Harry's stomach twisted at the sight.
It screamed.
A horrible, high-pitched keening sound, as the Cruciatus Curse burned through its tiny body.
Theo's chair scraped against the floor as he suddenly stood, face livid.
"Enough!"
Moody's wand lowered slightly, but his good eye narrowed. "Problem, Mr. Nott?"
Theo's jaw was locked. "You just tortured that creature in front of all of us. That's not teaching. That's just… wrong."
Moody stared him down, but Theo didn't flinch.
Harry tensed, feeling a terrible weight settle in his chest.
Moody raised his wand again—
"Drop it, Theo," Harry said quickly, grabbing Theo's sleeve. "He's not worth it."
Theo's fingers curled into fists, but after a few seconds, he sat back down, muscles tense with barely restrained fury.
Harry's eyes flickered back to the spider, which was twitching weakly on the desk.
Moody nodded approvingly at Theo, as if pleased with his reaction, before turning his gaze back to the class. "Pain. It's the simplest way to control someone."
A few students looked sick at that statement.
"And now, the worst of them all," Moody continued grimly.
Without hesitation, he raised his wand—
"Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green light.
The spider dropped dead, its tiny body still and unmoving.
The class was silent.
"The Killing Curse," Moody said simply. "No pain. No time to react. Just… gone."
Harry felt cold all over.
Not because he hadn't seen this before—but because he had.
In his memories, in his nightmares.
That same green flash.
That same finality.
Theo looked furious, his hands trembling slightly, but he didn't say anything.
"Now, let's make this lesson a little more… interactive," he said, his magical eye swivelling wildly. "The Imperius Curse. Who wants to try it?"
A few students shifted uneasily, glancing at one another.
Nobody volunteered.
Moody barked out a laugh. "No takers? Alright then, I'll pick." His spinning eye locked onto Theo, who stiffened immediately. "How about you, Mr. Nott?"
Theo glared at him, jaw tight. "No thanks."
"Didn't ask if you wanted to," Moody said gruffly, raising his wand.
Theo's hand twitched towards his own wand, but Harry quickly stepped forward.
"I'll do it," he said, cutting in taking Moody's attention from Theo.
Moody's real eye squinted at him. "Brave of you, Potter. Alright, stand up front."
Harry walked forward, stopping a few feet away from him.
Moody's wand flicked up. "Imperio!"
A strange lightness filled Harry's mind.
Everything felt far away, like he was floating. A wave of euphoria flooded his senses, and a voice whispered inside his head—
"Jump on the desk, Potter."
A foreign impulse took hold of him, urging his legs to move.
Harry's knee bent slightly—but something inside him snapped back, like a rubber band recoiling.
"No," he thought sharply.
The haze shattered, and his feet remained firmly planted on the ground.
There was a beat of silence before Moody let out a low chuckle. "Interesting."
The next second, Moody's wand flicked again. "Imperio!"
This time, the haze was thicker, more persistent, pressing down like a weight in his skull.
"Spin in a circle."
Harry could feel his body start to move, but his magic lashed out instinctively—a surge of power that rejected the foreign control outright.
His head snapped up, eyes sharp and focused. "No."
Moody's expression shifted slightly. Mild frustration replaced amusement.
"Again!"
A third time.
The pull was stronger, almost suffocating, but Harry was stronger. He forced his mind to push back. His magic coiled tightly around him, a shield against the invading command.
The haze vanished instantly.
Harry stared straight at Moody, breathing steadily. "It's not going to work," he said flatly.
Moody lowered his wand, his magical eye spinning rapidly as he stared at Harry.
The entire class was dead silent, eyes bouncing between the two of them.
Moody huffed, looking at Harry like he was some interesting puzzle piece that didn't quite fit.
"Well, Potter," he muttered. "Seems like you've got a strong mind. Most adults can't even shake it off."
Harry didn't reply.
Because, despite his victory… something about this felt off.
Like Moody was more frustrated than impressed.
Almost as if he wanted Harry to fail.
As the class ended, students began to file out in silence, all of them disturbed in different ways.
Theo was gritting his teeth, his magic pulsing angrily.
"He cast the Killing Curse in a classroom," Theo muttered darkly. "A real one, too. That's—"
"Not now," Harry interrupted. "We'll talk later."
Blaise nodded grimly, looking just as disturbed.
As they left the classroom, Harry caught sight of the Gryffindors waiting outside, preparing to go in next.
Among them, Neville.
Harry didn't hesitate.
He grabbed Neville's wrist, pulling him aside.
"What—" Neville started, confused.
"Moody's about to demonstrate the Unforgivables," Harry said quietly, voice deadly serious. "All three of them."
Neville's face paled instantly.
His hands shook slightly, but he nodded stiffly, understanding exactly what Harry was trying to say.
"You didn't have to warn me," Neville whispered, swallowing thickly.
"Yes, I did," Harry said firmly. "Just… if you need to talk after, find me, okay?"
Neville hesitated, then gave a small, grateful nod. "Thanks, Harry."
Theo exhaled sharply, still tense. "Come on. Let's go before I curse someone."
Harry shot Neville one last worried look before following Theo and Blaise down the corridor.
~
Later that day, the torches flickered in Slytherin's library, casting long shadows across the dark green marble and towering bookshelves. The enchanted dome ceiling above them mimicked the night sky, stars shimmering faintly overhead.
Harry sat at the central table, absently running a finger over the smooth Peverell ring on his hand. Theo, Blaise, Neville, and Luna were seated around him, their books and notes spread out before them, but none of them were paying attention to research anymore.
Not after what had happened in Defence today.
"So... Moody tried to Imperius you three times?" Neville said, arms crossed, his expression dark.
Harry nodded, jaw tight. "Yeah. It was like he was testing me. Almost like he expected me to fail."
"And you didn't," Blaise added, looking almost smug. "You fought it off every time."
"Which isn't normal," Neville pointed out, looking between them. "Most wizards can't resist the Imperius Curse that easily. It takes training, and even then, only a handful of people can throw it off completely. I suppose the occlumency practice could have helped."
Theo gave a dry, bitter chuckle. "That's because most people don't have 'training.'" He made a sharp gesture with his fingers, as if flicking something away. "But in families like mine, they make sure you do."
There was a pause.
"What are you saying?" Neville asked, voice quieter now.
Theo leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against the table, eyes flickering toward the fireplace. "I mean that my father used to 'practice' the Unforgivables on me."
Neville visibly stiffened.
Even Blaise, who had heard plenty of horrors from the old families, had his mouth pressed into a thin line. Harry was furious that someone would dare do that to their children.
"Most of the Dark families do," Theo continued with a humourless smirk. "After all, if you're going to live in a world where people throw these curses around, best to learn how to survive them first, right?"
"That's insane," Neville snapped, voice sharp. "They tortured their own children?!"
"They call it training," Theo corrected, staring into the flames. "The Imperius was the one they used most. It was about 'obedience.' Learning how to follow commands without hesitation. Learning how to resist when necessary. But the Cruciatus—" He exhaled sharply, fingers twitching. "That was for punishment."
Harry's hands curled into fists.
Luna, who had been listening quietly, spoke in a soft, airy voice. "Pain and control… It's always about pain and control. Like breaking in a new pet. A leash made of agony."
Neville stood so fast his chair nearly toppled backward. "No one should ever have to go through that." His knuckles were white where he gripped the table. "No one."
Blaise sighed, shaking his head. "My mother never did anything like that. But one of my stepfathers tried once." His golden eyes darkened, a sharp, vicious smirk playing on his lips. "He went missing the next day."
Theo huffed out a laugh, but there was no humour in it.
Harry exhaled slowly, forcing down his own anger.
He didn't grow up in a magical household. He didn't have to deal with this level of cruelty in his childhood. But he knew suffering, and he knew what it meant to be powerless in the hands of someone stronger.
"Moody using the Unforgivables in class wasn't training," Harry said finally, voice low and steady. "It was a performance. He was showing off."
Luna hummed. "Or testing you."
Harry thought back to Moody's expression when he resisted the Imperius. The frustration in his scarred face. The way his magical eye spun wildly.
Before he could linger on it, Salazar's voice suddenly echoed from the enchanted wall.
"There was a time when those spells were not weapons," the Founder said, his voice thick with ancient knowledge.
They all turned toward his portrait.
Salazar's emerald gaze was thoughtful, his expression unreadable.
"Those curses were not always used for war," he continued. "The Imperius Curse and the Killing Curse were meant to make controlling livestock easier. The Cruciatus—" His serpent-like eyes darkened. "It was once used in minor nerve-healing techniques. It was meant to be a treatment, not a torture device. But when wielded with intent to harm… Well, you see what they became."
The room was dead silent.
Salazar shook his head, the green of his robes rippling slightly in the painted wind. "Magic does not make itself evil. It is the caster's intent that shapes it. Remember that children." The room was once again put into a thoughtful silence.
Wanting to change the subject, Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the cool marble table. "Salazar, I've been meaning to ask you something."
The Founder lifted a brow. "Oh?"
"I found a series of star charts in the Peverell vault," Harry explained, motioning upward toward the astronomical instruments in the room. "And they match the ones you have here. What's the connection?"
Salazar's entire demeanour shifted.
His sharp green eyes flickered with surprise—then realisation.
Slowly, he leaned forward in his portrait, gaze settling intensely on Harry.
Salazar's expression remained unreadable before he sighed heavily, switching to Parseltongue. "This is not knowledge to be shared outside the bloodline."
Harry hesitated, but reluctantly nodded. "I understand."
Blaise, Theo, Neville, and Luna all exchanged looks.
It wasn't unusual for purebloods to have family secrets. Ancient families held their knowledge close to their chests, and as much as they trusted one another, there were some things that couldn't be shared.
"I will to speak to you privately," Salazar continued. "But not now. Later."
Harry nodded again. "Alright."
Salazar glanced toward the floating candles, their flames beginning to dim. "It is nearing curfew. You should all return to your common rooms."
Harry let out a breath and glanced at his friends. "Guess we'll have to pick this up another time."
Theo rolled his eyes, smirking. "Of course, another cryptic Salazar secret."
Blaise smirked. "At least this one isn't about how to murder someone efficiently."
Neville shook his head, but a small smile tugged at his lips.
Luna simply hummed. "Secrets have their time and place. The stars will tell."
Harry sighed and rubbed his temples. "Let's just get to bed before Filch finds us."
~
The air outside was crisp, carrying the scent of autumn leaves and burning wood from Hagrid's hut. October 30th had finally arrived, and the entire school had gathered outside, waiting for the arrival of the other schools. Excitement and curiosity buzzed in the air, students whispering and craning their necks to catch the first glimpse of the arriving delegations.
Blaise stood beside Harry, vibrating with excitement. "Viktor Krum, mate. Krum!" he kept muttering, adjusting the collar of his uniform as though he were about to meet royalty.
Harry chuckled. "You're acting like he's the bloody Minister for Magic."
Blaise shot him a glare. "He's better than the Minister. He's Viktor Krum. The best Seeker in the world."
"Second best," Theo drawled, smirking. "I seem to remember a certain someone beating him to the Snitch at last year's World Cup."
Blaise huffed, crossing his arms. "That was a fluke."
Harry only grinned. Before he could tease him further, a sudden chill swept through the air, followed by a deep rumbling sound in the distance.
"Here they come," Neville murmured, tilting his head up.
The black lake churned violently, the surface bubbling as though something massive were moving beneath. A great, jagged ship suddenly rose from the depths, water cascading down its battered sides. Its tall, skeletal mast creaked in the wind, and the dark red flag of Durmstrang unfurled against the dimming sky.
As the ship came to a halt near the shore, a wooden plank extended outward, connecting the ship to the Hogwarts grounds.
The first figure to step out was a man built like a bear, wearing thick furs and a deep scowl.
"That's Karkaroff," Blaise muttered under his breath. "He's the headmaster of Durmstrang."
Behind Karkaroff, a line of Durmstrang students emerged, dressed in thick, dark red coats with high collars. The moment they stepped onto solid ground, they moved with precision and discipline, their postures upright, exuding an air of quiet strength.
Harry's gaze landed on the student at the front—tall, broad-shouldered, and unmistakably Viktor Krum.
Blaise inhaled sharply, practically bouncing on his feet. "That's him, Harry. That's Krum."
Harry fought the urge to laugh. "I can see that, Blaise."
Before he could say anything else, the wind picked up, bringing with it a faint shimmer of gold in the sky.
Luna gasped, her wide blue eyes shining with awe. "They're here…"
Harry looked up just in time to see a massive, winged carriage descending from the clouds. The pale blue body of the carriage gleamed like polished sapphire, its sides adorned with golden embellishments. With a heavy thud, it landed gracefully on the Hogwarts grounds, the ground trembling slightly from the impact.
The carriage's enormous winged horses—each as white as freshly fallen snow—stamped their hooves impatiently, their golden manes rippling in the wind.
A moment later, the door swung open, and a figure nearly twice the size of Hagrid stepped out, her silk robes billowing elegantly.
"Madame Maxime," Neville whispered. "She's the headmistress of Beauxbatons."
A line of Beauxbatons students followed behind her, their movements graceful and fluid. They carried themselves with a dreamlike elegance, their robes swaying as though caught in an unseen breeze.
Luna tilted her head, her lips parting in fascination. "They glow," she murmured, watching the ethereal shimmer that seemed to cling to the Beauxbatons students. "Like moonlit wisps..."
Harry squinted, noticing the faint glow himself. "That's… different."
"It's a Veela thing," Blaise muttered. "Half of them probably have Veela ancestry. That's why they move like that."
Theo smirked. "Is that why you're swaying, Blaise?"
Blaise scowled and straightened immediately, muttering, "Sod off, Theo."
Back inside the Great Hall, the Hogwarts students settled back into their seats, watching as the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students made their entrance.
Harry leaned forward slightly as Beauxbatons took their turn first, their performance flowing like an intricate dance—flowers blooming midair, delicate ribbons of golden light twisting around them, and an almost sickly-sweet perfume filling the room.
Harry blinked, tilting his head. "It's… very flowery," he muttered under his breath.
Luna, sitting beside him, clapped her hands together. "It reminds me of the time Daddy tried to communicate with the Floral Fae in our garden. He accidentally summoned a nest of angry bees instead."
Harry stifled a laugh.
The Durmstrang performance, however, was entirely different.
The moment the torches dimmed, the Durmstrang students marched forward—precision in every step. One student took centre stage, his body moving with a fluidity that Harry had never seen before.
Fire erupted in his hands, twisting and shaping into rings, ropes, and whips of flame, each controlled with pinpoint accuracy. He twisted, flipped, and spun, manipulating the fire like an extension of his body, each movement perfectly balanced and powerful. As if fighting was a dance.
Harry was entranced. He had never seen anyone else wield fire that easily before. He wondered if the boy was an elemental.
He barely heard Blaise muttering about how "Krum is so cool," or Theo making some dry remark about how dramatic Durmstrang was.
Harry's gaze was fixed on the way the fire responded to movement.
The way the body worked in tandem with the magic.
The control.
The fluidity.
The power.
Luna hummed beside him, breaking his trance. "If you stare any harder, you might set yourself on fire too, Harry."
Harry blinked, realising he had been leaning forward. He quickly straightened, coughing. "It's just… impressive."
Luna smiled knowingly. "You want to move like that, don't you?"
Harry hesitated—then nodded.
Luna's eyes twinkled. "Then you should ask him to teach you."
Once the performances had ended, Dumbledore stood, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture.
"Tomorrow evening," he announced, his voice booming throughout the hall, "the champions for the Triwizard Tournament will be chosen."
A large, ancient goblet was brought forward and placed in the centre of the Hall, its blue-white flames flickering softly.
"The Goblet of Fire will serve as an impartial judge," Dumbledore continued. "Those who wish to participate must submit their names before nightfall tomorrow. But be warned—" His expression turned serious. "Once your name is chosen, there is no turning back."
From where he sat, Harry could feel the magic radiating from the Goblet.
The binding energy was strong, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
"Can you feel that?" Harry murmured under his breath.
Luna hummed beside them, tilting her head. "Ancient magic often has a will of its own… It'll be interesting to see who it chooses."
Harry wasn't sure why, but he suddenly had a very bad feeling about the whole thing.
~
Halloween night had arrived, and with it came the usual, unshakable sense of impending disaster.
On the way to the Great Hall with his friends, the festive atmosphere doing little to soothe his nerves. The enchanted ceiling was a twinkling expanse of stars, dotted with floating jack-o'-lanterns and wisps of spectral mist.
"So, what do you think will happen this year?" Theo drawled. "A troll again? Basilisk? Maybe the castle will just collapse?"
Neville sighed. "I'd really rather not deal with anything catastrophic for once."
"We could hope," Blaise mused. "But let's be real. With Harry around, trouble is practically guaranteed."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, sod off, Blaise."
Luna hummed thoughtfully, idly twirling her fork. "I think it will be something new this year," she said dreamily. "Something… unexpected."
"That's… unhelpfully vague, Luna," Theo muttered, but he was watching her carefully.
Luna merely smiled.
Moving to their own tables, the feast started. Loud whispers echoing excitedly around the hall.
As if the castle itself had been waiting for the perfect moment, the torches dimmed, and Dumbledore stood from his seat at the head table, his presence commanding immediate attention.
"Now that we have enjoyed this magnificent feast," he announced, "it is time to begin the selection of the champions for the Triwizard Tournament."
Silence fell over the hall as the Goblet of Fire flared to life, bright blue flames licking the air. The atmosphere shifted, the sheer weight of the magic in the room settling into every breath.
Harry could feel it.
The moment was charged with ancient power, something that made the hairs on his arms rise.
Dumbledore extended his hand as the Goblet spat out the first name.
"Viktor Krum!"
The Durmstrang students erupted into cheers, clapping their champion on the back as Krum stood, expression unreadable. He made his way to the front, shaking Dumbledore's hand before disappearing into the side chamber.
The flames flared again.
"Fleur Delacour!"
The Beauxbatons students cheered delicately—even their excitement was refined. Fleur stood gracefully, smoothing the front of her silk robes before making her way down the aisle, chin lifted in quiet confidence.
The third name emerged in a burst of flames.
"Cedric Diggory!"
A wave of cheering and stomping came from the Hufflepuff table as Cedric stood, grinning as he made his way forward.
Harry smiled, glad that someone like Diggory got chosen. "Good for him," he murmured.
Anthony nodded enthusiastically. "He deserves it. The whole house is going to throw a party later, I bet."
But just as everyone thought the choosing was done, the flames turned a violent red, sparking wildly.
The Great Hall fell into eerie silence.
A single slip of parchment shot into the air.
Dumbledore caught it with swift reflexes, his eyes scanning the name written upon it.
He hesitated.
Then, in a voice thick with disbelief, he read:
"Harry Potter."
The silence was suffocating.
Harry sat frozen in place, his heart hammering in his chest.
Did he hear that right?
His mouth felt dry as he finally managed to whisper, "What?"
Terry turned to him, his expression one of pure shock. "Harry, you didn't—"
"I didn't put my name in the Goblet!" Harry snapped, standing abruptly. His voice carried throughout the stunned hall, and whispers erupted like wildfire.
"We were all together yesterday, all day," Neville insisted, turning toward the Ravenclaws sitting nearby. "You saw him, right? He never went near the Goblet!"
"Yeah!" one of the older Ravenclaws called out. "We were watching all day—he never left the table, and the Goblet was right in front of us!"
The murmurs grew louder.
Harry turned to Dumbledore, feeling a surge of frustration and unease. "There has to be a mistake."
But instead of answering him, Dumbledore simply repeated his name, his expression unreadable. "Harry Potter…"
The implication was clear.
Harry had no choice.
His jaw clenched. "No," he said firmly. "This is a mistake. I never entered my name."
"Come forward, Harry," Dumbledore said, gently but insistently.
His stomach churned with something heavy and foreboding.
Someone did this on purpose.
As he moved toward the chamber, he felt hundreds of eyes on him—some filled with suspicion, some with confusion, and others with anger.
He was barely through the door when a voice snapped in French.
"They let children compete now?" Fleur sneered, her arms crossed, "this must be some sort of joke."
Harry narrowed his eyes and replied in fluent, clipped French, "Keep your opinions to yourself, Delacour."
Fleur's lips parted slightly in surprise, not expecting him to understand her, let alone respond so sharply.
Cedric gave him a wary but sympathetic look. "Harry, what's going on?"
Harry shook his head. "Someone's pulled a cruel joke. I never put my name in."
Before Cedric could respond, the door slammed open, and in strode Dumbledore, Barty Crouch, Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime.
Dumbledore's piercing gaze locked onto Harry as he strode forward, grabbing him by the shoulders.
"Harry," he said, voice filled with a frantic intensity. "Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"
"No!" Harry shot back immediately, matching his intensity.
Dumbledore let go, but his expression remained unreadable.
"This…" Barty Crouch muttered, looking grave. "This complicates things."
"Complicates things?" Harry repeated incredulously. "I'm fourteen. This is a tournament for adults. Surely you can just—remove me?"
Crouch hesitated before shaking his head. "The Goblet has sealed its choices. The contract is binding. You must compete."
Harry's stomach twisted.
And then, suddenly, a thought struck him.
He turned sharply to Dumbledore. "You're saying that I must compete? You're the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and you are declaring that I am bound to this tournament? There's no way out?"
Dumbledore gave him a measured look before nodding. "Yes, Harry, you must compete."
He turned to Crouch. "And as the Head of the International Magical Cooperation, you also agree that I must compete? There's no way out?"
Crouch nodded. "Yes, Mr. Potter. You are bound by magic to this tournament."
A slow, sharp smile tugged at Harry's lips before he quickly hid it.
"Then it appears I have no choice but to compete in a tournament meant for adults. So much for your enchantments to prevent tampering." He sneered slightly, but inwardly he felt a flicker of hope.
"It's unfortunate, my boy," Dumbledore agreed.
"Fine," Harry said, expression blank. "I will compete. But I would like to see the tournament handbook."
Crouch visibly stiffened. "Of course."
Harry struggled to keep the smirk off his face.
Checkmate.
~
The Chamber of Secrets became even more of a sanctuary for Harry in the day that followed, a place untouched by the whispers, the gossip, and the stares that followed him everywhere since his name came out of the Goblet. With everything going on, he still hadn't had a chance to speak to Salazar about the star charts, and at this point he had more important things to think about.
The sheer weight of the school's attention was suffocating.
It wasn't as bad as it could have been. Half the school seemed to believe him, which was shocking in itself.
The Ravenclaws, for one, were more logical than most.
They remembered what had happened over the years.
If anything, many Ravenclaws were curious—how had someone managed to bypass Dumbledore's supposed protective enchantments around the Goblet? And why would Harry, who actively avoided the spotlight, suddenly try to force his way into it?
Even some Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors were giving him the benefit of the doubt, having seen firsthand how much he hated attention.
The Slytherins, unsurprisingly, were less forgiving.
To them, this was another Gryffindor-like stunt—a cheap ploy to claim more fame, more glory. Draco Malfoy had been especially unbearable, sneering at him every chance he got.
And then there were the usual suspects—certain Gryffindors who still clung to the idea that Harry had somehow cheated his way in.
Ron, of course, had firmly planted himself in that camp.
Ron had spent most of the day glaring at him from across the Great Hall, looking equal parts jealous and bitter. Hermione, though slightly less judgmental, was clearly frustrated at being kept at arm's length. It also seems that there was a rift between her and Ron, what with all the glaring between them.
Harry didn't care.
He had bigger things to worry about.
In the dim warmth of Slytherin's library, Harry paced, as he relayed the events of the side chamber.
His friends were lounging on the furniture—Theo perched lazily on the armrest of one of the high-backed chairs, Blaise leaned against a bookshelf, Neville and Luna curled up on the long couch.
"…So I asked them outright," Harry said, voice sharp with barely restrained triumph.
He turned on his heel, expression gleaming with something dangerous.
"I got Dumbledore, the Chief Warlock, and Crouch, the Head of International Magical Cooperation, to verbally confirm that I am bound to this tournament for adults—publicly."
Theo straightened, his sharp mind immediately catching the implications.
Blaise let out a low whistle, looking at Harry with something close to admiration.
"You trapped them," Blaise murmured. "Merlin's bloody balls, Harry."
"If they're declaring you an adult," Theo said slowly, leaning forward, "then that means you should be able to claim your titles."
Luna smiled, her dreamy gaze turning sharp and knowing. "You must claim the rings, Harry," she said softly. "Before they realise their mistake."
Harry took a deep breath. "Grimbok will know what to do."
Neville, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. "If this works… what happens next?"
Harry exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "If I get emancipated, it means Dumbledore loses any and all control over me. He can't force me back to the Dursleys next summer. He can't make decisions on my behalf. I can move freely. And I can sit on the Wizengamot…where I can demand a trial for Sirius," he ended with a smirk.
"But," Theo added grimly, "it also means Dumbledore will realise what happened. And I don't think he'll take that lightly."
A heavy silence settled over them.
Harry nodded, acknowledging the weight of their concerns. "That's why I won't go to Gringotts until Saturday. Too many eyes on me right now."
But even as he said it, he reached for a blank piece of parchment, quickly scribbling a letter to Grimbok.
Grimbok,
I need to meet with you this Saturday at Gringotts. The situation has changed drastically.
I believe I have a verbal emancipation out of Dumbledore and Crouch during the selection of the champions. I am being forced to compete in a tournament for of age wizards only.
Please prepare the Lordship rings for the meeting.
Time is of the essence.
HJPB
He sealed the letter and handed It to Tilly, who appeared with a small pop, bowing deeply.
"Deliver this to Grimbok," Harry instructed. "Make sure only he sees it."
"It will be done, Master Harry," Tilly said solemnly before disappearing.
That night, as he lay in bed in the Ravenclaw dormitory, a small letter popped into existence in front of him.
He caught it mid-air and unfolded it.
There were no unnecessary words. No formalities.
Just a single sentence, written in bold goblin script:
It will be done.
~
Harry made sure to be seen at breakfast, sitting with Luna and Neville, answering questions about the Tournament in carefully measured words.
"I guess someone thought it'd be funny to put my name in," he said with an easy shrug, ensuring the students around him overheard. "Not much I can do about it now, I suppose."
Across the Great Hall, Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled far too intensely, watching him closely. Harry made a point of not looking back.
After finishing his meal, he stretched and spoke loudly while walking out with the others, "I'm heading to study for a while. Don't want to fall behind while everyone else is busy gossiping."
"How responsible of you, Potter," Blaise smirked, playing along as the nearby Gryffindors scoffed.
Neville gave a knowing nod, while Theo discreetly tilted his head, silently asking if he wanted them to cover for him further.
Harry shook his head slightly. He had this.
With that, he picked up his bag and left.
Inside the hidden fourth-floor room, Harry called for Tilly in a hushed voice.
With a quiet pop, his faithful house-elf appeared. "Master Harry?"
"Take me to Grimbok's office, please," he instructed.
The world twisted for a brief moment, and before he knew it, he was standing in the familiar stone-walled office deep within Gringotts.
Grimbok sat behind his grand desk, eyes glinting with something sharp and knowing. He smirked. "Lord Peverell. Let's get down to business."
Harry sat, leaning forward. "We have a lot to discuss."
"Of course," Grimbok said, amusement lacing his tone. "Now, I want the full story. Every detail. How exactly did you force a verbal emancipation from the most powerful wizard in Britain?"
Harry told him everything.
From the moment the Goblet spat out his name, to how he worded his challenge, ensuring that both Dumbledore and Crouch confirmed his status as a participant in a tournament for adult wizards.
By the end, Grimbok was grinning.
"A roundabout way of doing it, but effective nonetheless," the goblin mused. "The only way to be certain it worked is to test it. If the Lord Rings accept you, then your emancipation is valid, and no one—including Dumbledore—can override it."
Harry took a deep breath, his hands curling slightly. "How long can you delay sending the official documents to the Ministry and Dumbledore?"
Grimbok tapped a clawed finger on his desk, considering. "The Ministry will have to acknowledge it eventually. However... Gringotts has ways of 'misplacing' things. We could ensure the notifications are delayed until, say... Christmas?"
Harry's heart thudded in his chest.
Christmas. That would mean Dumbledore wouldn't know until the Yule Wizengamot Meeting on the 26th, where he would have to acknowledge Harry as Lord of four Ancient and Noble Houses before the entire governing body of magical Britain.
By then, it would be too late to stop it.
"Make it happen," Harry said firmly.
Grimbok nodded. "Then it's time."
The goblin reached into a silver-lined box, carefully lifting three rings—one at a time—and setting them on a black silk cloth in front of Harry.
"We will start with Slytherin," Grimbok instructed. "Then Black, then Potter."
Harry swallowed hard. This was it.
The first ring was made of dark emerald jade, veined with silver. The face bore an intricately carved serpent, eyes gleaming with green gemstones that pulsed with ancient magic.
Grimbok explained, "This ring strengthens the wearers occlumency barriers, and shields against minor mental attacks. It will also heat up in warning if a potion or food is laced with harmful intent."
Harry hesitated only a second before picking it up. The moment his skin met the jade, a warmth spread up his arm—not burning, but powerful. The carved serpent shifted, its eyes glowing brighter.
The magic recognised him.
He slipped it onto his finger, and his entire body felt... steadier.
He let out a shaky breath.
The second ring was obsidian black, set with a single deep blue sapphire. It bore the sigil of House Black—a growling hound standing before a starry sky.
Grimbok's voice softened slightly. "This is a ring of protection and power. It enhances wandless magic, not that you need it, and allows control of any Black estate."
Harry picked it up, feeling the cool weight in his palm.
The sapphire flared with light—deep, midnight blue—before settling onto his finger with a pulse of recognition.
The acceptance was immediate.
The final ring was the simplest—a band of gold, adorned with the head of a dragon engraved into the metal, a ruby set in its eye. Making Harry remember the first time he had seen the Potter crest in his research before coming to Hogwarts.
Grimbok spoke in reverence. "The Potter ring is one of guardianship and honour. It was crafted to store the magic of its wearer. It is also a portkey to the Potter estates."
Harry could barely breathe as he picked it up.
This one felt different.
The moment it slid onto his finger, a deep warmth engulfed him, like the embrace of a family long lost.
A rush of emotion nearly overwhelmed him—grief, love, pride, longing—all the feelings of his ancestors who had worn this ring before him.
His father.
The magic of House Potter wrapped around him, accepting him as its rightful Lord.
The room was silent.
Harry stared at his hands, now adorned with four powerful legacies.
Grimbok gave a rare, solemn nod. "It is done. You are now Lord Potter-Black, Lord to the houses Peverell, Potter, Black and Slytherin."
Harry exhaled shakily, blinking away the burning in his eyes.
Harry was still staring at his hands, at the rings now sitting on his fingers, when Grimbok gave a gruff chuckle, breaking the silence.
"We have a lot of work to do," the goblin announced, leaning back in his chair. "Did you ever read those books on lordships and their duties?"
Harry grimaced. "Yes..." he muttered. "It was the driest, most painful reading I've ever done. And I was eleven. I think I fell asleep on top of them more times than I actually read them."
Grimbok smirked. "Then you'd better touch up, lad. You're going to need that knowledge when it comes time to work the other Lords over. This isn't just a title—it's politics, power, and manoeuvring. You'll be playing with the old wolves now. The Wizengamot isn't just a collection of pompous fools, it's a battlefield."
Harry nodded, schooling his expression into something more neutral. He wasn't naive enough to think that just having the Lordships would grant him instant control—he had to earn it. And he had to be careful. Dumbledore was going to lose his mind when he found out.
"I'll study," Harry promised. "I need to be prepared before I step into the arena."
"Good," Grimbok grunted in approval, before his tone shifted slightly, casual, but far too knowing. "By the way, the Lestrange dragon looks a bit fuller these days..."
Harry froze, then tried for innocence. "Huh?"
The goblin raised a brow. "Don't play dumb, boy. I've had reports. Someone has been sneaking into the lower vaults every few nights, leaving behind suspiciously large portions of meat. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
Harry winced.
Busted.
He shifted slightly, not meeting Grimbok's piercing gaze. "I—maybe?"
"At least you're being careful about not getting caught," Grimbok admitted with a sigh, shaking his head. "Though I suppose I should be grateful you haven't outright stolen him away yet."
Harry snorted. "Don't tempt me."
Grimbok barked out a laugh. "Oh, I'm sure you've considered it."
Harry absolutely had. Every time he went down there, every time he saw those milky eyes, that worn body, that cautious but slowly growing trust—the desire to rip the chains away and take him home burned in his chest. He had so much work to do for the trunk still.
One day.
He'd get his hatchling out of there one day.
But first...
He had a war to prepare for.
~
November 13th arrived cold and sharp, the air stale in the dungeons of Hogwarts as Harry sat beside Neville in Potions, pointedly ignoring Snape's scathing remarks. The man seemed particularly venomous today, sneering at every little movement Harry made, but Harry had long since perfected the art of letting it wash over him.
He focused on crushing the dried billywig stings into a fine powder, tuning out Snape's mocking tone as he glided past his station.
"Perhaps if you spent more time studying your potions work, Mr. Potter, instead of basking in the limelight, you might finally prove to be something other than a waste of talent."
Harry didn't rise to the bait, barely flicking his gaze upward as Neville grimaced beside him. Before Snape could continue his tirade, the classroom door burst open, and a familiar voice interrupted.
"Professor Snape, sir!"
Colin Creevey stood breathlessly at the entrance, clutching his camera like a lifeline. He looked around before spotting Harry and grinning excitedly. "Harry Potter is needed for the Wand Weighing Ceremony!"
Snape twisted around slowly, his expression souring even more. "Of course he is." He sneered, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Off you go, then, Mr. Potter. Wouldn't want to keep the cameras waiting, after all."
Harry bit back a sigh, setting down his mortar and pestle. He packed away his ingredients with deliberate slowness, just to be petty, before grabbing his bag and following Collin out the door.
The younger boy practically bounced on his feet as they walked, looking up at Harry with barely contained enthusiasm.
"I can't believe you're actually competing in the Triwizard Tournament!" Colin gushed. "I mean, I know you didn't put your name in and all, but it's still amazing! And that Patronus you did last year at the match? That was incredible!"
Harry shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh… thanks."
It wasn't that he disliked Colin—the kid was just so enthusiastic. It made Harry feel like he had eyes on him at all times, and that kind of attention had never sat well with him.
By the time they reached the room where the Wand Weighing Ceremony was being held, Harry had mentally braced himself for the inevitable circus this was about to be.
The other champions were already there when Harry stepped inside. Cedric was leaning casually against a table, chatting animatedly with Mr. Ollivander, while Fleur stood off to the side, arms crossed, looking mildly disinterested in the entire process.
Krum stood stoically near the back, his heavy brow furrowed, his dark eyes sweeping across the room before landing briefly on Harry.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, right on time!" Ludo Bagman greeted cheerfully, clapping his hands together. "Let's get started, shall we?"
Ollivander moved through the group, checking each champion's wand carefully, murmuring about their cores and woods with a reverence only a wandmaker could possess.
When he got to Cedric, the Hufflepuff smirked and twirled his wand between his fingers.
"I polish mine every night," Cedric said playfully, his tone full of mock arrogance.
Harry had to turn away quickly to smother a laugh, shaking his head as he caught Krum's eyes.
Krum's lips ticked upward slightly—the closest thing to amusement Harry had seen from him yet—before the Durmstrang champion looked away.
When it was finally Harry's turn, he handed his holly-and-phoenix-feather wand to Ollivander, watching as the old man examined it carefully.
"Ah, yes, I remember this one quite well," Ollivander murmured, turning it over in his hands. "Eleven inches, holly, phoenix feather core… curious, very curious."
Harry's fingers twitched slightly at the familiar words, but Ollivander didn't elaborate this time. Instead, he gave it a few expert flicks, muttering his approval before handing it back.
"In excellent condition, Mr. Potter," he said with a small nod. "You take good care of it."
"Thanks," Harry replied, tucking it away.
Before they could move on, the door slammed open, and Rita Skeeter swept into the room like a storm in garish green robes.
"Harry, dear!" she cooed, her eyes gleaming like a predator who had found fresh prey. "A quick interview, if you please?"
Harry stiffened immediately, feeling all the eyes in the room land on him.
"No, thank you," he said firmly, stepping back. "I haven't given consent for an interview, and I won't be making any statements about a tournament I was forced into."
Skeeter blinked, caught off guard for the briefest moment before quickly recovering. "Oh, but surely you'd like to clear the air—"
"No."
Skeeter's smile stiffened, but before she could try another angle, Harry turned on his heel and walked out of the room.
He barely made it down the hall before he heard footsteps behind him.
"You haff courage," a voice rumbled.
Harry glanced over his shoulder, surprised to see Viktor Krum catching up to him.
"What?"
"Most vould not refuse her," Krum said simply. "She is… persistent."
"That's one way to put it," Harry muttered. "But I've never given an interview before, and I don't plan on starting now."
That seemed to surprise Krum. "Never?"
Harry shook his head. "Never."
Krum frowned, clearly confused. "But you are… famous. You haff been since you were a baby."
"Yeah," Harry sighed, "but not in a good way."
Krum was silent for a moment, digesting that.
Harry hesitated, glancing at the Durmstrang champion, before finally gathering his courage. "Actually… I wanted to ask you something."
Krum raised a brow, gesturing for him to continue.
"The student who performed at the feast when you all arrived—the one who danced and spat fire—"
Krum nodded. "You mean Petar?"
Harry wasn't sure. "I think so? Do you think you could introduce me? I wanted to ask him if he could show me how to move like that."
Krum paused mid-step, looking genuinely caught off guard.
Then, to Harry's absolute surprise, he chuckled.
"Hah. Is first time someone ask me to introduce them to someone else, not other vay around," Krum said, shaking his head. "Most people vant to meet me."
Harry grinned slightly. "Well, sorry to disappoint."
Krum's expression softened just a fraction. "Is good. Refreshing."
Harry hesitated before extending the invitation. "Would you both like to join us at the Ravenclaw table for dinner?"
Krum looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "Da. I vill bring Petar. Ve vill see you then, Harry Potter."
Harry smiled slightly, nodding back. "See you then, Viktor Krum."
As Krum strode off, Harry felt a small thrill of excitement. He wasn't sure why, but he had a feeling this meeting was going to be interesting.
~
The Ravenclaw table was busier than usual, students whispering in hushed tones about the events of the day, most of them glancing at Harry every now and then. It had become a bit of a routine now, but Harry ignored it, taking a seat near the end of the table where it was quieter.
Luna sat to his left, humming an odd tune under her breath, while Theo and Blaise sat across from them, discussing something in hushed tones. Neville slid into the seat beside Blaise, greeting them all with a nod before helping himself to some roast potatoes.
Before he even settled in, a small second-year tugged at Harry's sleeve.
"Harry!" the boy chirped brightly.
Harry turned, ruffling his hair fondly. "Alright there, Elliot?"
Elliot Moon—a brilliant but scatterbrained first-year—grinned up at him. "Yep! I finally got the Sticking Charm to work on my notes thanks to your help last week."
"Nice work," Harry praised, grinning. "Told you it was all in the wrist movement."
Elliot nodded enthusiastically before scurrying back to his friends, who were eyeing Harry like he was some kind of mythological creature.
Theo arched an eyebrow. "You do realise you've basically adopted the first-years, don't you?"
Harry shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Someone has to help them. And Elliot's brilliant—just needs a bit of guidance."
Luna gave him a dreamy look. "You're very good at taking care of things, Harry."
Harry rolled his eyes, ignoring Blaise's knowing smirk.
Before they could continue, the Great Hall doors opened, and a sudden hush spread through the room.
Viktor Krum strode in first, his heavy footsteps deliberate, his dark gaze sweeping the tables. Walking beside him was the Durmstrang student from the opening feast—Petar.
Harry straightened slightly.
Petar was taller than Harry by a few inches, with lean muscle and a gracefulness in the way he moved that reminded Harry of a predator. His dark brown hair was cropped short, and his sharp, golden-hazel eyes flickered with amusement as he followed Krum's lead.
"I hope you lot don't mind," Harry muttered to his friends. "I, uh… invited them."
Theo's face twitched slightly, but he didn't say anything. Blaise smirked knowingly, while Neville elbowed him discreetly, probably to keep from laughing.
Luna merely clapped her hands together in delight.
"This will be fun."
Krum and Petar reached the table, their presence alone causing whispers to ripple through Ravenclaw House.
"Harry Potter." Krum greeted first, his thick Bulgarian accent rolling through the syllables as he inclined his head.
"Viktor Krum," Harry greeted back, standing up briefly before gesturing to the others.
"This is Luna Lovegood," he started, Luna giving a dreamy wave.
"Neville Longbottom." Neville nodded politely, though his gaze lingered on Krum like he was still a bit starstruck.
"Blaise Zabini." Blaise tilted his head with a lazy smirk.
"And Theodore Nott." Theo gave a sharp nod, his arms crossed over his chest.
Petar chuckled, his voice light and teasing. "You haf bodyguards, Potter?"
Harry snorted. "Something like that."
"More like babysitters," Blaise quipped, causing Theo to roll his eyes.
Petar grinned before sitting on the bench next to Harry.
"You vanted to know about the movements, yes?" he said, looking at Harry with interest.
Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. What kind is it? It looked like a mix of combat and dance—I've never seen anything like it before."
Petar grinned, pleased by the interest.
"Is a mix of martial arts, flexibility, and movement," he explained. "Most think fighting is about strength, but strength means little if you cannot move."
Harry leaned forward, intrigued. "So it's like dodging and attacking at the same time?"
Petar nodded. "Exactly. It lets me control how and where my enemy moves—forces them into positions I vant."
Theo frowned, clearly skeptical. "And you combine this with magic?"
"Sometimes," Petar admitted. "But it takes discipline. Control. If your movements are off, it can backfire."
Harry's mind was already racing. He'd always been good at thinking on his feet, moving faster than his opponents—but this was something else entirely.
"Are you a fire elemental?"
Petar blinked in surprise before grinning wolfishly.
"No," he said, holding up his hand.
A thick silver band glinted on his ring finger.
"This," he said, tapping the ring, "is a conduit for my magic. I channel fire through it instead of using a vand."
Harry's enthusiasm dimmed slightly, but he was still fascinated.
"How does it work?" he asked, tilting his head.
Petar tapped the metal again. "It is… difficult to control. Fire is not like other element—it is wild, living, hungry. You must guide it, not force it. If you push too hard, it vill burn you." Harry of course already knew this.
Harry nodded, taking the words in, and after a moment, Petar smirked.
"Vould you like to learn?"
The table went silent.
Harry's face lit up immediately. "Yes!"
Theo, however, looked put out. "Great, another dangerous hobby."
Blaise snorted, covering a laugh, while Neville smirked into his goblet of pumpkin juice.
Luna tilted her head, looking between Harry and Petar before giggling quietly.
Petar raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Your friends are… protective."
"You have no idea," Harry muttered dryly.
Petar chuckled, then nodded. "We meet this veekend. Outside, vith space. I show you control."
Harry grinned, buzzing with excitement. "Looking forward to it."
As they continued eating, Krum and Petar seemed to settle in comfortably. Krum mostly listened quietly, occasionally adding a comment here and there, while Petar told more stories about training at Durmstrang.
At one point, Petar leaned closer, nudging Harry's arm.
"You move vell already," he said. "I saw how you dodged in practice against that Moody professor. But you are not using it right."
Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You move like someone who learned from instinct," Petar explained. "You are quick, but not precise. If you learn control, you vill be unbeatable."
The words sent a thrill through Harry's chest.
He had always fought on instinct—dodging, rolling, escaping—but what if he could refine it? What if he could actually use it as a weapon instead of just survival?
Theo sighed dramatically beside him. "I can already tell you're going to obsess over this."
Harry shot him a grin. "Obviously."
Blaise and Neville laughed, while Luna simply smiled knowingly, as if she had already foreseen this happening.