The doors of the Three Broomsticks burst open with a gentle whoosh, and Harry hurried through the entrance, his dark hair windswept and his cheeks flushed pink from the brisk walk through Hogsmeade village. He paused for just a moment in the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the warm interior after the grey afternoon light outside.
Immediately, he was enveloped by the tavern's signature atmosphere filled with that wonderful, welcoming aroma of butterbeer.
His eyes quickly scanned the crowded room, moving past groups of laughing Hogwarts students, weekend visitors from other parts of magical Britain, and the occasional group of adults engaged in more serious conversation.
When he finally spotted Ron's distinguishing red hair and freckled face at a corner table, his entire expression lit up, and he quickly made his way through the maze of occupied tables and chairs toward his friends.
"Where did you disappear to?" Ron asked with obvious curiosity, lowering his mug to reveal a ring of foam still clinging to the corners of his mouth. "We were starting to wonder if you'd gotten lost in the village or been kidnapped by some of Zonko's more dangerous joke products."
"Cedric wanted to see me," Harry replied somewhat briefly, sitting into the chair that had clearly been saved for him. He untied his Gryffindor scarf and covered it over the back of his seat. "We spent some time discussing various aspects of the tournament."
Ron's expression shifted to one of mild puzzlement, his eyebrows drawing together as he processed this information. "Since when have you two become so close?"
Harry replied casually. "Just over the past few days, really. We've been training together under Professor Westeros's supervision, and I have to say, Cedric's a genuinely decent fellow."
"A bond forged between champions!" Sirius said with dramatic enthusiasm, his eyes twinkling with pride as he signaled to Madam Rosmerta's serving staff.
Within moments, a fresh mug of perfectly warmed butterbeer appeared in front of Harry. "This calls for a proper celebration! To commemorate your selection as a Triwizard champion, all drinks this afternoon are on me."
Harry wrapped his chilled fingers around the warm pewter mug, drawing comfort from its heat.
"Thank you," He paused suddenly, a look of confusion crossing his face as he glanced around the table. "Wait—when exactly did you all arrive in Hogsmeade?"
"We made the journey specifically to witness your tournament performance," Sirius explained with obvious cheerfulness.
"Remus and I wouldn't miss such an important occasion for anything in the world. Though please don't feel too much pressure because we're here—it's perfectly acceptable if you don't win every task. After all, I understand you're considerably younger than the other champions, and experience does count for something in these competitions."
Harry's eyes flashed with quiet determination. "I appreciate the support, Sirius, but I can promise you this: I won't lose. Not if I can help it."
Adrian watched this talk with deep satisfaction from his position across the table. Harry's confidence was naturally a positive development—self-doubt could be far more dangerous than overconfidence in situations that required split-second decision-making and solid courage.
However, Adrian also knew that the current Harry indeed had substantial reason for such confidence. This was, after all, a young man who had been personally trained him.
In Hogsmeade village, dusk had a tendency to arrive particularly early during the autumn months, as the surrounding mountains seemed to swallow the sun before it had properly finished its daily journey across the sky.
The shadows grew longer and deeper between the picturesque shops and cottages, and the warm light spilling from windows became increasingly welcoming against the gathering darkness.
As the sky gradually darkened from pale grey to deep purple, Harry, Ron, and Hermione finally made their way back toward Hogwarts castle through the twilight.
Having already enjoyed a meal at the Three Broomsticks, none of them felt the need to join the rest of the school in the Great Hall for the evening feast. Instead, they made their way directly toward Gryffindor Tower.
The Fat Lady's portrait was dozing peacefully in her frame when they approached.
Ron cleared his throat politely to wake her, and she opened her eyes with a slightly disoriented expression.
"Password?" she inquired with a yawn, straightening her wig and attempting to look more dignified.
"Banana Fritters," Ron replied clearly.
After using the somewhat absurd password, Ron and Hermione passed through the portrait hole.
Harry, however, lingered for a moment in the corridor, contemplating the evening's password with genuine bewilderment.
"Banana Fritters,"
He repeated to himself quietly, shaking his head in amusement. 'What sort of food could that possibly be?'
However, just as he was about to follow his friends through the portrait entrance, a massive hand suddenly fell on his arm, and gripped him firmly. The unexpected contact caused Harry to jump nearly out of his skin, his hand instinctively reaching for his wand before his mind processed the familiar touch.
Harry spun around quickly, his heart still racing from the surprise, only to find himself face-to-face with Hagrid.
"Hagrid?" Harry asked in confusion. "What are you doing lurking around Gryffindor Tower at this hour? Is everything alright?"
Instead of providing an immediate explanation, Hagrid glanced around the corridor with sneaky movements like a thief.
After confirming no one was around, he bent down toward Harry and whispered, "Tonight at midnight, come to my hut. And remember, don't let anyone see you."
Harry looked at Hagrid's nervous demeanor with growing confusion.
"What's this about, Hagrid?" Harry asked directly, his voice pitched low to match the atmosphere. "Has something happened? Are you in some kind of trouble?"
Hagrid's massive hands rubbed together nervously. "It's about the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, I... I might have some information that could be helpful to you."
"Why can't you just tell me now?" Harry asked practically, glancing around to ensure they were still alone. "We're already being secretive enough."
"Oh no, no, no," Hagrid replied with vigorous head-shaking, his beard swaying with the motion. "The information isn't confirmed yet—I need to verify some details first. But tonight, at midnight, I should have everything you need to know."
He gave Harry an intense stare. "You'll come, won't you? This could be really important for your chances in the competition."
Harry nodded slowly. "Alright, Hagrid. I'll be there."
"Excellent, excellent," Hagrid said with obvious relief. "I'll be waiting at the hut."
Once he'd finished speaking, Hagrid immediately turned and left Gryffindor Tower.
Harry stood there, somewhat doubting whether Hagrid really knew the content of the first task.
If that were truly the case... well, he suspected Hagrid would probably accidentally let the information slip.
"Young man, could you please hurry along?" the Fat Lady called out with obvious impatience. "I wasn't planning to keep this door open indefinitely, and I do have my beauty sleep to consider."
"Sorry about that," Harry replied quickly, shaking himself out of his contemplation and scrambling through the portrait entrance into the Gryffindor common room.
Inside the cozy room, Ron and Hermione had been waiting for some time. Ron was sprawling in one of the larger chairs, looking completely relaxed, while Hermione sat more formally with a book already open in her lap.
"What kept you out there so long?" Ron asked with mild curiosity, not bothering to shift from his comfortable position. "Did the Fat Lady give you a hard time about the password again?"
Harry saw no reason to conceal Hagrid's visit from his two closest friends. He sat into the remaining chair and said the entire conversation with Harry.
After listening to Harry's account with growing concern, Hermione's eyebrows drew together in a deep frown.
"Hagrid claims to know about the first task?" She said slowly, her voice carrying obvious skepticism. "That seems highly unlikely, Harry. The tournament organizers should have been extremely careful about maintaining secrecy around…."
"Who cares how he found out?" Ron interjected with obvious excitement, leaning forward in his chair and patting Harry's shoulder enthusiastically. "This is absolutely fantastic news! Hagrid has never lied to us about anything important—if he says he has information, then he definitely has information."
Ron's blue eyes sparkled with delight. "If we can prepare in advance, knowing exactly what you'll be facing, we're almost guaranteed to win the first task! This could make all the difference in the overall competition."
"But that wouldn't be fair to the other champions," Hermione protested, her voice filled with ethical concern. "Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor would be competing without any advance knowledge, while Harry would have a significant advantage. And if the judges discover what we've done, Harry could be disqualified from the entire tournament."
Harry considered both perspectives before responding. "I understand your concerns, Hermione, but technically the rules don't explicitly prohibit gathering information from unofficial sources. If Hagrid chooses to share what he knows, that's not the same as cheating or receiving direct assistance from the judges."
"But—" Hermione seemed prepared to continue her ethical argument, but after studying Harry's determined expression and recognizing the potential benefits of the information, she finally nodded with reluctant acceptance.
"If you absolutely must go... at least take your Invisibility Cloak, and be extremely careful not to let Peeves spot you."
Late that night, when the common room had long since emptied and the fire had burned down to glowing embers, Harry lay in his four-poster bed listening to the familiar sounds of his dormitory mates sleeping peacefully around him.
Dean Thomas was breathing deeply and regularly, Seamus Finnigan occasionally mumbled something incomprehensible in his sleep, and Neville's gentle snores provided a steady rhythm to the night's quiet silence.
Most remarkably, Ron had already begun his typical loud snoring—despite his earnest promise just an hour earlier that he would stay awake with Harry until eleven-thirty to provide moral support and help ensure Harry didn't oversleep.
But obviously, drowsiness had won over his good intentions.
Seeing that it was nearly time for his appointment, Harry quietly slipped out from under his warm covers. He had prepared everything in advance.
After dressing quickly and silently, Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders. He moved carefully toward the dormitory door, taking particular care not to let his footsteps creak on any of the floorboards that he knew from experience were prone to loud creaks.
The Gryffindor common room was completely quiet and empty at this late hour.
Harry walked as quietly as possible straight to the portrait entrance.
After waiting in tense silence for about one minute, the portrait door quietly swung in.
Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief, grateful beyond words for Hermione's reliability and forward thinking. They had arranged earlier for her to help him by opening the door from the outside, since the Fat Lady wouldn't be able to see him under the Invisibility Cloak and therefore wouldn't respond to any requests for exit.
"Thank you," Harry whispered as he passed by the spot where he assumed Hermione was standing, though he couldn't see her in the darkness of the corridor.
"Be extremely careful," Hermione's voice whispered back from the shadows. "I saw Peeves hovering around the moving staircases. Whatever you do, don't come out from under the cloak."
The journey through Hogwarts castle at midnight was far more eventful and populated than Harry had initially anticipated. Rather than the empty, peaceful corridors he had expected, the castle seemed to maintain a surprising level of nighttime activity.
Along the way, he'd encountered Filch and Mrs. Norris on patrol, Snape wandering the corridors, and Adrian walking with a young girl in the courtyard.
Of these, Adrian surprised him most.
Come to think of it, that little girl seemed to be the youngest child from Beauxbatons, supposedly Fleur Delacour's sister.
'When had Professor Westeros become so close to Beauxbatons?'
However, Harry recognized that this was definitely not the time to satisfy his curiosity about his professor's activities.
After around thirty minutes of careful navigation, strategic hiding, and patient waiting for various obstacles to clear his path, Harry finally succeeded in reaching Hagrid's hut without being detected by any of the castle's human, cat, or ghosts.
Harry approached the door and knocked gently. The door immediately opened just a crack, revealing a bit of Hagrid's bearded face as he gazed cautiously into the darkness outside. His eyes darted left and right, scanning the area around his hut for any signs of unwanted observers or potential eavesdroppers.
"Harry?" he asked in a low voice.
"It's me," Harry confirmed quietly, lifting one corner of the Invisibility Cloak just enough to allow Hagrid to see his face and confirm his identity.
Hagrid's expression immediately brightened with relief, and he quickly reached out with one massive hand to pull Harry inside the hut. The moment Harry was safely within the warm, cozy interior, Hagrid swiftly closed and locked the door behind them, taking the additional precaution of drawing the curtains across all the windows.
Fang immediately came over to greet their midnight visitor with enthusiasm. Its tail wagged so vigorously that his entire back swayed back and forth, and he seemed intent on knocking Harry down with affectionate paws and slobbery kisses.
"Shh, Fang, quiet now!" Hagrid ordered in a whisper, quickly grabbing its collar and pulling the excited Fang away from Harry.
Only after managing to calm Fang's enthusiastic greeting did Harry have the opportunity to properly observe Hagrid's current appearance and what he saw left him completely speechless with surprise.
Hagrid was wearing an enormous formal suit, clearly custom-made specifically for his massive body. The jacket looked made from fine black wool, and the trousers had been pressed to sharp creases.
Most remarkably, he had a fresh flower tucked into his lapel. His usually wild and unkempt hair had been carefully groomed and styled, tamed with what was obviously a considerable amount of hair oil that gleamed slightly in the warm candlelight of the hut's interior.
Even his usually tangled beard had received similar attention, appearing to have been trimmed, combed, and treated with some sort of conditioning product that made it lie flat and neat against his chest rather than sprouting in all directions as usual.
The overall effect was simultaneously impressive and somewhat surreal, Hagrid looked more formally dressed than Harry had ever seen any adult, yet his massive size and naturally rugged facial freatures created a combination that was uniquely his own.
"Hagrid," Harry said slowly, momentarily forgetting entirely about the tournament and the mysterious information he was supposed to receive, "what in Merlin's name is with this... this formal getup?"
"Pretty impressive, isn't it?" Hagrid replied with obvious pride, glancing toward a ridiculously oversized full-length mirror that had been positioned near his bed.
"Professor Westeros helped me order this suit from the finest tailors in Diagon Alley," Hagrid explained with obvious satisfaction, smoothing down his lapels with careful hands. "He also taught me several hair-styling charms and gave me a bottle of genuine Sleekeazy's Hair Potion."
"No, Hagrid," Harry said siffly, still staring at Hagrid's simultaneously refined and crude appearance, "I mean, why are you dressed up like this at all? What's the occasion that requires such... such formal attire?"
"Oh, well, you see... I'm meeting a very important guest later tonight," Hagrid's face broke into a shy smile that seemed completely at odds with his massive size and usually intimidating appearance.
"Professor Westeros has been giving me lessons in how to behave more... more like a proper gentleman."
Harry stared at Hagrid, and he was again speechless.
Despite the effort and expense that had gone into the formal attire and grooming, he couldn't help feeling that no amount of clothing, hair products, or etiquette lessons could ever make the word "gentleman" seem naturally associated with Hagrid's deeply wild and untamed character.
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