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The champions' tent felt decidedly more cheerful after the first task than it had before. No longer filled with the tense silence of anticipation, it now buzzed with relieved conversation and the occasional wince as Madam Pomfrey fussed over Cedric's burns. Harry sat on a folding chair, golden egg balanced on his knees, still trying to process what had happened with the dragon's magic interfering with his shadow bindings. He felt drained but exhilarated, the adrenaline slowly ebbing from his system.
Ludo Bagman burst into the tent, his boyish enthusiasm even more pronounced than usual.
"Extraordinary!" he boomed, beaming at them all. "Absolutely extraordinary performances from every one of you! Dragons! And you all managed it! Who'd have thought it?"
Krum merely grunted, examining his golden egg with a critical eye. Fleur was using her wand to repair a singed patch in her robes, though her perfect posture betrayed no sign of the fatigue Harry felt. Cedric managed a pained smile as Madam Pomfrey applied more burn-healing paste to his face.
"Now then," Bagman continued, practically bouncing on his heels, "just a quick briefing before you can all go celebrate—or rest," he added with a glance at Cedric. "Those golden eggs you're holding—they contain the clue for the second task! Yes, that's right—open them when you're alone and you'll receive all the information you need to prepare for what's coming in February!"
Harry eyed the egg with new interest. Its smooth, golden surface gave no hint of what might be inside, though it was surprisingly light for its size.
"But not now!" Bagman said quickly, noticing Harry's curious examination. "Each champion should work out the clue alone—that's tradition!"
Mr. Crouch entered the tent then, along with the three headmasters. Dumbledore's eyes found Harry immediately, and Harry had to fight the urge to look away. Did the headmaster suspect something about his shadow magic?
"The first task has concluded most satisfactorily," Crouch announced in his clipped, precise voice. "Congratulations to all champions for your... innovative approaches."
As Crouch continued discussing logistics for the tournament's next phase, Bagman sidled over to Harry, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"That was quite the performance, Potter," he said, eyes gleaming with fascination. "Never seen anything like it! What exactly was that misty stuff? Couldn't see a thing from the judges' box—just darkness, then you appearing at the nest! Brilliant strategy."
Harry had anticipated this question and prepared his answer carefully. "It was something I came up with in potions," he explained, keeping his voice casual. "Combined a freezing solution with what you might call a darkness powder—similar to what Zonko's sells, but more concentrated. The dragon's fire couldn't penetrate it, and it couldn't see me either."
"Fascinating!" Bagman exclaimed, a bit too loudly. "And how did you move through it so quickly? One moment you were on your broom, the next at the nest!"
Harry shrugged, allowing a small smile. "Just good flying, I suppose. The mist only affects vision—I could still navigate by feel. The dragon was confused; I wasn't."
Bagman looked like he wanted to press further, but Crouch had finished speaking and was now watching them with an impatient expression.
"If I might continue," Crouch said testily. "The second task will take place on the twenty-fourth of February. It will test not merely your magical ability, but your courage in the face of fear, your willpower under pressure, and your ability to navigate the unknown."
The cryptic announcement sent a ripple of tension through the champions. Facing the unknown seemed to be becoming a theme of this tournament.
"And now," Crouch continued, "the official standings after the first task."
Harry straightened in his chair. Despite his confidence in his performance, hearing the official scores still made his stomach tighten.
"In fourth place, with thirty-eight points: Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts."
Cedric nodded, looking neither surprised nor disappointed.
"In third place, with forty points: Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons."
Fleur's expression remained perfectly composed, though Harry detected a slight tightening around her eyes.
"And tied for first place, with forty-two points each: Viktor Krum of Durmstrang and Harry Potter of Hogwarts."
A surge of pride swept through Harry. First place—tied, but still first! After everything, all the doubt and mockery, he'd proven himself against champions three years his senior.
As the officials began to disperse, discussing arrangements for the champions' return to their respective accommodations, Harry found himself standing near Fleur. An impish impulse overcame his usual reserve.
"Not bad for a 'little boy,' wouldn't you say?" he remarked, just loudly enough for her to hear.
Fleur's blue eyes narrowed slightly as she turned to face him. "Perhaps not," she conceded, her accent thickening slightly. "Though I notice you 'ad to 'ide in a cloud of darkness. Some might call zat... 'ow you say... luck rather zan skill?"
Her tone was so perfectly polite that the barb almost didn't register. Almost.
"Preparation, not luck," Harry countered, matching her polite tone. "Though I can see how the difference might be confusing from a distance."
"We shall see in February which of us truly deserves ze top position," she replied with a slight lift of her chin. "Good day, 'Arry Potter."
As Fleur glided away to join Madame Maxime, Harry caught Dumbledore watching him with that familiar, penetrating gaze. There was no twinkle in the headmaster's blue eyes now, only a searching intensity that made Harry feel uncomfortably exposed.
He knows something's not right with my story, Harry thought. But how much does he suspect?
"Come along, Potter, Diggory," Dumbledore called, his voice cheerful despite his searching look. "I believe your fellow students are eager to celebrate your achievements. And rightly so."
As Harry fell into step beside Cedric and Dumbledore, he couldn't help but feel a conflicting mix of triumph and unease. He'd conquered the dragon and secured first place, but how long would his secret remain his own?
I'll worry about that tomorrow, he decided, thinking of Hermione and Ginny waiting back at the castle. Tonight is for celebrating.
The walk back to Hogwarts was mercifully quiet compared to the roaring crowds of the arena. Harry, Cedric, and Dumbledore followed the path around the lake, the November air crisp with approaching winter. The golden egg tucked securely under Harry's arm felt like a trophy of more than just the tournament.
Cedric winced occasionally as they walked, the burn paste on his face glistening in the late afternoon light. Despite his injury, he seemed in good spirits, glancing at Harry with curiosity.
"That was some impressive magic back there, Potter," he said finally, breaking the comfortable silence. "I've never seen anything like that mist you created."
Harry nodded, careful to maintain his fabricated explanation. "It's something I've been working on since I found out about the dragons. Combined a few different ideas—the Frigidus Nebula for neutralizing fire, and then a sort of enhanced Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder concept."
"The Frigidus—what?" Cedric asked, his eyebrows rising.
"A plant Neville Longbottom showed me," Harry explained. "It creates a cold mist that neutralizes dragon fire. I just needed to find a way to make it work better."
Dumbledore, walking slightly ahead of them, showed no reaction, but Harry was certain the headmaster was listening intently to every word.
"Smart," Cedric acknowledged with genuine respect. "I didn't think of using the environment against the dragon. Just went straight for transfiguration—bit obvious for a Hogwarts champion, I suppose."
"Your transfiguration was brilliant," Harry countered. "That massive dog was incredible. Professor McGonagall must have been impressed."
Cedric laughed, then winced as the movement pulled at his burned skin. "I hope so. Three extra hours of practice every week this term—I'd better have gotten something out of it."
"I must say," Dumbledore interjected, his tone casual but his eyes keen, "both of my champions performed admirably. Hogwarts should be very proud indeed."
As they crested the hill leading to the castle grounds, they could see students already streaming back toward the school, some running ahead to prepare what would undoubtedly be enthusiastic celebrations.
"I expect your houses will be rather eager to commemorate your achievements," Dumbledore continued, a familiar twinkle returning to his eyes. "The kitchens have been unusually busy this afternoon."
"Sir," Cedric said hesitantly, "do you think they'll stop now? The badges and everything?"
Harry knew immediately what Cedric meant. The "Potter Stinks" badges had been a constant reminder of how quickly the school had turned against him.
"I believe most students will find their accusations rather difficult to maintain in the face of such compelling evidence of Mr. Potter's abilities," Dumbledore replied diplomatically. "Though some minds are more resistant to change than others."
"The Slytherins will keep wearing them," Harry said flatly. "They'd sooner eat their wands than admit they were wrong about me."
Cedric gave him a sympathetic look. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about all that. I told people you wouldn't have put your name in, but..."
"But they were quick to believe the worst," Harry finished for him. "Just like second year with the Chamber of Secrets. This place has a real talent for turning on people."
An awkward silence fell between them, broken only by their footsteps on the path.
As they reached the entrance hall, already filled with excited students, Dumbledore paused. "Mr. Diggory, I believe the Hospital Wing might be your first destination—Madam Pomfrey would like to check those burns once more. Mr. Potter..."
Harry braced himself, somehow knowing what was coming.
"I would appreciate a visit to my office tomorrow morning, shall we say ten o'clock? Nothing to worry about," Dumbledore added, seeing Harry's expression. "Merely a few questions about your rather... innovative approach today."
Harry nodded, trying to hide his unease. "Yes, sir. I'll be there."
The headmaster smiled benignly. "Excellent. And now, I believe both of you have earned a moment of celebration. The term 'hero's welcome' may be particularly apt this evening."
As Dumbledore departed, Cedric turned to Harry. "Good luck with your house party. Hufflepuff will be mad tonight, even with me in fourth place."
"You did brilliantly," Harry said honestly. "Those burns prove it."
Cedric grinned. "Battle scars, right? See you around, Potter. And... thanks again for the warning about the dragons."
With a final nod, Cedric headed toward the hospital wing, leaving Harry alone in the entrance hall, surrounded by staring students who seemed unsure whether to approach the champion who had just tamed a dragon with mysterious dark mist.
Now for the hard part, Harry thought grimly, facing everyone who called me a liar and a cheat.
But as his mind turned to Hermione and Ginny waiting somewhere in the castle, a smile tugged at his lips. Not everyone had abandoned him. And those who had matter a whole lot less now than they did before.
Squaring his shoulders, golden egg tucked firmly under his arm, Harry began the walk toward Gryffindor Tower and whatever reception awaited him there.
The noise hit Harry before he even reached the portrait hole. The Fat Lady was looking somewhat flustered, her cheeks pink as raucous laughter and music spilled out every time she swung open to admit another student.
"Password?" she asked, eyeing the golden egg under Harry's arm with interest.
"Balderdash," Harry replied, bracing himself for what awaited inside.
The portrait swung open, and a wall of sound washed over him. The common room had been transformed into something between a carnival and a nightclub. Red and gold streamers hung from every surface, enchanted confetti rained from the ceiling, and a large banner reading "POTTER RULES, DRAGONS DROOL" stretched across the back wall. Bottles of butterbeer and—Harry noticed with raised eyebrows—several suspicious flasks of amber liquid that was definitely not pumpkin juice were being passed around.
"HARRY!" multiple voices shouted as he stepped through the portrait hole.
Suddenly he was surrounded, back being slapped, hand being shaken, voices all talking over each other.
"Amazing performance—" "That shadow thing—" "The way you just appeared at the nest—" "Showed that Horntail who's boss—"
Harry forced a smile, but internally, his blood boiled. These were the same people who, just days ago, had worn "Potter Stinks" badges, whispered "cheat" as he passed in hallways, and treated him like an outcast. Now they acted as if they'd supported him all along.
Hypocrites, the lot of them, he thought bitterly, even as he nodded and accepted their congratulations.
Fred and George Weasley appeared on either side of him, both holding goblets of something that smelled strongly of cinnamon and firewhiskey.
"The man of the hour!" Fred declared, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders.
"The dragon-tamer himself!" George added, deftly relieving Harry of the golden egg to examine it.
"Quite the performance, Harry," Fred continued, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "That shadow trick—very impressive. Don't suppose you'd share the secret?"
"Trade secrets," Harry replied with a forced grin. "Maybe I'll start my own joke shop to rival yours."
George clutched his chest in mock horror. "You wound us! After we supplied this fine celebration? For shame!"
Harry glanced around at the assorted bottles. "I should have known you two were behind this. How did you even get—" He shook his head. "Never mind. I don't want to know."
"Wise decision," Fred nodded sagely.
As the twins wandered off to "supervise" some second-years who were eyeing the stronger beverages, Harry scanned the room for Hermione and Ginny. He spotted Hermione near the fireplace, deep in conversation with Neville, likely thanking him for the Frigidus Nebula that had been so instrumental in his success. Ginny was by the refreshment table, but her eyes met his across the room, a private smile passing between them that made his heart quicken.
Before he could make his way to either of them, Angelina Johnson approached, flanked by Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet. Unlike the boisterous crowd, they looked somewhat contrite.
"Harry," Angelina began, her voice serious despite the celebration around them. "We wanted to tell you—well, I wanted to tell you specifically—that I'm sorry. For doubting you. For not speaking up when others were giving you a hard time."
Katie nodded earnestly. "We should have known better. You've never sought attention."
"It was stupid of us," Alicia added. "You've been our Seeker for years. We know you better than that."
Harry studied their faces, finding genuine remorse there. Unlike the casual well-wishers, his Quidditch teammates seemed truly sorry. He suspected the twins had something to do with their apology. He wanted to tell them something harsh, but he figured keeping them as allies was better for him.
"Thanks," he said finally. "That means a lot, actually."
Angelina looked relieved. "So we're good?"
"We're good," Harry confirmed with a nod. "Though I might need some practice time when Quidditch starts up again next year. I think today's the only flying I've done in months."
They laughed, the tension broken, and rejoined the celebration as Lee Jordan started a remarkably accurate reenactment of Krum's performance, complete with an enchanted miniature dragon.
Harry finally made his way to Ginny, who handed him a butterbeer with a wink.
"Enjoying your moment of glory?" she asked, her voice casual but her eyes warm with pride.
"It's a bit much," Harry admitted, taking a sip. "Especially considering half these people thought I was a lying, attention-seeking prat last week."
"People are fickle," Ginny said matter-of-factly. "But some of us never doubted you." The way she said it made it clear she was referring to herself, Hermione, Neville, the Weasley Twins, and a few others.
Harry's gaze softened. "I know. And that's what matters."
Their moment was interrupted by George, who had climbed onto a table with the golden egg held high.
"Speech, speech!" someone called, and soon the whole room was chanting.
Harry reluctantly joined George, who handed him the egg with a flourish.
"Er, thanks everyone," Harry said awkwardly. "I appreciate the support. Truly." He couldn't quite keep the edge from his voice on the last word, but few seemed to notice.
"Open the egg!" several voices called. "Let's see the clue!"
Curious himself, Harry found the latch on the golden shell and twisted it. The egg split open, revealing not the yolk he had half-expected, but a hollow interior from which emanated the most horrible noise he had ever heard—a high-pitched screeching wail that seemed to claw at his eardrums. It wasn't particularly loud, but something about the frequency was deeply unsettling, like a creature in terrible pain.
Harry snapped the egg shut as quickly as he could, but the disturbing sound lingered in his mind.
"What the bloody hell was that?" Dean Thomas asked, looking shaken.
"Sounded like Percy singing in the shower," Fred suggested, to nervous laughter.
"Maybe it's a banshee!" a third-year suggested. "The second task could be facing one of those!"
"Is the sound of someone getting tortured by Crucio, maybe that's the second task." Neville said loud enough for the others to hear, but Hermione said how unlikely that would be, especially since Crucio was an unforgivable curse.
As theories circulated through the common room, Harry noticed Hermione's thoughtful expression. She wasn't speculating wildly like the others; she was analyzing, her brilliant mind already working on the puzzle.
The party resumed, though now with the added excitement of the mysterious egg. Harry found himself pulled from group to group, retelling the story of facing the dragon, carefully sticking to his fabricated explanation about the shadow mist.
"It's a modification of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder," he explained to an enthralled group of fifth-years. "Combined with a freezing solution from a plant called Frigidus Nebula."
"But how did you move through it so fast?" Lavender Brown asked, looking at him with new admiration.
"Just practice," Harry replied with a modest shrug that he knew would frustrate her. "And a bit of luck."
Eventually, Hermione managed to maneuver through the crowd to his side, her expression a mix of pride and amusement at his newfound celebrity.
"Quite the hero," she murmured, bumping his shoulder lightly with hers.
"Not you too," Harry groaned, though he couldn't help smiling.
Hermione leaned closer, ostensibly to reach for a butterbeer, and whispered, "Our special room, ten o'clock. Don't be late. Ginny and I will have a proper celebration waiting."
The look in her eyes sent a pleasant shiver down Harry's spine. With renewed purpose, he surveyed the increasingly rowdy party, calculating how much longer he needed to make an appearance before he could slip away.
As Seamus produced an enchanted camera and began organizing group photos, Harry caught Ginny's eye across the room. She raised her butterbeer in a silent toast, her meaning clear: Soon.
As the celebration in the common room grew louder, Harry slipped away, using the excuse of needing to clean up after the task. He climbed the spiral staircase to the boys' dormitory, his mind already on his upcoming meeting with Hermione and Ginny. The golden egg sat on his bed where he'd left it earlier, its mysterious contents still puzzling him.
Harry moved to his trunk, pulling out fresh clothes and his Invisibility Cloak. The cloak would be useful for avoiding celebrants and teachers alike on his way there.
He was just pulling a clean sweater over his head when the dormitory door creaked open. Expecting Neville or one of the other boys, Harry was startled to find Ron standing there, his lanky frame silhouetted against the doorway. The redhead's expression was a complicated mixture of emotions—discomfort, pride, and something like regret.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other, three weeks of silent treatment creating a thick wall between them.
"Hey," Ron finally said, his voice unnaturally casual.
"Hey," Harry replied flatly, continuing to prepare his things.
Ron shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly having rehearsed what to say but finding the actual execution more difficult. "That was... that was really brilliant, what you did. With the dragon."
Harry didn't respond, just folded his cloak carefully.
"Look, Harry," Ron burst out, unable to maintain the casual facade any longer. "I'm sorry, alright? I was a prat. I should have believed you about not putting your name in the goblet."
Harry paused, his back still to Ron. Three weeks ago, he would have accepted this apology instantly, grateful to have his best friend back. But he wasn't the same person he'd been three weeks ago.
"I was wondering when this would happen," Harry said quietly, turning to face Ron. "Right after I succeed at something impressive. Convenient timing."
Ron flushed. "That's not fair. I've been feeling bad about it for—"
"For how long, Ron?" Harry interrupted. "Since you saw me nearly get roasted by a dragon? Or since you heard everyone cheering my name? When exactly did you decide I might be telling the truth after all?"
Ron seemed taken aback by Harry's directness. "I... I've known for a while, I just—"
"Just couldn't bring yourself to admit it," Harry finished for him. "Not until I proved myself in front of the whole school."
"I apologized, didn't I?" Ron's voice took on a defensive edge. "You accepted Angelina's apology. And Katie's. Why not mine?"
"Because they weren't my best friends," he said simply. "They were teammates, people I see at practice and meals. They didn't know me like you did. They didn't know how much I hate the attention, how every year I just want a normal school experience. But you knew all that, and you still thought I'd cheat my way into more danger and more unwanted fame."
Ron's face paled slightly. "I wasn't thinking straight. I was jealous, and—"
"I remember exactly what you said, Ron," Harry cut in, his voice still controlled but with an edge of steel. "'Sure, mate. Just like you didn't want the money, or the fame, or everyone talking about you all the time. Must be awful, being Harry Potter. Always getting special treatment, always being the exception to every rule.'"
Ron flinched as his own words were thrown back at him.
"And when I reminded you what my 'special treatment' really meant—living in a cupboard, my parents being dead, Voldemort trying to kill me every year—you said, and I quote: 'Oh, here we go again. Poor orphan Harry, always playing that card when it's convenient. At least you got to be somebody! At least people know your name!'"
The silence that followed was deafening. Ron looked as though he'd been physically struck, the full impact of his cruelty finally sinking in.
"I didn't mean—" he began weakly.
"You did," Harry said with quiet certainty. "You meant every word. That's the problem, Ron. You said what you really thought of me."
Ron's shoulders slumped. "I was wrong. I'm sorry. Really sorry, Harry. I don't know what else to say."
For a brief, vindictive moment, Harry considered telling Ron about Ginny—about how his sister had chosen Harry, about the nights they'd spent together. The look on Ron's face would be satisfying in a cruel way.
But that wasn't who Harry wanted to be. He was better than petty revenge. Besides, Ron would find out eventually, and the fallout would be that much more devastating for coming after this attempted reconciliation.
"I don't need you to say anything," Harry replied finally. "I need you to leave me alone."
"So that's it then?" Ron asked, a hint of anger returning to his voice. "Three years of friendship, just... over?"
Harry shouldered his bag, tucking the Invisibility Cloak under his arm. "You ended it, not me. Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be."
As Harry moved toward the door, Ron stepped aside, his expression a mixture of confusion and hurt.
"They're right, you know," Ron said as Harry passed him. "You have changed."
Harry paused at the doorway. "Yes," he agreed simply. "I have."
"I'm sorry, and I really hope one day we can go back to how it used to be." Ron muttered under his breath, but Harry still heard him.
Without another glance back, Harry descended the stairs, leaving his former best friend standing alone in the dormitory. The familiar weight of guilt he might have once felt was noticeably absent. In its place was a sense of closure—a chapter ending, but a new one already well underway.
As he slipped out of the portrait hole, skillfully avoiding the increasingly intoxicated Gryffindors, Harry's thoughts turned to Hermione and Ginny waiting for him. He had lost a friend today, but what he had gained in the past few weeks was far more precious.
With a newfound lightness in his step, Harry donned his Invisibility Cloak and headed toward the class he had used with Hermione.
Harry arrived at the abandoned classroom on the third floor, checking the corridor one last time before slipping through the door and removing his Invisibility Cloak. What greeted him inside made him stop in his tracks, his troubles with Ron instantly forgotten.
The ordinary classroom had been transformed beyond recognition. The desks and chairs had vanished, replaced by a large, plush bed with deep crimson covers. Floating candles cast a warm, golden glow over the room, their light reflecting off conjured silk hangings that draped from the ceiling. A small table held an assortment of treats—chocolate frogs, treacle tart (his favorite), and what appeared to be a bottle of gillywater chilling in a silver bucket.
"Do you like it?" Hermione's voice came from behind him, and Harry turned to find her emerging from a shadowy corner.
"It's brilliant," he breathed, taking in the details. "How did you manage all this?"
"Mostly Ginny, actually," Hermione admitted. "She has quite a talent for transfiguration and charm work when properly motivated."
As if on cue, Ginny appeared from what must have been the professor's office, now transformed into what looked like a private bathroom. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, catching the candlelight like liquid fire.
"Our champion deserves a proper celebration," Ginny said, a mischievous glint in her eye as she crossed the room to him. "One that doesn't involve my brothers smuggling firewhiskey or people who were calling you a cheat last week."
Harry felt the tension of the day melting away as Ginny reached up to kiss him softly. When they broke apart, Hermione was watching them with warm approval.
"That shadow magic was incredible," Hermione said, moving to join them. "I was so nervous when the dragon's magic started interfering with your bindings."
"You noticed that?" Harry asked, impressed but not surprised.
"Is it time for me to know what are your new abilities? You have kept me in the shadows for far too long, Harry." Ginny asked with a cute smile at her boyfriend and girlfriend.
"Well, rememember when I told you that I touched the Goblet of Fire the night my name came out of the bloody thing?" Harry asked and Ginny nodded, that same night she had also sucked his cock for the first time.
"Well, since that night. I'm able to control shadows." Harry said casually, a little too casually.
Ginny stared at him. "What exactly do you mean? Can you like grow shadows? Scare people by making their shadows disappear?"
"Not exactly, but-"
"Later," Hermione interrupted, placing a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Tonight is for celebrating, not studying."
"Hermione, are you sure it's you?" Ginny asked, staring at the bushy haired girl in disbelief.
"I admit there are other pleasurable things I can do that don't involve books and reading." Hermione said with a tone as if she could not believe her own words, earning a mocking gasp from Ginny.
"Impossible." Harry said with a sarcastic tone, earning an eye roll from Hermione.
"So," she whispered, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine, "how exactly should we celebrate our champion?"
Harry turned to find her brown eyes dark with intent. On his other side, Hermione's hand had moved to his thigh, her touch gentle but purposeful.
"I might have a few ideas," Harry replied, his voice suddenly husky.
Hermione smiled, a look crossing her face that few at Hogwarts would have believed possible from the serious, rule-abiding prefect. "So do we."
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