Chapter 279: Chapter 279: "The Tournament's End"
Sirius Black, his face etched with worry, led his godson through the castle's winding passages until they reached a secluded alcove, far from curious ears and prying eyes.
"Are you alright, Harry?" Sirius asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes searched Harry's face intently, looking for any sign of trauma or distress. "Where were you last night?"
Harry looked him in the eye, his expression calm. "I was really only working on the portkey." His lips quirked into a small smile. "You don't actually think I took on Voldemort and his entire inner circle, do you?" He paused deliberately before adding, "Though I probably could handle Voldemort alone if it came to that."
Sirius's eyebrows shot up, surprise momentarily overtaking his concern. "You really think you're that strong now?"
"From what I remember of that Halloween night and the stories I've heard, yes," Harry replied thoughtfully. "My only weakness might be my limited real combat experience and knowledge of the dark arts. Most of my battles have been... controlled situations."
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, a habit Harry had noticed emerged when his godfather was processing difficult information. "That's... actually somewhat reassuring, considering recent events. But Harry, promise me you won't go looking for trouble. Going after Voldemort without proper dark arts knowledge could be suicide – he's notorious for his traps."
A small smile played at Harry's lips. "Always careful, Padfoot. Besides, Grandfather has promised to start teaching me dark magic this summer. It'll help fill that gap in my knowledge."
"Careful?" Sirius barked out a laugh. "Like taking on a lake full of inferi alone? Or that basilisk?"
"I came out unscathed every time, didn't I?"
Sirius's expression softened, and he pulled Harry into a quick, fierce hug. "Just remember you're not alone in this, pup. Whatever happens, you've got people who'll stand with you."
Harry returned the embrace, feeling a twinge of guilt at the secrets he was keeping. "I know. Thanks, Sirius."
Pulling back, Sirius fixed Harry with one last searching look. "Just to be absolutely clear – you weren't involved in last night's events? Tell me now, and I can ensure the investigation doesn't find anything compromising."
"Investigate with your full strength," Harry replied, confident in his precautions. "I was nowhere near that place. Though I would like to visit the graveyard once the Aurors are done. I want to conduct my own investigation."
Sirius ran a tired hand over his face, the events of the past twenty-four hours clearly weighing on him. "I'll let you know when it's clear." He squeezed Harry's shoulder, his expression torn between duty and concern. "Now I've got to go – with everything that's happened, there's no time for rest. Try to enjoy some time with your friends, pup. You've earned it."
Harry caught his godfather's sleeve before he could turn away. "You be careful too," he said seriously, green eyes intense. "If you find any trace of Voldemort, don't go playing the hero alone. Take me with you."
A shadow of the old Marauder's smile crossed Sirius's face. "I promise. No solo missions against Dark Lords." His expression softened. "We're in this together, right?"
"Right," Harry agreed, though the word tasted bitter with the secrets he was keeping.
As Sirius's footsteps faded into silence, Harry released a long, controlled breath. The conversation had gone better than he'd hoped. His alibi was ironclad – the Fiendfyre had consumed any physical evidence, and his methods of entering and leaving the scene had left no magical signature to trace.
Harry had been meticulous in his planning, leaving nothing to chance. Even if someone somehow connected him to the events, his newfound invisibility ability – granted by binding the Cloak of Invisibility to his very being – gave him absolute confidence in his ability to escape any situation.
---
The rest of the day passed in an atmosphere of hushed tension. The corridors of Hogwarts, usually alive with chatter and laughter, had become unnaturally quiet. Students moved in tight groups, speaking in whispers, casting furtive glances at their Slytherin classmates who walked with drawn faces and hollow eyes.
From his usual spot in the courtyard, Harry observed these changes with his friends. The morning's Daily Prophet lay discarded nearby, its headlines screaming about ministry investigations and tournament controversies.
"The younger Slytherins look like they've had their souls sucked out," Elvinia reported quietly, her usual sharp tone softened by genuine concern. "Especially Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle."
"Can you blame them?" Cedric asked, watching a group of first-year Slytherins hurry past. "Losing a parent, even... even one like that..."
"Even Death Eaters were fathers," Arabella finished softly, her words hanging heavy in the air.
Their conversation halted as Draco Malfoy passed nearby, walking alone – a stark contrast to his usual strutting with his entourage. His face was a mask of emptiness, neither registering the fear nor the pity that followed in his wake.
Professor Flitwick's arrival broke the tense moment, his usually cheerful demeanor replaced with solemnity. "Mr. Potter, the tournament officials have reached a decision. They're gathering everyone in the Great Hall in an hour."
The Great Hall had been transformed, house tables pushed aside to create a central space. Students filed in, naturally gravitating toward their school groups. Harry couldn't help but notice the Durmstrang students' lost expressions – Karkaroff's absence leaving them adrift in foreign territory.
As he took his place, Fleur appeared beside him, her presence a warm comfort that helped push away the darkness of his thoughts. Her cheerful demeanor was a balm to his conscience, helping him process the weight of his actions from the previous night.
"Ready for zis to be over?" she asked softly, her fingers brushing his arm.
"More than ready," Harry replied, allowing himself a genuine smile.
Dumbledore stood at the front with Madame Maxime, the remaining two of what had once been five judges. Bagman's absence was notable – likely fleeing his goblin creditors – while Karkaroff had vanished, no doubt fearing his former master's retribution for his previous betrayals.
"Due to the extraordinary circumstances surrounding the final task," Dumbledore began, his voice carrying clearly through the hushed hall, "several difficult decisions have had to be made."
The silence deepened as all eyes fixed on the remaining judges.
"First, regarding Mr. Viktor Krum," Dumbledore's tone was solemn. "While under the Imperius Curse, he engaged Miss Delacour in combat. Though we deeply sympathize with his ordeal, we cannot reconvene the task without all five judges present. For his performance until the curse took hold, we award twenty-five points, with an additional fifteen points in recognition of his unfortunate circumstances."
"This brings us to Miss Delacour," Madame Maxime continued, pride evident in her voice. "She demonstrated exceptional magical prowess in her duel with Mr. Krum, and later showed remarkable cooperation and skill while navigating the maze with Mr. Hadrian Potter. For this, we award her forty-five points."
"As for the cup itself," Dumbledore's voice grew grave, "Mr. Charles Potter reached it first, though through means heavily compromised by outside interference. An impostor, using Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Professor Moody, assisted his path. However, considering the ordeal he faced at the end of this path and his eventual escape, we award him fifty points."
Dumbledore's blue eyes swept across the gathered students. "Mr. Hadrian Potter has shown consistently extraordinary magical ability throughout this tournament. His performance in the maze, reaching the cup second, combined with his assistance to fellow champions and unwavering moral compass amid chaos, earns him forty-nine points."
"After calculating ze final standings," Madame Maxime announced, "and reviewing ze entire tournament performance, we 'ave a clear victor with a significant lead over ze other champions."
"It is therefore our pleasure," Dumbledore concluded, "to declare Hadrian Potter the winner of the Triwizard Tournament."
The applause that followed was subdued but genuine. Students recognized the fairness of the decision, even as recent events cast a shadow over the celebration. Harry stepped forward to accept the cup and prize money, his expression appropriately modest.
"A thousand galleons," Roger whispered as Harry returned to their group. "What are you going to do with it?"
"Donate it to St. Mungo's," Harry replied without hesitation. "They'll need the funds in the coming days, I expect. Besides," he added with a slight smile, "this tournament's glory has been somewhat tarnished by all the interference."
He caught Fleur's proud smile from across the hall, even as his friends exchanged knowing looks. It was the right move - politically, practically, and personally. In times like these, actions spoke louder than words.
The ceremony concluded quickly, lacking the usual festivities out of respect for recent events. Students dispersed in subdued groups, their whispered conversations a mix of tournament discussion and darker speculations about what the future might hold.
That evening, as the sun set over the Forbidden Forest, Harry found himself in the Astronomy Tower with Fleur. They stood in comfortable silence, watching darkness creep across the grounds.
"What happens now?" she asked finally, her voice carrying a hint of fear for the future.
Harry's smile held both warmth and steel. "You move on with your life, Fleur. This isn't your war – it's mine. And if things go according to plan, it won't last long enough to be called a war."
"Promise me you will be careful," she whispered, her hand finding his.
Below them, Hogwarts settled into another uneasy night, its halls still echoing with whispers of change and loss. The tournament was over, but Harry knew this was just the beginning. The burden of his secrets weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he would bear it gladly if it meant protecting those he loved from what was to come.
Chapter 280: Chapter 280: "Final Days Part -1"
The last week of term brought unusually pleasant weather to Hogwarts. Golden sunlight bathed the grounds, as if nature itself was trying to make these final days memorable. The aftermath of the third task and Voldemort's return still lingered in the air, but the warmth of early summer helped ease the tension.
For Harry and Fleur, each moment seemed more precious than the last. They had fallen into a comfortable routine, balancing their time between public appearances and private moments. Mornings were spent with their respective friends, maintaining the facade of normal school life. Afternoons often found them by the lake, sometimes studying, sometimes just talking, while evenings were reserved for quiet walks through the castle's less-traveled corridors.
Today, they had claimed their favorite spot under an ancient oak tree near the lake. A subtle cooling charm kept the heat at bay while providing privacy from curious onlookers. Fleur lay with her head in Harry's lap, her silver hair spread out like moonlight on water.
"Tell me again about your summer plans?" she asked, her blue eyes studying his face intently.
Harry's fingers absently played with her silver strands as he replied, "Lessons with Grandfather mostly. Though I expect it won't be particularly enjoyable given the focus on dark magic."
Concern flickered across Fleur's features. "Be careful with that, mon cœur. I have no experience since Papa forbade me from touching it. He said learning those arts puts a terrible strain on one's mental stability."
"I know," Harry assured her, his voice thoughtful yet firm. "But with things as they are, I need to understand what I might face in my fights against dark wizards. I can't afford to be caught off guard by something I don't know how to counter." He smiled slightly, trying to ease her concern. "Don't worry, though. I don't plan on using it—I doubt I have much of an affinity for that sort of magic anyway."
"Just be careful," Fleur insisted, reaching up to touch his cheek, her fingers cool against his skin. "I don't want you to change." She paused before asking, her voice dropping lower, "Any other plans? Like dealing with our newly resurrected dark lord?"coni
Harry's expression turned calculating. "He'll be in hiding for now, rebuilding his forces. No need to waste energy hunting him. I'll leave that to Dumbledore's Order."
"Order?" Fleur's brow furrowed in confusion.
"The Order of Phoenix," Harry explained. "Dumbledore's group from the last war. He'll likely restart it soon to monitor Voldemort's activities."
"So they will handle him?" Fleur sat up, hope brightening her features. "Deal with him before he rebuilds his forces? That way there won't be a war, and you won't need to get involved."
Harry's laugh was tinged with bitterness. "I wish. From what I know of their methods, they'll just watch and wait. That was their pattern in the last war - Death Eaters would attack, the Order would fight defensively, capture them, send them to Azkaban... and then Voldemort would free them. An endless cycle of pointless battles."
"Was it really like that?" Fleur's expression showed her disbelief. "In times of war, they didn't fight to kill?"
"Dumbledore's mind works in peculiar ways," Harry shrugged, though his eyes held a hardness that belied his casual tone. "He's obsessed with preserving the old families, even the evil ones. Always about second chances, third chances, endless chances. It never seems to occur to him that some people don't deserve or want redemption."
"But didn't many ancient families die out in the last war anyway?"
"Exactly. That's why many people consider him an old fool." Harry's voice carried a hint of frustrated amusement. "His methods cost more lives than they saved. Voldemort's forces were built in this very school, and had Dumbledore done something to stop it early or faced him directly, the war might never have gained momentum."
Fleur's fingers intertwined with his. "So you will have to fight the war yourself."
"The order has their uses," Harry mused. "They'll act in the open, draw attention, while I work in the shadows. It suits me well enough." He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Don't worry though - unless I'm certain of success, I won't act. I'll be gathering information for now, using the Order as my unwitting informants."
"It's good that you have everything planned," Fleur's voice softened. "What about us? Do you have plans for that too?"
Harry smiled, pulling her closer. "Those are my favorite plans. Borders won't be an issue - with my new abilities, I can travel between our homes in no time. You'll probably get sick of seeing me so often."
Fleur's eyes sparkled with interest. "Really? What new abilities-"
Before Harry could answer, their moment was interrupted by approaching footsteps. Roger Davies and Cedric Diggory appeared, both wearing identical grins and carrying broomsticks.
"Sorry to interrupt the lovebirds," Roger called out cheerfully, "but we're kidnapping Harry for a bit. Last Quidditch scrimmage before everyone leaves!"
Harry groaned dramatically. "Don't you two have your own dates to bother?"
"Cho's already at the pitch," Cedric replied, grinning. "You're the only one we're waiting for."
"Go," Fleur laughed, giving Harry a playful push. "Show this golden boy what to expect in next year's Quidditch cup."
Cedric's eyes widened. "Wait, what? Harry, are you seriously competing next year?"
"Well," Harry stood, brushing grass from his robes, "there is a Quidditch Cup missing from my list of achievements. Can't graduate without that, can I?"
"As captain of Ravenclaw," Roger declared grandly, "I wholeheartedly approve this plan!"
What started as a simple invitation for a friendly scrimmage quickly evolved into something far more significant. Word spread through the castle like wildfire, and soon students from all three schools were streaming toward the Quidditch pitch. With Beauxbatons and Durmstrang leaving tomorrow, everyone seized the chance for one last memorable experience together.
The impromptu match transformed into an international exhibition game - Hogwarts versus a combined team from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. The visiting team was heavily favored, with Viktor Krum as their Seeker, a fact that had several Hogwarts students already placing bets on the final outcome.
The Hogwarts team assembled quickly: Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Roger Davies as Chasers, their years of playing together evident in their seamless coordination as they discussed strategy. The Weasley twins took their positions as Beaters, their identical grins promising the kind of chaos only they could deliver. Cedric Diggory, despite his obvious reservations about facing Krum, stepped up as Seeker. Harry, to everyone's surprise and considerable skepticism, took the position of Keeper.
"Keeper? Really?" Roger asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. "Have never seen you play as a keeper. Are you sure about this? I can convince Cedric to let you be Seeker - everyone wants to see you and Krum go head to head."
Harry shook his head, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "No need. Cedric needs this experience more. Maybe he can pick up something that will help if he wants to play professionally."
Cedric joined their huddle, his face showing both gratitude and concern. "Thanks for this, Harry. But can you handle being goalkeeper? We want to win this match badly, and if that means you need to be Seeker, I can switch."
"How hard can being a goalkeeper be?" Harry replied with a casual confidence that made both his teammates exchange uncertain glances. "I just need to stop the Quaffle from going through the hoops, right? I can manage that."
Despite their doubts, something in Harry's tone convinced them. The team then turned their attention to strategy.
As the stands filled with excited spectators, Harry and his team mounted his broom. This would be more than just a friendly match - it would be a proper sendoff for their international guests.
Above them, the summer sky stretched endlessly blue, perfect conditions for what promised to be an unforgettable game of Quidditch.
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