The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains into the dormitory. After a night of peaceful sleep, Harry had completely recovered his vitality.
In fact, he felt that casting magic was much smoother than before.
The change was immediately apparent when he tried some casual magic to organize his belongings.
Previously, his transfiguration skills had been mediocre at best—he could barely manage to transform Ron's bed into something that vaguely resembled a pig, and even then, the result would only develop a few obvious pig-like characteristics while retaining its essential bed-nature.
The snout would be crooked, the tail would be stiff and wooden, and the whole thing would look more like a furniture maker's fever dream than any actual animal.
But this morning, when Harry lazily flicked his wand toward Ron's four-poster, the transformation was startlingly completer and more convincing.
The bed sprouted not just a snout and curly tail, but also properly formed pig legs that actually moved with realistic coordination, and floppy ears that twitched. The pink half-bed, half-pig hybrid looked around the dormitory with what appeared to be bewilderment before trotting across the floor.
It went on to drag the still-sleeping Ron around the dormitory several times in a weird parade. Ron remained completely oblivious to his unusual carriage.
He simply turned over lazily, mumbled something that sounded like "Cut it out, Fred," and continued snoring peacefully as his mobile bed finally grew tired of its wandering and obediently transformed back to its original form.
Intrigued by this unexpected improvement in his magical capabilities, Harry decided to test several other spells with growing excitement and amazement.
The simple wand-lighting charm that he cast with barely a thought produced a bright white light that was easily twice as bright as anything he had ever managed before. The light was so intense that it filled the entire dormitory with bright radiance, causing him to quickly muffle the light with his hand to avoid waking his sleeping roommates.
When he tried a Summoning Charm on a whim, targeting some random object from across the room, he was astonished to discover that the spell had somehow reached all the way to the bottom of Neville's wardrobe and retrieved several of his carefully hidden limited edition Chocolate Frog cards.
The cards flew smoothly through the air and landed gently in Harry's palm. He quickly returned them to their hiding place.
This improvement in his magical abilities made Harry feel somewhat unreal, as if he had awakened in someone else's body or discovered that the previous three and a half years at Hogwarts had been nothing more than preparation for yesterday's magical riot.
After spending several more minutes quietly confirming the extent of these changes, Harry decided not to disturb his other sleeping roommates any further. He gathered his clothes and quietly left the dormitory.
On this peaceful weekend morning, the Gryffindor common room maintained its usual sleepy atmosphere, with only a scattered handful of early-rising students occupying the comfortable chairs and study tables.
The fireplace crackled gently while morning light streamed through the tall windows to create a warm, welcoming ambiance.
Hermione had sat on the armchair closest to the fireplace's warmth. She was completely absorbed in what appeared to be an intimidatingly thick History of Magic textbook.
Not far from Hermione's seat, a small group of older Gryffindor girls had gathered together near one of the windows. They were chattering and giggling excitedly about something.
Harry sat on the chair beside Hermione, immediately directing his curious gaze toward the energetic group of girls.
"What has them so excited this early in the morning?" He asked, genuinely puzzled by their enthusiasm.
Without looking up from her dense historical text, Hermione turned a page and replied in an absent, unemotional tone: "They're probably discussing their plans to get an autograph."
"Oh, that makes perfect sense," Harry said with sudden understanding, nodding as the pieces fell into place. "Viktor Krum is a celebrity, after all. I have a Krum poster myself—bought it during the Quidditch World Cup."
Harry's memories of the international tournament were still vivid and exciting. He had developed quite a favorable first impression of the Bulgarian Seeker, and not just because of his extraordinary flying abilities and world-class Quidditch techniques.
Krum was also one of the very few people who hadn't immediately questioned Harry's qualification as a Hogwarts champion or said that he had somehow cheated his way into the competition.
Of course, Harry acknowledged to himself, it was entirely possible that Krum's acceptance stemmed from absolute confidence in his own abilities rather than any particular faith in Harry's legitimacy.
A wizard who had already achieved international fame and recognition at seventeen might naturally feel that no fourth-year student could pose a genuine threat, regardless of how they had entered the tournament.
After hearing Harry's assumption, Hermione finally looked up from her book, her brown eyes reflecting a mixture of amusement and slight exasperation as she looked at him with the patient expression she typically reserved for correcting his misconceptions.
"Actually, it's not Viktor they're getting excited about," She said with a slight pout. "They seem to have developed quite an obsession with Cedric Diggory lately."
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, but after a moment's consideration, he found himself nodding with complete understanding.
This development was actually quite normal and entirely reasonable.
Cedric had the kind of natural charisma that would inevitably attract admirers throughout Hogwarts. He was undeniably handsome in a clean-cut, classical way that appealed to a wide range of people.
Beyond his physical attractiveness, he carried himself with a natural grace and confidence that never tipped over into arrogance, maintaining instead the kind of effortless dignity that made people want to be around him.
More importantly, his personality was genuinely appealing. Cedric was always gentle and courteous to everyone he met, regardless of their age, house affiliation, or grades within the school. His academic performance was consistently excellent across all subjects, and his leadership as Hufflepuff's Quidditch captain had earned him respect even from rival houses.
It was perfectly natural that such a combination of attractive qualities would generate considerable admiration and obsession among the girls.
Speaking of Cedric reminded Harry that he still owed him a debt of gratitude. It had been Cedric who had escorted him back to Gryffindor Tower the last evening, ensuring that Harry made it safely to his dormitory despite his magical exhaustion and general confusion following the training exercise.
Harry made a mental note to find an appropriate opportunity to thank him properly for that kindness.
As these thoughts occupied his mind, Harry suddenly became aware that his lips felt unusually dry, almost parched despite the morning's comfortable humidity. He ran his tongue across them unconsciously, trying to restore some moisture.
Just then, the lively group of girls in the distance seemed to notice Harry's presence in the common room. Their excited chatter shifted into the lower, more conspirative tones of whispered conversation, accompanied by sneaky glances in his direction that made their discussion topic embarrassingly obvious.
Their looks weren't exactly hostile, but they carried an unmistakable hint of speculation and judgment that made Harry's skin crawl with discomfort. He could practically feel their eyes dissecting his every movement, analyzing his expressions for signs of whatever character flaws they imagined he possessed.
The sensation of being scrutinized and evaluated by people who had already formed negative opinions about him was deeply unpleasant, creating a knot of tension in his stomach that made it impossible to relax.
"I think I'll go for a walk," Harry announced abruptly, standing up from his chair.
"Mmm, see you later then," Hermione murmured absently, her attention already returning to the dense historical text that seemed to fascinate her far more than the social undercurrents playing out around them.
Ten minutes later, Harry was walking slowly along one of the castle's peaceful courtyard paths, releasing a long, frustrated sigh that seemed to carry the weight of all his recent troubles.
The morning mist was like delicate veils among the tended flowers and neatly trimmed grass, creating an ethereal atmosphere that should have been uplifting and restorative to his troubled spirits.
The gardens were genuinely beautiful at this hour, with dewdrops catching the early sunlight like scattered diamonds and the air filled with the fresh, clean scent of growing things awakening to a new day.
Unfortunately, despite the objective beauty of his surroundings, Harry's chest felt as if it were blocked by a heavy stone, making it difficult to appreciate the peaceful scene or find any real comfort in the natural brilliance around him.
He wasn't in a particularly good mood, and he understood exactly why. Those girls in the common room had almost certainly been talking badly about him, probably rehashing all the familiar criticisms and suspicions that seemed to follow him wherever he went these days.
Although he held the official title of Hogwarts champion, that honor carried with it a significant stain of illegitimacy that colored how many people viewed him. The fact that his entry into the tournament hadn't been his own choice seemed to matter very little to those who preferred to believe that he had somehow manipulated the selection process.
Harry paused in his wandering to yawn deeply and stretch his arms above his head, working out some of the tension that had gathered in his shoulders. The simple physical movement helped him feel somewhat more relaxed and less consumed by the negative emotions that had been troubling him.
Gradually, as the morning grew and the castle fully awakened, more students began to appear in the courtyards and gardens. The peaceful privacy that Harry had been enjoying slowly gave way to the bustle of a typical weekend morning at Hogwarts, with groups of friends making plans for their free day and people seeking quiet spots for study or wanderings.
Harry sat on the edge of a flower bed, briefly emptying his mind, staring blankly at a small yellow flower in the distance.
In just three more days, he would be participating in the first task of the Triwizard Tournament.
According to what Professor Westeros had said, the competition would be very dangerous, but it shouldn't be a problem for him. However, he still felt somewhat anxious.
The pressure he was experiencing was significantly greater than what the other three champions were probably dealing with. After all, Delacour, Krum, and Cedric had all been selected through the traditional process and enjoyed the full confidence of their respective schools.
Their legitimacy was unquestioned, and their supporters would cheer them on regardless of their performance in the tasks.
Harry, on the other hand, carried the burden of proving himself worthy of a position that many people believed he had obtained through deception or manipulation. Only genuine strength and undeniable results in the competition would be sufficient to make the gossiping ones shut their mouths and acknowledge his right to compete.
"Cedric!"
An excited shout suddenly interrupted Harry's pensive mood, causing him to look up from his peaceful flower-gazing.
Through a gap in the bushes that separated different sections of the garden, he could see a sizable group of students who had gathered together in a vibrant cluster. The person at the center of their attention stood a full head taller than most of the others around him, his height and profile made him immediately recognizable as Cedric Diggory.
Golden morning sunlight seemed to bathe him in an ethereal glow making his entire figure appear particularly upright and heroic. He was smiling with warmth and nodding courteously to the students who had approached him.
Watching this scene of easy popularity and widespread admiration, Harry found himself thinking: 'What an genuinely excellent person Cedric truly was.'
But even as he acknowledged his many positive qualities and the legitimate reasons for his popularity, Harry felt a spark of competitive determination flare within his chest.
He believed that he wouldn't lose to Cedric when it came to the actual challenges of the tournament.
After spending a few more minutes organizing his thoughts and allowing his emotions to settle back into calm determination, Harry stood up from his seat on the flower bed's edge. He carefully brushed the accumulated dirt and moisture from his school robes, ensuring that he looked properly presentable before continuing with his day.
Now seemed like an excellent time to find a quiet location where he could practice his magic and continue developing his newly enhanced abilities.
If he truly wanted to become a top-tier wizard, then diligent practice and constant improvement were absolutely indispensable.
Unfortunately, as Harry had learned through painful experience over the years, accidents and unwelcome confrontations had a tendency to occur at precisely the moments when he was feeling most optimistic about his prospects.
As he turned around the corner from the peaceful garden courtyard into one of the castle's main corridors, several people whom Harry found particularly detestable suddenly appeared directly in his path. His old enemies, the Slytherin group led by Draco Malfoy, had apparently been lying in wait for exactly this kind of opportunity.
Malfoy was leaning with casualness against one of the corridor's stone pillars, his pale face wearing that trademark expression of superior disdain. Standing beside him was Goyle, Malfoy's troll bodyguard No.1 , who appeared to have grown even larger and more intimidating during the recent months.
Strangely, Troll Bodyguard no. 2, Crabbe who was normally as inseparable from this duo as his own shadow was absent from the group.
The moment they spotted Harry approaching, Malfoy and his remaining followers immediately moved to block the middle of the corridor, cutting off any possibility of simply walking past them and avoiding the confrontation they clearly had planned.
"Well, well, well... look who we have here," Malfoy drawled with exaggerated surprise. "If it isn't our famous cheating champion, Potter."
'Here we go again,' Harry thought with weary resignation.
He genuinely didn't understand what Malfoy hoped to accomplish through these constant verbal attacks and public confrontations. The pattern had become so predictable and repetitive that it had lost whatever power it might once have possessed to genuinely anger or upset him.
During his earlier years at Hogwarts, Malfoy's taunts and insults had indeed had the ability to ignite Harry's temper and provoke him into ill-considered responses that often resulted in detentions, point losses, or other unpleasant consequences.
But now, after years of exposure to the same tired insults and baseless accusations, Harry had developed what amounted to an immunity to such childish provocations.
Looking directly at the sneering face of his longtime enemy, Harry calmly and deliberately drew his wand from his belt, holding it in a ready position.
"Words are useless at this point, Malfoy," He said seriously. "Let's settle this with a proper duel, and then you'll know once and for all whether I'm truly worthy of this champion title you keep questioning."
Malfoy had obviously not expected such a direct and confident challenge from Harry. For a moment, his expression of superior amusement faltered, replaced by surprise and even a flicker of uncertainty.
However, he quickly recovered his composure and restored that detestable fake smile that Harry knew so well.
"A duel?" Malfoy repeated with dramatic incredulity, shaking his head as if the very proposal were absurd. "Oh no, Potter, I couldn't possibly risk harming Hogwarts' precious little 'champion.'"
He deliberately emphasized the word "champion" with obvious sarcasm, drawing out the syllables to make his skepticism as insulting as possible.
"Then get out of my way!" Harry responded coldly, his patience for these games finally reaching its absolute limit. "Coward."
Despite his anger and frustration, Harry maintained enough self-control not to cast any spells in the corridor. Hogwarts had very clear regulations prohibiting the use of magic in the main hallways, and he was absolutely certain that if he injured Malfoy, even in legitimate self-defense—news of his rule violation would reach Professor McGonagall's ears within the hour.
The last thing he needed was to give his critics additional ammunition for their arguments that he was reckless, violent, or unfit to represent the school.
Hearing Harry's accusation of cowardice, Malfoy showed no sign of urgency. Instead, he stepped even closer with, his pale face maintaining that malicious grin.
"Now, now, don't be so hasty, Potter," Malfoy said with false reasonableness, puffing out his chest in a show of exaggerated pride. "Before you get yourself all worked up, we have something particularly interesting to show you."
Only then did Harry notice the gleaming silver badge that was pinned prominently to Malfoy's chest, positioned where it would catch the light and draw instant attention from anyone who looked in his direction.
The badge was elegantly crafted and obviously expensive, with text that read in bold, clear letters: "Support Cedric Diggory—The Real Hogwarts Champion."
Harry's eyes quickly scanned the other Slytherins present and discovered that they were all wearing identical badges.
"Rather attractive, isn't it?" Malfoy asked with smug satisfaction, flicking the badge with his finger to make it catch the corridor's torchlight even more. "Every single member of Slytherin house has one of these now. We've been quite busy organizing our support for the legitimate champion."
His smile grew even more malicious as he continued: "Oh, and by the way, Potter..."
With deliberate timing, he pressed the badge hard with his thumb.
Instantly, the text on the badge shifted and rearranged itself into conspicuous letters that spelled out "POTTER STINKS" that flashed continuously.
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