"Let's not talk about the third task yet," Viktor begged wearily.
After he'd eaten his fill, Harry took advantage of Hermione being distracted by Viktor — and thus Ron being distracted by Hermione — and snuck away with Neville and Ginny back to the common room. The rug by the fire was calling his name.
"I can't believe you're tied for first," Neville mused aloud once the three of them were settled in front of the fire, Harry sprawled out on his belly with one of his muggle fiction books open in front of him. "You might actually win this thing, y'know."
"I don't know about that," Harry waved him off.
"He's right, though," Ginny insisted. "You're doing really well, Harry. And you've always been good at getting through dangerous situations. You could take the Cup. Imagine if you did win!" "I don't care about winning," Harry said tiredly. "I just want to not die." It weighed heavy in the back of his mind that whoever had entered him into this tournament had done so for a reason, and had yet to reveal themselves. The clock was running down, and they could end up getting desperate.
.-.-.-.-.
By the middle of the week, Harry was about ready to hex Ron's mouth shut. As one of the few people who had been under the surface of the lake regardless of the fact that he'd been unconscious for 95% of it — he had taken it upon himself to answer the questions of anyone curious enough to approach Harry. He'd gone from admitting to being put in an enchanted sleep for the whole thing, to insisting he'd fought off a whole group of merpeople bare-handed. Even Hermione was getting sick of him; though she was getting sick of everyone, after spending several days being teased about being the one Viktor would miss most.
On his way back from his last class of the day, Harry froze when his name was called across the hallway. "Mr Potter, would you mind following me to my office?" Dumbledore strode towards him, eyes twinkling genially. "I won't keep you from your friends too long. I merely wish to talk."
"We'll see you at dinner, Harry," Hermione said, tugging Ron along with her, leaving him alone with the headmaster. Harry had no choice but to follow Dumbledore up to his office, the headmaster conjuring a tea set once he was sat at his desk.
"Milk and sugar, Harry?" he offered, as if it were perfectly normal for him to invite a student up for tea without reason, even if that student was Harry Potter.
"Please." Harry had zero intention of drinking anything Dumbledore gave him. He accepted the mug, putting it to his lips, but didn't drink. Dumbledore's smile widened. "Why am I here, sir? Is something wrong? Is it Sirius?"
"Everything is well," Dumbledore assured. "I have not heard from Sirius for a while, but I am sure he's doing just fine." Harry hid a smirk at that; if only Dumbledore knew. "I merely thought I would see how you're faring after the second task. You're handling the tournament remarkably well, and I'm impressed. Your use of gillyweed was truly inspired."
"Neville told me about it," Harry lied earnestly. He didn't look Dumbledore in the eye. "I had to, uh, borrow some from Professor Snape. But I think that was worth it." As promised, Snape had given him three days of detention for theft. The first detention had been spent with Remus going over his Runes, and the second had become a lesson on cauldron monitoring charms while Snape brewed more potions for the Hospital Wing. Harry would have his final detention after dinner. Dumbledore chuckled. "Professor Snape is often possessive of his store rooms. Sometimes, these things are necessary." The headmaster's gaze flicked to Harry's teacup, and Harry wondered what sort of potion was in it that he was supposed to be reacting to. Dumbledore would notice if the level in his cup didn't get any lower. Pretending to take another sip, Harry screwed up his nose in concentration, trying to vanish the contents of the cup. He hadn't tried a Vanishing charm wandlessly before, but with a little nudge of his magical core, the tea disappeared. When he set down the empty cup, Dumbledore looked approving behind his smile.
He didn't seem to be expecting Harry to pass out or some such, so Harry just continued on as always, still not looking the man in the eye. "How are you feeling about the third task, Harry?"
"It's a little way off yet, so I'm not too worried about it," Harry replied. "Maybe in a couple of months I'll start freaking out. I'm not used to getting so much advanced warning before I end up in a life or death situation, it's really quite disconcerting." That made Dumbledore chuckle.
"I can only imagine. You seem to be getting along well with the other champions — no worries about facing them one last time?"
"No, they're all really nice. I don't think they expected me to be much competition." Harry wasn't sure how he was supposed to be answering when he didn't know what the potion was supposed to do, so he just kept smiling and hoped for the best.
"You are a young man of many surprises," Dumbledore complimented. "Have you anything else to tell me? Noticed anything… unusual, lately?"
"Not that I can think of," Harry said with a shrug, wondering what Dumbledore thought he was mixed up in. "Why, should I have?"
"I was merely concerned; with all the unfamiliar people walking these halls, there's always the possibility that one of them may wish to do you harm. Would you mind if I just gave you a quick check over? There may be a hex on you going unnoticed."
Harry's heart dropped, but he tried not to let it show on his face. His pulse picked up, and he gave a false grin. "Sure!" he chirped, betting anything the tea was supposed to make him compliant. "Madam Pomfrey checked me over after the task, but if you think it's necessary, sir."
Dumbledore smiled, raising his wand. Harry had to force himself not to flinch. "Excellent. One moment, please." He murmured a quiet spell, and immediately Harry felt as if something slimy was crawling over him, stuck to his magical core — the sensation the books said he would feel when someone placed a charm or curse on him. In the back of his mind he vaguely felt his inhibitions lower, but he was mostly concerned about the wrong-feeling magic. He kept up his smile, keeping his panic locked down.
"Am I all good, sir?"
"Yes, you're in top shape, my boy," Dumbledore assured. "Thank you for indulging an old man's fears."
"Can I go to dinner now, sir?" Harry asked, glancing at the clock on the desk.
"Of course, of course. But are you sure there's nothing you wish to tell me about, Harry?"
There was a strange moment when the unfamiliar magic choking Harry's squeezed down, urging him to blurt out all his secrets. Harry raised his Occlumency shields to push the urge away, managing a relaxed shrug. "I can't think of anything, sir, but I'll come to you if that changes."
That seemed to satisfy the headmaster, and he let Harry go with a cheerful wave. As soon as Harry was away from the gargoyle, he squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath, shuddering as the magic wrapped tighter around him. It was suffocating. How had he gone years with Dumbledore's magic on him and never noticed before? Now he was aware of his own magical core, the foreign intrusion felt awful. He'd had some practice with it over the summer Snape or Remus or Sirius putting curses and charms on him, so he could feel what it was like. None of them had been like this.
•
🚀New updates on my Ko-fi!🚀
Support me and read the novel, now available in PDF, with the advanced chapters.
•
https://ko-fi.com/cmrowling