Strange Potter

The night air was crisp, the moon hanging low above the treetops that surrounded the sprawling grounds of Potter Manor. A small figure slipped through the side gate, silent as a shadow. Regulus, far too clever for his own good, kept to the shadows with a smirk tugging at his lips.

He reached the edge of the woods, where the trees grew thicker—and sure enough, seated on a mossy rock, waiting with practiced patience, was Atreus.

Or rather… Loki.

"You’re late," Loki said smoothly without looking up, flipping a dagger between his fingers.

"I had to dodge two house elves and Mum’s perimeter charm she had dad put in. I think that earns me a dramatic entrance," Regulus replied, flopping onto a rock opposite him.

Loki raised a brow. "I'll admit, you're improving."

"Please, I’ve been sneaking around since I was six." Regulus pulled a chocolate frog from his pocket and tossed one to Loki. "Besides, you knew I’d come."

"I always know," Loki replied with a smirk. He caught the frog mid-leap, inspecting it like it was a rare treasure. "You’ve developed the kind of skill most adults lack. I assume you're here to tell me more of your criminal exploits?"

Regulus grinned. "Dad’s been teaching me better pranks. Nothing deadly, of course, but effective. This week, I hexed Professor Burbage’s chalk to only write in lewd Latin phrases. Took her two days to realize ‘amo mortem’ wasn’t the Hogwarts motto."

Loki chuckled softly. "Delightful. Though I do feel it could’ve used more stabbing. Or fire."

"You always say that," Regulus laughed. "Not everything needs to end in blood, you know."

Loki leaned forward, his eyes glinting. "That's where we differ. But... your father’s mischief style is impressively subversive. Subtle chaos. It’s an art."

Regulus puffed up a little with pride. "He says the goal is to make people question reality a little more every time something weird happens. Harmless fun, mostly."

"Until it's not," Loki mused with a satisfied nod. "You’ve got potential, little Black."

Regulus smiled. "You’re wanted by the known magical world, and you're sitting here judging my prank game. I think that says more about you than me."

Loki smirked. "Perhaps. But I do enjoy your company, Regulus. You're refreshingly unafraid."

"I'm not stupid," Regulus shrugged. "I know who you are. I just... don’t care like everyone else does. You’re not boring. And you listen."

Loki tilted his head. "A rare compliment. And not undeserved."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the forest around them rustling softly.

"You know," Regulus said eventually, "Dad would kill me if he knew I was out here."

"Then it's good he's not as good at sneaking as you," Loki replied, leaning back on his rock.

"Mum would shoot you. Again."

"I expect nothing less." Loki smirked flipping his daggers again.

Regulus grinned. "You should teach me that dagger flip."

"Oh, I thought you’d never ask."

And under the moonlight, the god and the child plotted chaos—not of war, but of harmless rebellion, small tricks, and shared secrets between two misfits who found an unlikely friendship in the spaces between lies and legacy.

The small café sat nestled between larger shops, its warm glow spilling onto the London street as evening set in. Inside, the clinking of cups and murmured conversations filled the air. It was a quiet place, a moment of stillness in a city always moving.

At a corner table, away from prying eyes, sat two men from vastly different worlds. Albus, in well-worn but respectable attire, stirred his tea thoughtfully. Across from him, Steve, dressed in casual clothes, sipped his coffee, his blue eyes watching the older man with curiosity.

Dumbledore set down his spoon and folded his hands. "Forgive my bluntness, Captain, but I find myself quite curious. Your name carries the weight of history, yet you sit before me as a man untouched by time. How is it that you—who should be a relic of war—are here, youthful as I remember. Last I heard of you. You perished on a mission."

Steve exhaled, setting his cup down. "The short version? I was frozen in ice for seventy years. Woke up in the modern world like no time had passed."

Dumbledore’s brows rose. "Fascinating. Suspended in time, only to awaken in an era unrecognizable to you. A man out of place in his own world."

Steve smirked slightly. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

The wizard studied him. "And yet, you seem to have adapted well."

Steve shrugged. "Had to. The world doesn’t stop moving just because you do. I found my place, even if it took time."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "You and I are alike in one way, Captain. We are both relics of different times, watching as the world changes before our eyes. But tell me, do you ever wonder if the path we walk is truly the right one?"

Steve's jaw tightened. "All the time. The difference is, I don't let what I think is right cloud what is right."

Dumbledore sighed. "A lesson I am still learning, it seems."

Steve leaned forward. "I’ve seen men justify terrible things in the name of the greater good. That phrase doesn’t mean what you think it does, Professor."

Dumbledore met his gaze, a shadow passing over his features. "Perhaps not."

For a moment, they sat in silence, two men burdened by the weight of choices past and present.

Dumbledore reached for his tea. "Tell me, Captain—do you believe in redemption?"

Steve didn't hesitate. "I believe people can change. But only if they want to."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, a distant look in his eyes. "Then I hope, for all our sakes, that it is not too late."

"You know," Steve said with a soft smile, "I’ve met a few of people out of time… but I never thought I’d be sitting here having tea with someone from the war who still remembered it firsthand."

Dumbledore chuckled, eyes twinkling. "And I never thought I'd be sitting with Captain America himself again. When I first heard the name again, I assumed it was a new symbol—a legacy. I didn’t think you were still alive."

"You didn’t seem like the soldier type when we first met," Steve said with a grin. "That always suck with me."

"I wasn’t. Not in the traditional sense." Dumbledore’s smile faded slightly. "But there are wars that can’t be fought with wands or spells. And there were lives worth protecting, even if it meant hiding who I was."

Steve leaned back. "That’s something I understand all too well."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both reflecting on different lifetimes, different kinds of battles.

"Still," Steve continued, "it’s good to talk to someone from back then. Someone who saw the world before it all changed so many times."

Dumbledore nodded. "There’s a comfort in remembering. And a weight in how much has been lost—or gained."

Steve looked at him with quiet curiosity. "You still carry it, don’t you? The burden of choices."

"I imagine we both do," Dumbledore said softly. "And yet, here we are. Not as symbols. Just men who tried to do what was right."

Steve smiled. "Still trying."

Dumbledore raised his cup in a small toast. "To trying."

Steve clinked his coffee cup against the porcelain gently. "To not giving up."

And in that quiet corner of the café, two relics of history found rare peace in shared purpose.

Hermione stood in the backyard of the Granger household, her parents standing nearby with curious expressions on their faces. She had been waiting for the right moment to reveal her secret to them. Taking a deep breath, she whispered the incantation to herself, feeling the familiar sensation of transformation begin.

In a flash of light and a flutter of feathers, Hermione's form changed, and a sleek brown owl with distinct white markings appeared where she had stood. Her wings stretched out gracefully, the tips brushing the air, and she gave a small hoot, looking up at her parents from her new perspective.

Richard and Jean stood in stunned silence for a moment, blinking in disbelief at the owl before them. It was a moment of wonder and awe.

"Is that... is that you, Hermione?" Jean asked, her voice soft with astonishment.

The owl nodded, hopping closer to them with an elegance that was both familiar and otherworldly. Hermione's keen eyes could see the mixture of pride and concern on her mother's face. It was no surprise; her parents had always supported her, but they weren't fully accustomed to the magical world yet.

After a beat, Richard shook his head in disbelief. "An owl... you've really done it? We knew you were brilliant, but this is... well, this is something else."

Hermione, let out a soft, almost amused hoot before fluttering her wings to land on Richard's outstretched arm. Her sharp beak nuzzled into his hand, a gesture of affection and comfort.

Her parents knew her well enough to understand that she was proud but also nervous about how they would react.

Jean reached out tentatively, brushing her fingers through the owl's soft feathers. "I can't believe it," she murmured. "You're growing up so fast, Hermione. This is... extraordinary."

Hermione perched on Richard's arm for a few moments longer before giving a soft hoot, signaling that she would change back. With another swift incantation, she transformed back into her human self, her clothes falling back into place as the last of the feathers faded away.

Jean and Richard exchanged a look, their expressions filled with pride and wonder. "Well, Hermione," Richard finally said, his voice thick with emotion, "you're more than just brilliant. You're magic itself."

Hermione smiled brightly, her cheeks flushed. "Thanks, Dad. It's just a bit of hard work. But I’m glad you like it."

Jean chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "We’re proud of you, sweetheart. Always have been."

Hermione beamed, her heart full. This was why she loved sharing her world with her parents. They may not fully understand it, but they accepted it—and her—with all their hearts.

It was a short while later that another person came to see them family.

Snow blanketed the quiet neighborhood as Harry stood on the doorstep of the Granger home, taking a steadying breath before ringing the doorbell. He’d faced dark wizards, trolls, and even Karl’s twisted magic, but just Hermione’s parents for a proper dinner still made his stomach twist.

The door swung open, revealing Hermione in a cozy sweater, her eyes lighting up the moment she saw him. “Harry! You’re just in time.”

Before he could respond, she pulled him inside, where the warmth of the house instantly chased away the winter chill. The scent of roasted chicken and something distinctly sweet filled the air.

Richard watched from the dining table, his expression measured but not unkind. Jean on the other hand, smiled warmly. "Welcome, Harry. We’ve heard some interesting things about this year."

“Good things, I hope,” Harry said, offering a small grin.

"Mostly," Richard said, eyeing him. "I understand you’ve had quite the eventful year."

"That’s… one way to put it," Harry admitted, shifting slightly as they all moved to sit at the table.

Dinner went smoother than expected. Jean asked about Hogwarts and his studies, clearly fascinated by the magical world, while Richard was more direct.

“This tournament—this Triwizard thing,” Richard started, setting his fork down. “Hermione’s told us what’s involved. You nearly got burned alive by a dragon.” His tone was even, but the underlying concern was obvious.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, but I handled it.”

“That’s not reassuring.” Richard’s sharp gaze flicked to Hermione. “And you’re staying out of this, right?”

“Yes, Dad,” Hermione said, though there was a knowing look in her eyes that Harry didn’t miss.

Harry met Richard’s gaze firmly. “I promise, sir, Hermione won’t be part of the tournament—other than watching. I’ll make sure of it.”

Richard studied him for a moment, then nodded slightly. “Good.”

Jean smiled, breaking the tension. “Well, now that we have that settled, who’s up for dessert?”

As the evening continued, Harry couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of normalcy—a brief moment where he wasn’t ‘The Boy Who Lived’ or a competitor in a deadly tournament. He was just Harry, sitting down for dinner with his girlfriend’s family.

The Granger household was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the bitter cold outside. The scent of home-cooked food still lingered in the air as Hermione’s parents, Richard and Jean, cleared the table. Hermione and Harry sat in the living room, the fire crackling softly nearby.

Crookshanks stretched lazily on the armrest before leaping onto Harry’s lap without hesitation. The orange feline curled up comfortably, purring in satisfaction.

Hermione chuckled, settling beside Harry. “I swear, he likes you more than me sometimes.”

Harry smirked, scratching behind Crookshanks’ ears. “Can you blame him? I did pick him out for you.”

Richard, carrying a couple of mugs of tea, raised an eyebrow at the scene. “Looks like you’ve officially been claimed, Harry.”

Jean smiled as she sat down. “Well, if our daughter likes you, and the cat approves, I suppose that’s all that matters.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, though her cheeks flushed slightly. Harry simply grinned, enjoying the peaceful moment. For once, there were no battles, no looming threats—just warmth, tea, and a very satisfied cat in his lap.

Rita Skeeter burst through the doors of the Daily Prophet newsroom like a hurricane. Her boots were still caked in jungle mud, twigs stuck in her hair, and her eyes burned with pure indignation. The staff parted around her like startled birds, recognizing the look of a woman scorned—and very much out for blood.

“Get me my desk, my quill, and the front page!” she barked. “I’ve been silent long enough.”

The editor, pale and wide-eyed, stammered, “You’ve been… missing for weeks. We thought—”

“I was banished!” Rita snarled, slamming a hand on the table. “Flung halfway across the globe by that Wanda Lupin like I was nothing more than a bug!" The fact she was at the time was irrelevant.

Her Quick-Quotes Quill twitched to life beside her, eagerly ready to follow its mistress’s fury.

“No more sitting quietly. No more being ignored,” she hissed. “Wanda’s hiding something, and I’m going to find out what. No one flings Rita Skeeter to the jungle and gets away with it.”

But going after Wanda was to obvious. She looked over previous articles with Harry and the tournament.

Her lip curled. “Of course. The Golden Boy of the Wizarding World.”

She flipped to the student coverage, and her eyes narrowed further. Hermione Granger spotted cheering for Potter from the stands. Sources say the two are inseparable...

“Well, well,” Rita purred, tapping a long green fingernail against the photo of Hermione. “Looks like Hogwarts’ brightest witch has gotten cozy with her chosen champion.”

She leaned back in her chair, eyes glinting. “It’s almost too easy. Everyone loves a golden couple—until the cracks start to show.”

Rita stood, now fully re-energized by spite. “Let the world see what Potter and his ‘perfect’ little life are really hiding.”

Her smile was venomous. “The truth will out, and I’ll be the one to write it. First, I break the boy. Then, I tear down the woman who threw me to the other side of the world.”

She swept from the room, her heels clicking like warning shots as her quill danced after her.

War had been declared—and Rita Skeeter had returned.

Unknown of the big about to haunt them the kids were back on the express as their brake ended and they needed to return to school.

The train was chugging steadily through the snowy landscape, the warmth inside the compartment a stark contrast to the frosty world outside. Harry, Hermione, Regulus, Pietro, and Lyall were scattered around the compartment, their trunks and bags piled in the corner. The sound of the train's wheels clattering along the tracks was a comforting hum in the background.

Pietro, who had been pacing back and forth with a slightly impatient expression, stopped near the window and glanced back at Harry. "So... why can’t you just portal back, like, right now? You and me both could just pop out of here, no problem," he said, his tone full of youthful impatience.

Harry smirked, his eyes flicking over to Hermione, who was reading a book.

"It’s a tradition," Harry replied, leaning back against the seat. "I guess this helps me feel like a normal wizard for a while. It's nice, you know? The whole train ride thing."

"Normal wizard," Pietro muttered, sounding unconvinced. "It’s boring." He flopped down on the seat, crossing his arms, looking like he would rather be anywhere else.

Lyall, who had been quiet for a while, smirked as he looked over at his twin brother. "I think you just prefer doing everything in the fastest way possible, Pietro. Some of us like to enjoy the ride."

Hermione chuckled softly, glancing up from her book. "There’s something nice about the journey. It’s part of the experience. Plus, it’s one of the few times we’re not rushing around saving the world or running from danger."

Regulus, sitting quietly next to Harry, nodded in agreement, his eyes on the snowy landscape passing by the window. "It’s peaceful," he said, his voice low but thoughtful. "Even if it’s a bit... long."

Pietro rolled his eyes but leaned back in his seat, clearly resigned to the idea. "Fine, fine. You guys are all about the experience." He turned back to the window, letting out a long sigh.

Harry couldn’t help but smile. "Maybe one day, you’ll appreciate it, Pietro. But for now, I think we’re stuck with the train."

Hermione grinned at Harry, giving him an approving nod, before going back to her book. The moment of peace was fleeting but welcome. It was nice, for once, not to be rushing into something dangerous. Just for a few hours, they could relax, share stories, and enjoy the simple things.

The peace didn't last long though.

The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels provided a steady background hum, but it was no match for the rapid-fire chatter coming from Pietro. He had been talking for the better part of twenty minutes without taking a breath—bouncing from one topic to another, somehow connecting magical creatures, how cool Mjolnir was, and whether or not Bertie Bott's had ever considered chaos-flavored beans.

“…and then I told Lyall, ‘If your claws can cut through anything, you should be careful when holding sandwiches,’ but does he listen? Nooo. And another thing—I’m not saying I want a dragon for a pet, but if someone offered, I’d at least—”

Snap.

Silence.

Pietro blinked, his mouth still open mid-sentence. No sound came out. He slowly turned his head to glare at Harry, who had casually snapped his fingers and was now leaning back in his seat with a pleased expression.

Lyall burst out laughing. “Why didn’t you do that sooner?”

Pietro pointed at him accusingly, still silently mouthing protests.

Harry chuckled and released the spell with a flick of his fingers.

“You’re the worst,” Pietro muttered with dramatic offense. “That was a very important story.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “You better not try that on me, Potter.”

Harry smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good,” Regulus said with mock seriousness. “I bite.”

The compartment filled with laughter as the train sped toward Hogwarts, warm despite the winter air, and full of the strange and chaotic comfort that came with being part of a very unusual family.

In the dimly lit Hogwarts corridor, Cedric caught up to Harry as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower after the train. The older Hufflepuff looked hesitant, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening.

“Harry,” Cedric said, his voice low, “I wanted to give you a fair chance. The egg—it’s not what it seems. Take it to the—”

Harry held up a hand, cutting him off with a small, knowing smile. “The Prefects' bathroom, right? Run it under water?”

Cedric blinked in surprise. “You—how did you—?”

Harry shrugged. “Had a hunch. And some good friends.”

Cedric let out a breath of amusement. “Of course you did.” He shook his head but grinned. “Well, good luck, then. Any chance you'll use another Stark suit?"

“No promises,” Harry replied easily.

Later that night, after much maneuvering, all four champions met in a hidden corner of the castle.

“It is ridiculous,” Fleur huffed, arms crossed. “We are expected to fight, to sabotage each other, but why? We all know someone is playing with the Tournament.” Her blue eyes flickered to Harry. “You already proved you didn't enter."

"Yep." Harry nodded.

Krum, who had been watching silently, finally spoke. “Then we are all being used.” He folded his arms. “I do not like being used.”

Cedric nodded. “Neither do I. We all trained for this, but we shouldn’t have to watch our backs against each other.”

Fleur’s gaze was sharp as she studied the three boys, then sighed. “Then a truce, yes?”

“A truce,” Cedric agreed, holding out his hand.

Harry and Viktor followed, their hands stacking one over the other. Fleur hesitated for a moment before rolling her eyes and adding hers to the pile.

“We compete,” Viktor said, “but we do not betray.”

“Deal,” Harry confirmed.

And just like that, an unspoken pact was formed. Whatever the Tournament threw at them next, they would face it as equals—not enemies.

The cold breeze drifted through the courtyard, rustling pages of books and sending flower petals dancing across the stone path. Hermione and Luna sat on a bench near the greenhouses, enjoying a rare moment of quiet between lessons and tournament chaos.

Hermione tucked a curl behind her ear as she marked her place in a thick Arithmancy book. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How things have changed this year.”

Luna tilted her head dreamily, her wand twirling a few blades of grass into little braids. “Changed… but in good ways.”

Hermione smiled softly. “You and Neville, for one. I always suspected something would happen between you two eventually.”

Luna’s cheeks flushed faintly. “He was so sweet at the Yule Ball. Nervous and clumsy, but… kind. He asked if he could hold my hand during the song with the sharp violin bit, and then didn’t let go even after it ended.”

Hermione chuckled. “That sounds like Neville.” She hesitated, then added, “You two fit. It’s nice, seeing him smile like that.”

Luna looked at her with a knowing glint in her eye. “And Harry? He makes you happy.”

Hermione glanced down, her smile widening as her fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of her book. “He does. Even when he’s frustrating or reckless… there’s just something about him. When he’s near, I feel steadier. Like whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching students pass by, laughter echoing faintly across the grounds.

Suddenly, the peace shattered as Harry sprinted past, his coat flapping behind him. “Told you I’d win that bet!” he called over his shoulder, a huge grin on his face. “I said the Yule Ball!”

Neville was right on his heels, red-faced but laughing. “Get back here, Potter!”

Harry waved dramatically as he rounded the corner. “Hermione! Tell Luna I called it!”

Hermione snorted, while Luna simply blinked serenely in the direction they disappeared.

“What bet?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

Luna giggled softly. “He bet with the twins on when Neville and I would get together.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Honestly… I should’ve guessed.”

“I think he’s happy for us,” Luna said quietly.

“I know he is,” Hermione replied, and they both went back to their books—hearts a little lighter, smiles a little brighter.

A little later. 

The Gryffindor common room was quiet—too quiet. At least, until Fred and George Weasley sat huddled in the corner with Regulus Black, parchment spread out before them, quills scratching furiously as they plotted.

“All right, what about—” Fred started.

“No, no, hear me out,” Regulus interrupted, eyes glinting with mischief. “We charm his robes to shimmer like a patronus every time he sneers. He’ll look like a glowing, celestial bat.”

George snorted. “A bit subtle, don’t you think? We were hoping for something a little more… dramatic.”

Regulus smirked, twirling his quill. “Fine. How about we swap his potions ingredients for harmless lookalikes? The second he tries to brew anything, boom—exploding cauldron.”

Fred and George shared an excited glance.

“You,” Fred declared, clapping a hand on Regulus’ shoulder, “do your father proud.”

Regulus grinned. “He was a Marauder, after all. Just because he grew up doesn’t mean I can’t carry on the legacy.”

George leaned in, voice conspiratorial. “Now, hear this—what if we rigged his chair to sink lower every time he sat in it? By the end of class, he’d be under the desk.”

Regulus chuckled. “Brilliant. But if we’re going that route, why not have it randomly throw him up instead? Just imagine the look on his face.”

The twins howled with laughter.

“Oh, this is going to be a fantastic year,” Fred declared, rolling up the parchment. “Snape won’t know what hit him.”

Regulus leaned back in his chair, grinning. “I’d say we’re off to a Marauder-worthy start.”

The fire crackled softly as Hermione stepped out from behind the armchair with a book in hand, intending to head up to the girls’ dorm. She stopped when she heard low voices coming from a quiet corner near the stairs.

She peeked around and spotted Regulus huddled between Fred and George Weasley, all three whispering conspiratorially.

"All I'm saying is," Fred was saying, "Snape’s hair already looks like it’s been attacked by a bottle of cursed shampoo."

"We’re just enhancing what’s already there," George added, barely containing a snicker.

Regulus grinned. "What if it starts steaming purple and hissing every time he frowns? That'd be brilliant."

Hermione sighed. “You three really shouldn’t be planning to prank Professor Snape.”

All three boys jumped.

Fred grinned. “Hello, Hermione. Fancy joining our little strategy meeting?”

“No,” Hermione said sternly, “because this is obviously a terrible idea.” She folded her arms. “Snape will have all three of you in detention for weeks. Possibly banned from the Great Hall.”

George held up a finger. “But—hear us out—we’ve accounted for that possibility.”

Hermione gave them a look.

Regulus added, "We won’t get caught. Probably."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose… but then paused.

“Purple hissing shampoo?” she said slowly.

Regulus lit up. “Yeah!”

“You’re going about it all wrong,” Hermione said with a dangerous smirk. “You need to enchant the shampoo bottle itself to activate only after he says the word ‘Potter.’ You’d get him by breakfast.”

Fred and George blinked, then burst out laughing.

“That’s brilliant!” George said.

Fred nodded, eyes gleaming. “She’s got the makings of a true menace.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at her lips. “You didn’t hear it from me.”

As she turned to walk away, she called back, “And make sure you wear gloves when you enchant it. Snape knows your magical residue.”

Regulus stared after her, impressed. “She’s kind of terrifying.”

“She’s perfect,” Fred said dreamily.

“We’re keeping her,” George added with a grin.

Regulus nodded seriously. “Agreed. You guys settle the details. I got to go with her to help Harry."

"Can do."

As Harry hovered in the air, his body perfectly still except for the faint ripple of Chaos magic surrounding him, his friends gathered around, researching and brainstorming.

Neville flipped through a thick tome on magical water-breathing methods, frowning. "Gillyweed worked for my parents when they were younger. Maybe it’ll work for you too?"

Hermione, who had already compiled a small list of possible solutions, adjusted her notes. "It’s a strong option, but we should have backups in case it doesn’t last long enough."

Susan and Blaise sat together, considering the implications of various spells. "What about human transfiguration?" Susan suggested. "McGonagall mentioned it, though it's advanced."

"Too risky," Blaise muttered. "If something goes wrong, he could be stuck as half a fish."

Meanwhile, Regulus sat cross-legged with Lyall and Pietro, both of whom watched Harry with curiosity.

"Do I look as cool doing that?" Pietro whispered.

Lyall smirked. "Nope. You look ridiculous. Harry looks badass."

Regulus smirked. "We should let him concentrate. He’s probably listening to everything we’re saying anyway."

Sure enough, Harry cracked an eye open, smirking slightly before closing it again, allowing the hum of his magic to fill the space as they continued to plan.

"Why don’t you just pick a shark for your Animagus form?" Peitro asked, tilting his head. "You know, chomp chomp, problem solved."

Harry cracked an eye open, sighing. "Because, one, I haven’t fully mastered the transformation yet. Two, Chaos magic lets me pick any animal, sure—but controlling the form is another story."

Pietro grinned. "So you could turn into a shark."

"Yes," Harry admitted.

"But you won’t turn into a shark?"

"Because I’d rather not risk losing control and accidentally eating someone."

Pietro blinked. "Fair point."

Neville smirked. "So, what are you thinking? Something aquatic at least?"

Harry exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Yeah, but I need something I can control, not just something cool. I’m still working on it."

Hermione, listening quietly, gave him a pointed look. "Let Harry focus, Pietro."

Pietro held up his hands. "Hey, just saying—if the task is in water, shark makes sense."

Lyall, crouched nearby on all fours like a wolf, snorted. "Not if he loses himself to instinct and starts treating the judges like snacks."

Harry groaned. "Exactly!"

That night.

Harry stood in the room at the edge of the lake, mentally preparing himself for the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. 

Strange, standing with his arms crossed, scanned Harry with a knowing gaze. 

Wanda, ever watchful and reassuring, placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You've trained for this, Harry. You've faced worse. We believe in you."

"Yeah," Remus added, his voice steady. "And we're here if you need anything. You’ve got this, Harry."

But Harry was lost in his thoughts. As the second task loomed closer, a piece of doubt crept in—he didn’t want to be predictable. He didn't want to use the Ironman suit again, despite the effectiveness of it. He had to approach this task in his own way, something that felt right for him.

"Maybe I can just swim through it," Harry murmured.

Sirius, who had been flipping through a dusty old spellbook, grinned at the suggestion. "I've found something that might help. A breathing spell. You'll be able to breathe underwater and swim as fast as a fish. It's not flashy, but it'll get the job done."

Harry shook his head, half-amused, half-relieved. "I don’t want to rely on gadgets again. No offense to Tony, but I want to do this myself. No more Ironman suit for me."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by Harry’s resolve. "Fair enough. You want to make your own mark, I get it. And that’s the spirit."

Harry smiled, nodding in agreement. He was ready to face the second task in his own way, and with the support of his friends and family, he felt more than prepared.

Strange gave Harry one last, steadying look. "Remember, Harry. Your greatest strength lies not just in your abilities, but in your heart. No matter what comes next, you'll find a way."

With that, the group made their final preparations, leaving the shadows of doubt behind as they focused on what was ahead. Harry wasn't just going to be a Triwizard Champion. He was going to do it his way.

The Compound the following morning.

The soft hum of machinery filled the air as Tony Stark worked diligently at his workbench, his hands deftly moving over tools and parts. Sparks occasionally flew from the welding torch as he adjusted pieces of armor. The suit in front of him was sleek, a dark and metallic finish that glinted under the lab’s bright lights. It was a suit designed for Harry—just in case.

Sirius walked in, leaning casually against the doorway, watching Tony with a raised brow. The sound of footsteps on the concrete caught Tony’s attention, and he looked up, his usual smirk in place.

“What’s up, Pads?” Tony asked, not pausing his work.

“I see you’re busy," Sirius said, his arms crossed as he looked at the suit. "Making something special for Harry?"

Tony didn’t look up as he continued to work. "Oh, this? Yeah. It’s just a little backup plan for him, in case he can’t pull something out of his hat for the second task."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, amused. "The kid already used one of your suits for the first task, and you’re building him another one?"

Tony shrugged casually. “Well, the dragon was a bit of a curveball. Besides, I’ve got a free hour, why not, right? Better to be over-prepared than under, especially with the kind of magic Harry’s dealing with."

Sirius smirked, leaning against the lab counter. "You’re not worried he’ll get too reliant on it? We both know he’s got the power to handle it without a suit.”

Tony paused, giving a thoughtful glance to Sirius. “Sure, he’s got power, but this is Harry Potter we’re talking about. Nothing ever goes according to plan. If he needs a little extra protection, I’m not gonna leave him hanging. Besides, he seems to like the idea of having backup when things get… unpredictable.”

Sirius nodded, understanding Tony’s pragmatism. “True. But don’t let him get too used to it.”

Tony flashed a grin. “I’m pretty sure the kid doesn’t need any more ego boost. But I’m just covering all my bases. Who knows what this second task will bring?”

Sirius chuckled softly. “You’re making a lot of assumptions about what kind of trouble the boy could get into.”

“Right,” Tony said with a wink, “but I’m also giving him a tool he can use if it goes sideways. That’s all.”

Sirius’s eyes flickered to the suit again, his gaze thoughtful. “Just… don’t let him forget he’s more than just the armor. Harry’s got the heart to face anything.”

Tony’s expression softened slightly. “Yeah, I know. It’s why I’m doing this. To make sure he’s got the tools, the support... and a way out if things go sideways.”

With a final adjustment, Tony stood back and looked at the suit, satisfied with his work. "Alright, that’s about as good as it’s going to get for now. Let’s just hope Harry doesn’t have to use it."

The weight room was thick with the scent of sweat and the echo of heavy breathing. Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Luna all stood around, recovering from the intense workout they’d just completed. Neville, red-faced and drenched in sweat, wiped his forehead and let out a heavy sigh, stretching his sore arms.

"Next time, I'm sitting out," Neville muttered, shaking his head. "I thought I was going to die halfway through that routine."

Luna, always light-hearted, came up beside him, brushing a few strands of her messy blonde hair out of her face. With a mischievous smile, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. "You did wonderfully, Neville. You just need to embrace it more, like I do with my experiments."

Neville's expression softened, his eyes fond, though still clearly exhausted. "I think I've reached my limit for the day," he chuckled, giving Luna a weary but grateful smile.

Just as they were about to head out of the room, a small, high-pitched voice interrupted them.

"Winky is here to serve Master Harry!" Winky squeaked, appearing in a flash of light.

The four of them turned around in surprise. Winky, the house-elf, stood before them, her large, mournful eyes fixed on Harry as she held up a tray of cool, refreshing drinks. "Would Master Harry and friends like some drinks to cool down? Winky made them special!"

Harry smiled at her, his heart warmed by her dedication. "Thanks, Winky. You're the best."

But Hermione's smile quickly faltered. She looked between Harry and the elf, her expression turning sharp. "Wait, Harry... what... what do you mean, Winky is your elf?"

Neville glanced between them nervously, sensing the tension building. "Uh, Hermione... maybe we should talk about this later?"

But Hermione had already stepped forward, her face flushing with frustration. "Harry, you can't—" She stopped herself, clearly trying to keep her voice controlled, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "You can't just enslave a house-elf! Harry, that’s... that’s not okay."

Harry stiffened, his expression hardening. "Hermione, Winky is free. I didn’t force her into anything. After she was freed by Crouch, she had nowhere to go. She wanted to stay with me. She's happy here, and she's a part of my family."

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. "That’s not the point. Just because she agrees to stay doesn’t mean it’s right. Harry, you know how wrong it is to keep house-elves bound to anyone! You’ve seen how it works! You can’t just—"

"I didn't enslave her, Hermione!" Harry cut in, his voice rising. "Winky chose to stay with me, and I didn’t make her do anything. She’s free, but she wants to help. You don’t understand—she’s part of my family now. And I’m not going to just kick her out because it makes you uncomfortable."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Neville spoke up, his voice hesitant but firm. "Maybe we should all just calm down a bit." He glanced at Luna, who had stepped back, watching them both quietly. "We’re all tired from training, and—"

"No," Hermione said, her gaze never leaving Harry’s face. "No, I won’t just calm down, Neville. This isn’t something I can ignore."

The room was tense, and Winky looked between the two, her eyes wide with confusion and worry. "Winky... Winky just wants to make Master Harry and friends happy. Winky is happy here, she is..." She trailed off, her small hands wringing together.

Harry's gaze softened as he turned to the elf, his tone gentle. "I’m sorry, Winky. I didn’t mean to upset anyone." He turned back to Hermione, though his voice was still firm. "But I can’t let you tell me what I can and can’t do, Hermione. I care about her—she’s my responsibility now, and she wants to stay."

Hermione crossed her arms, looking away, her frustration still evident. "I just... I can’t stand the idea of you keeping her as a servant, Harry. She’s a person, not something to be owned."

Luna stepped forward, gently putting a hand on Hermione’s arm. "Hermione, I think Harry’s right. Winky seems happy. It’s not the same as the other elves we’ve seen. Maybe... maybe it’s something you can learn to understand."

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "I don’t know if I can. I just... I don’t like it."

The tension was thick, but Harry didn’t back down. "I understand how you feel, but this is how it is. Winky is happy, and that’s all I care about. I’m not going to force her to leave. Not now, not ever."

Hermione’s gaze softened slightly, but she still looked conflicted. She opened her mouth to argue once more but paused, exhaling slowly. "I don’t agree with it, Harry, but I’m not going to fight you over it." She looked at Winky, her expression shifting to something more apologetic. "I just don’t want you to get hurt."

Winky smiled a bit, relieved. "Winky will always serve Master Harry, and be happy! Winky knows Master Harry cares for her!"

Harry smiled back at her, but his attention was still on Hermione. "I get it, Hermione. I do. But I hope you can accept it. This is the choice I made."

Hermione didn’t answer immediately. She stood there for a moment, looking torn. Then, finally, she spoke. "I’ll try. But it doesn’t mean I agree with it." She looked at Neville and Luna for support, and Neville nodded silently, still feeling uncomfortable but not knowing what else to do.

"Alright," she finally said. "Let’s just move on from this for now."

Harry nodded, though he could still feel the tension between them. He was certain they'd have more discussions about this in the future. But for now, Winky’s smile was enough to ease some of his frustration.

As the group relaxed, Winky served the drinks, and Harry couldn't help but notice the small, satisfied smile on the elf’s face. Even though Hermione and he had their differences, at least Winky was here, happy and safe—just like she wanted.

The air was thick with tension in Dumbledore’s office as the four champions, Harry, Cedric, Viktor, and Fleur, stood in front of the tournament organizers. Strange, standing beside them, had his arms crossed, his piercing gaze never leaving the faces of the organizers. Behind him, the looming presence of—Sirius and Natasha—stood like silent sentinels, ready for any misstep.

The task at hand was serious. The second task of the Triwizard Tournament was to take place in the Black Lake, and the champions were to retrieve something from the depths. Originally, the organizers had planned to use hostages—namely the champions’ loved ones—but Strange had swiftly made it clear that using anyone as a bargaining chip would be unacceptable. The threat had been simple and effective: no one would be allowed to use students or innocents as leverage.

Now, the organizers found themselves trying to figure out how to salvage their plan. They had hoped for the advantage that hostages could provide, but Strange’s intervention had shut that down completely. With no other option, they were now forced to approach the champions with a new offer.

“Champions,” said Madame Maxime, her voice heavy with a mix of frustration and stern professionalism. “As an alternative to using people, we will need you to provide a personal item of value to be placed at the bottom of the lake. Something that holds significance to you, something you are willing to part with, for the task.”

The champions exchanged wary glances, but none were as unsettled as Harry. The proposal wasn’t ideal, but it was far better than the alternative. Harry, his eyes fixed on the ground, felt his heart pound at the idea of giving up something that meant a lot to him. It wasn’t just the task that was weighing on his mind but the fact that something was off about the whole tournament.

“An item of value,” Viktor repeated, his accent thick, but his voice steady. “I’ll give them my broomstick,” he said, his dark eyes flicking over to the tournament officials, challenging them to say otherwise. His iconic broom, was the perfect offering—one that was both valuable and irreplaceable to him.

Fleur, ever poised, looked thoughtful but resigned. “I’ll offer my necklace,” she said softly, a hint of uncertainty in her tone. She reached for the delicate piece of jewelry around her neck, the one that had been passed down from her mother, and held it in her hand as though weighing its importance.

Cedric  followed suit with ease. “I’ll give my father’s pocket watch. It was a gift,” he said, his voice unwavering as he removed the watch from his pocket. His eyes met Harry’s for a brief moment, both understanding that the items they were offering held sentimental value, but in a way, it was a necessary sacrifice for the task ahead.

Harry stood silent for a moment, his hand hovering over the pouch he kept around his neck. It contained a token from his parents—a memento of their love for him, a part of them that he couldn’t let go. Nothing better happen to it. Even if he could create an exact copy of it with his magic it still wouldn't feel the same.

“This compromise,” he said, his voice cutting through the tense silence, “is an acceptable one. However, I want it made clear that no further risk will be taken. If anyone tries to manipulate the champions or use any further tricks, I will intervene. No harm will come to these students under my watch.”

Dumbledore stood behind the group, his hands folded, his eyes lingering on Harry. The headmaster’s presence seemed to fill the room, but there was an undercurrent of tension that wasn’t lost on anyone. As the champions handed over their items one by one, Harry hesitated for a moment before pulling the small necklace off and placing it onto the table in front of him.

Once the items were placed on the table, the champions stood back, each of them waiting for the next part of the task to unfold.

The organizers gave a single nod of acknowledgment to Strange, grateful that he had allowed them to salvage what was left of the plan. But they knew that there was a looming presence over them—Strange wasn’t easily fooled, and neither were the champions.

“Thank you,” Madame Maxime said stiffly. “The task will proceed as planned, with the lake being the location for the next stage. We’ll ensure your items are secured and returned after the task is completed.”

Strange gave a brief, nonchalant nod. “See that they are.”

With that, the conversation was over. The champions made their way to the door, and as they filed out, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that the tournament was far more dangerous than anyone was letting on. Something was brewing beneath the surface, and he had a sinking suspicion that this was only the beginning.

As the door closed behind them, the weight of the task ahead felt heavier than ever.

In the Ravenclaw common room, Luna sat quietly by the large windows, her gaze lost in the clouds outside. The room was filled with the usual chatter of students, but Luna was in her own world, her thoughts drifting toward things only she truly understood.

Across the room, a girl from another year, a sly smirk on her face, spoke loudly to her friends. "Luna Lovegood," she said with a roll of her eyes, "always so strange. Who in their right mind would want to believe all that nonsense she spouts?"

The others snickered, and Luna felt a faint flicker of annoyance. But she didn’t respond, not outwardly at least. She was used to the teasing.

What the girl didn’t know was that Peitro was sitting on a nearby chair, pretending to read a book. His lips barely moved as he whispered something under his breath. His purple magic swirled around him like an invisible mist, carefully focused on the girl making fun of Luna.

Without anyone noticing, the girl’s book suddenly floated from her hands, hovering just out of reach. She reached up to grab it, but the book moved with her, just beyond her fingertips. She stumbled, her cheeks flushed with confusion and embarrassment, as she tried to regain control of the book.

Luna, still staring ahead, couldn’t help but smirk. She knew exactly what was happening.

The girl’s frustration grew. "What the—?!" she exclaimed, looking around for anyone who might have been messing with her. But no one seemed to be paying attention. Her friends were still laughing, oblivious.

Peitro leaned back in his chair, a grin barely visible on his face, his purple magic still swirling around him. His work here was done.

Luna couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to herself, her expression unchanged as she continued to watch the scene unfold. She had learned long ago to appreciate her friends’ unique abilities, especially those of Peitro.

Finally, the girl, her pride wounded and her book now safely back in her hands, stormed off, muttering under her breath.

Luna turned her gaze to Peitro, who was now casually flipping through his book, looking perfectly innocent. She raised an eyebrow, her smile only slightly visible as she spoke. "Thank you, Peitro," she said softly, her voice filled with an unspoken understanding.

Peitro’s grin widened, but he didn’t say anything. He simply returned to his book, his purple magic fading away as if nothing had happened at all.

The long table in the Hogwarts staff room was lined with professors, some engaged in quiet conversation while others focused on the latest developments within the castle. Dumbledore, seated at the head, looked weary but attentive. Across from him, Snape stood with his usual sharp glare, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

“There has been an issue with missing potion ingredients,” Snape announced coldly. “Several key stores have been depleted, and I do not believe it to be simple student mischief.”

McGonagall frowned. “What ingredients are missing?”

Snape’s lip curled as he listed them off. “Fluxweed, lacewing flies, powdered bicorn horn, shredded Boomslang skin—”

Remus sat up straight. “That’s for Polyjuice Potion.”

A hush fell over the room. Dumbledore’s brows furrowed in thought while McGonagall’s frown deepened.

“Indeed,” Snape agreed, narrowing his eyes. “Someone within the castle is brewing Polyjuice Potion. And given the difficulty and time required, I doubt it is for anything innocent.”

Flitwick adjusted his spectacles. “Whoever is behind this must have knowledge beyond an average student.”

Sprout sighed. “And access to the ingredients.”

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. “We must determine who and why. Severus, take inventory of the remaining stores and determine how much has been used. Remus, see if you can track any unusual behavior among the students.”

Remus nodded, already feeling a pit forming in his stomach. Someone within the castle was preparing to change their identity—and that never meant anything good.

In the Forbidden Forest

The night was thick with fog, the trees casting long shadows across the Forbidden Forest. The usual sounds of creatures and rustling leaves were replaced by the subtle footsteps of two figures sneaking through the underbrush. Fred and George Weasley had their wands drawn, eyes wide with curiosity. They had caught wind of something—someone—unusual nearby and decided it was worth investigating.

"Do you think we should be doing this?" Fred whispered to his twin, the excitement evident in his voice despite his caution.

"Of course we should," George grinned. "Who else would get to see this, huh? The twins, the masters of secrets."

Suddenly, a streak of purple light flashed between the trees, followed by a distinctive sound of wind rushing.

"Oi, look at that!" Fred whispered, his eyes tracking the movement.

They crept forward, their steps light as they reached a clearing. What they saw left them momentarily frozen in awe.

In the center of the clearing stood Pietro, his long white streak of hair glowing in the dim light as he summoned bursts of magical energy. It wasn’t the usual magic they were accustomed to seeing, but something strikingly different: purple, sharp, and intense, weaving around him like a living thing. He grinned widely, clearly enjoying his own display of power.

"Check this out, Lyall!" Pietro called over to the figure standing beside him.

Lyall—looking like a wild, untamed force himself—stood with his legs slightly bent, like a predator about to strike. His hair was styled to stick up at the sides, giving him a feral appearance. As his eyes scanned the forest, they gleamed with an almost otherworldly intensity.

The twins blinked in surprise when Lyall's hand shot out. From his knuckles, sharp, metal claws extended, gleaming in the low light like deadly weapons. He twisted his wrist, the claws slashing through the air in rapid succession, cutting through the trees with ease.

"Whoa," George muttered under his breath.

Fred was just as stunned. "That’s... bloody impressive. We need to get a closer look."

They moved in quietly, determined not to be noticed, but that was when they heard a rustling behind them. The twins froze, their hearts pounding in their chests as they turned slowly.

Lyall's eyes locked on them from across the clearing. He sniffed the air, his nose twitching like that of an animal, and a small grin formed on his face.

"I knew you two were here," Lyall said calmly, his voice holding a certain smugness to it. "I have an excellent sense of smell, you know."

Pietro, sensing the situation, turned around, his grin widening even more. "Well, well, looks like we’ve been caught. What do we do with them, Lyall?"

Fred and George exchanged nervous glances but remained frozen in place.

"We won’t tell anyone," George quickly said, his tone playful but cautious. "Cross our hearts."

"We’ll keep this our little secret," Fred added with a wink.

Lyall raised an eyebrow, the claws still glinting in the dark. After a beat, he nodded. "Fine. Just remember, it’s not nice to spy."

Pietro chuckled, flicking his hair back in a dramatic fashion. "You’ve got to admit, it’s kind of cool, right?"

Fred and George both nodded in awe. "You two are insane," Fred said, now grinning ear to ear. "But in the best way possible."

"Promise you won’t tell anyone?" Lyall asked one last time, his tone suddenly serious.

"We swear on our magic," George said with a dramatic flair. "You have our word, no one will know."

The twins backed up, giving a respectful bow. "Right. We’ll leave you to your... secret training. Just remember, if we ever want a demonstration, we know where to find you."

With a final shared glance, they turned and vanished into the forest, their minds buzzing with what they had just witnessed.

Pietro and Lyall exchanged looks, and after a beat, Lyall retracted his claws, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Think they’ll ever tell anyone?"

Pietro shrugged, his grin still wide. "Doesn’t matter. But it was fun to freak them out."

Lyall smirked and gave a little nod. "Yeah, it was."

"Boys." Wanda stood with her arms crossed, giving her twin boys a stern look. 

"Mum..."Both boys said at the same time.

"You two," Wanda began, her voice calm but carrying the weight of authority. "What on Earth were you thinking sneaking off like that? And with the Weasley twins no less?"

Pietro, ever the talkative one, opened his mouth to offer an excuse, but Wanda shot him a look—one that could silence a room in an instant. He instantly clammed up, his usual rapid-fire words halted by the intensity of her gaze.

Lyall, looking a bit guilty himself, stepped forward. "I get why he talks so much, but—" He glanced at Pietro with a slight smirk. "Is it possible you could teach me how to shut him up like that?"

Wanda's expression softened slightly, but she remained firm. "Lyall, you're not helping by encouraging him." She turned her gaze back to Pietro, whose mouth twitched as he fought to resist the urge to speak. "You can get your point across without it being a constant barrage of words. And sneaking off to the forest in the middle of the night? Not a good idea, especially with the things that are out there."

Pietro, now silent, crossed his arms, clearly pouting but accepting his mother’s reprimand. Wanda raised an eyebrow. "This time, you're lucky it was just the twins. But next time, you might not be so lucky."

Lyall, trying to lighten the mood, nudged his brother. "Maybe next time you can use your other magic to get us out of trouble. Seems like it works for you."

Wanda sighed, shaking her head with a smile. "No magic tricks. Just listen and stay out of trouble."

The twins shared a glance, a mix of mischief and understanding passing between them.

Harry sat at the edge of the common room, his feet resting on the low stone wall by the fire, the flickering flames casting soft light across his face. Hermione sat beside him, her posture stiff but not as tense as it had been earlier. There was an uncomfortable silence between them, but it wasn’t the anger-filled silence that had loomed before. Harry had been expecting her to speak, but instead, she just looked at him—waiting.

Finally, Hermione let out a long sigh, pulling her knees closer to her chest. "I still don’t understand, Harry. I really don’t."

Harry’s hands clasped together tightly, his gaze trained on the fire. "I know you don't, Hermione, but it’s not as simple as it looks." His voice was quieter now, more resigned. He’d thought about this a lot, about how to explain his decision. "Winky’s different. She... she wants to work, Hermione. She wants to be useful. She’s not the same as other house-elves."

"That’s what they all say, Harry," Hermione replied, her voice thick with frustration. "That they want to serve, that they’re happy with it. But they’ve been conditioned to think that way. You can’t just take one on as if she’s a pet. House-elves deserve to be treated with respect, with freedom. Not as if they're tools to be used!"

"I get that, Hermione," Harry responded, looking at her for the first time. "But I don’t think of her that way. I know what you’re saying, and I agree with it in principle. But I’ve seen Winky. She’s different. I’m not treating her like a slave, I’m treating her like... a friend."

Hermione hesitated, her expression softening just a little. She looked at him carefully, her brow furrowing in thought. "I don’t want you to do something just because you feel bad for her. That’s not the solution, Harry. You should be pushing for elf rights, not... adopting one."

"I know." Harry's voice was quieter this time, almost apologetic. "But maybe it’s a first step. Maybe having someone like Winky around will show that not all wizards think the same way. That we can do something to change things, even if it’s small."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but then paused. She studied Harry’s face for a moment, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the conviction in his words. And for the first time, she realized that Harry wasn’t being thoughtless about this. He wasn’t trying to ignore her concerns—he was just trying to find a way to make a difference in a system that was deeply broken.

"You really care about her," Hermione said quietly, her tone softening.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, his lips twitching into a faint, almost awkward smile. "I do. And I thought... maybe we could figure out a way to do this right. Together."

Hermione’s eyes met his, and for a moment, they were silent, both of them caught in the weight of the conversation. But this time, it felt different. It wasn’t about winning an argument, it was about understanding each other.

Hermione's lips parted as if she was going to argue again, but instead, she reached out, placing her hand gently on his. "I just want you to make sure you’re thinking about this, Harry. Don’t just jump into something because it feels right in the moment. You’re a good person. But you need to be careful."

Harry smiled softly, his thumb gently rubbing over her hand. "I promise, I am."

And just like that, the tension between them seemed to dissipate. Slowly, as if testing the waters, Harry leaned in, pressing his lips against her forehead. When he pulled back, Hermione’s eyes were a little brighter, softer. A quiet understanding passed between them, something unspoken but clear.

Before she could say anything else, Harry leaned in again, this time capturing her lips in a gentle kiss. It was soft and tender, a silent apology for their earlier argument. And when he pulled back, the smile on his face made Hermione’s heart flutter.

"I’m sorry," Harry whispered. "I never meant to upset you."

"I know," Hermione whispered back, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "I’m sorry too."

They sat there for a moment, their hands still intertwined, neither of them speaking. The fire crackled softly in the background as the room grew warmer, more comfortable. The two of them sat quietly for a while longer, content in each other's company. They didn’t have all the answers yet, but they knew they’d figure it out together.

And for now, that was enough.

Hidden in the Forbidden Forest Harry stood in the center, the Sword of Gryffindor gleaming in his grip. Unlike its original silver finish, now the blade shimmered with a red-black hue, Chaos magic pulsing faintly along the metal like living fire.

Pietro, Lyall, Blaise, and Susan stood nearby, watching with a mix of curiosity and anticipation. Regulus and the others had already seen it earlier—now it was their turn.

Harry smirked as he stabbed the sword deep into the earth, the Chaos-infused blade sinking into the ground with a crack of crimson energy. The hilt pulsed once, as if acknowledging the spellwork woven into it.

"Alright," Harry said, stepping back, dusting his hands. "Let’s see if any of you are worthy."

Pietro’s eyes lit up. "Oh, this is so like Thor’s hammer, right? Please tell me it glows more if I get it."

Harry chuckled. "It’s a bit more temperamental than that. The magic recognizes intent and heart. Not strength."

"That’s basically me," Pietro said proudly as he jogged over and grabbed the hilt. "I have tons of heart!"

He yanked. Nothing. He grunted, trying again. Still nothing. The sword didn’t budge an inch.

"Come on!" he pouted. "I was born for dramatic sword pulls!"

"You were born for dramatic commentary," Susan said with a smirk.

"Let me try." Lyall moved on all fours toward the sword with his usual wolverine-like grace, dirt smudging his palms. He reached up and gripped the hilt, straining with his enhanced strength.

Still nothing. The Chaos magic shimmered, resisting him.

"Strong, but not in the way the sword needs," Harry said gently.

Lyall sat back, not disappointed—more intrigued. "It’s alive, in a way, isn’t it?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. When I pulled it from the hat, I poured Chaos magic into it. The sword… changed. It became mine."

Susan stepped forward next. She didn’t speak—just gave Harry a confident glance before placing both hands on the hilt. She pulled with calm precision… but the sword remained firmly in place.

Blaise gave a low whistle. "Alright, alright. Move aside. Let’s see what Slytherin charm can do."

He strode up and tugged once, smoothly.

The sword sparked with red light… but didn’t move.

"Huh," Blaise said thoughtfully, looking at Harry. "It likes you, Potter."

Harry walked back over and, with barely a thought, pulled the sword free. The red-black magic hissed and surged up the blade like lightning reuniting with its source. Everyone stepped back slightly from the sheer pressure that pulsed around Harry as he held it.

"I’m not sure it’ll ever choose anyone else now," he admitted. "But it’s worth knowing who it respects."

Pietro crossed his arms. "Well… next time maybe enchant something that likes talking."

"It probably does," Harry said dryly. "You’re just not hearing it."

Lyall tilted his head. "Maybe next time, it’ll answer me."

They all shared a grin. But as Harry sheathed the sword again, his gaze lingered on it—on the power coursing through it—and the future it might be needed for.

A thin mist rolled over the surface of the isolated lake, the water dark and still beneath the overcast sky. Snow clung to the trees at the shoreline, and a brisk wind cut across the clearing. Far from Hogwarts, the secluded spot had been chosen specifically to avoid onlookers and whispers.

Harry stood at the water's edge, dressed in a thin wetsuit charmed for magical warmth. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, steam rising from his breath in the cold air.

"Cold enough to freeze a mermaid's fin," Sirius muttered, arms crossed and bundled in a long coat.

"Wouldn't be training if it were comfortable," Natasha replied, checking the perimeter. She glanced over at Harry, her expression softening. "You ready, kid?"

Harry nodded. "As I'll ever be. You’re sure the spell works?"

Sirius grinned. "Found it in an old Black family journal. Apparently, great-uncle Cassius used it to rob a Gringotts vault under the lake—he didn't get int he vault but the spell is solid."

"Let’s hope it’s better than his taste in robes," Strange said, walking up behind them. He wore his cloak despite the cold, and his hands were already glowing faintly with spellwork. "I’ve reinforced the ward around the lake—no scrying, no tracking. You’re free to test this without any prying eyes."

Harry stepped to the edge. “And the swimming?”

“That’s the fun part,” Sirius smirked. “Not only does the spell let you breathe underwater—it enhances your movement. You’ll swim like a mackerel. Fast. Slippery.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I hope you don’t expect me to swim like a fish and look like one too.”

Natasha chuckled. “If you grow gills, we’ll deal with it.”

Strange extended his hand. “Alright, Harry. Let's begin.”

He murmured a guiding incantation, helping Harry focus as he spoke the ancient spell Sirius had provided. A soft blue glow encased Harry’s chest and throat, then faded into his skin.

Harry took an experimental breath—deeper than normal—and blinked in surprise. “That’s... weird. Feels like I’ve got lungs and gills.”

“Now go prove it,” Sirius said, stepping aside. “And don’t hold back. The second task’s not going to wait on you.”

Harry stepped into the water, wading in until the surface reached his shoulders. With one last breath, he dove beneath—and shot forward like a torpedo.

Beneath the lake’s surface, Harry twisted and turned effortlessly, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. It felt natural—like he’d swum this way his entire life. He darted through kelp beds and around icy rock formations, faster and smoother than he ever thought possible.

Strange watched the ripples on the surface. “The spell's holding perfectly. He’s adapted to it quickly.”

Sirius nodded proudly. “Did you doubt it? Harry adapts and overcomes. It's who he is."

Natasha, arms still crossed, allowed herself a small smile. “He’s going to do more than just survive that second task. He’s going to show them what he really is.”

“Let’s just make sure he’s not forced to reveal everything,” Strange said, his tone quiet and thoughtful. “The world isn’t ready for that.”

Beneath the cold, silent lake, Harry rocketed upward, breaking the surface with a gleeful shout.

“I could do this all day!”

“Let’s hope you only need an hour,” Sirius called back.

“Good,” Strange added, smirking. “Because next, we test what happens when someone tries to drag you under.”

Harry blinked, but his grin didn’t fade. “You mean you’re sending me in with you?”

“Who better?” Strange said, rolling up his sleeves. “Let’s see what you’ve learned.”

Hogwarts Courtyard

The courtyard was alive with chatter as students shuffled between classes, bundled up against the chilly air. A group of first-year Slytherins huddled near a stone bench, snickering about something—or someone.

Regulus stood nearby, casually leaning against a pillar with a book tucked under one arm. He wasn't looking for a fight… but he heard his name.

“He’s gonna die in that tournament,” one of the Slytherins whispered a little too loudly, eyeing Regulus with a smirk. “Potter, I mean. Everyone knows it. Can’t even go a year without dragging everyone into his drama.”

Regulus straightened, cocking his head slightly as he approached. “What did you say?”

The boy puffed up. “I said Potter’s gonna die. It’s not like he’s supposed to be in the tournament anyway.”

Regulus stared at him for a moment, silent. Then he tilted his head again and smiled—but it wasn’t a nice smile. “Do you always say dumb things in public, or is today just special?”

The Slytherin blinked. “W-What?”

“You talk like someone who thinks other people won’t notice how scared he is,” Regulus said, still calm. “You keep your wand in your left pocket, but your dominant hand twitches every time someone raises their voice. You flinch when Peeves throws chalk. You don’t even notice details, so you’re definitely not smart enough to know how someone like Harry Potter fights.”

The boy’s face flushed. “You—! You don’t know—”

“I know you talk a lot because you want people to like you,” Regulus continued, his voice still even, but firm now. “But no one laughs at your jokes unless they’re making fun of you behind your back. You want to be mean like the older Slytherins, but you’re not clever enough. You're just loud.”

The boy’s bravado cracked like glass. “I—”

Regulus rested his chin on his hand and gave the boy a look that Wanda liked to call his “Black family stare.”

“You know,” Regulus began sweetly, “my mum taught me a lot about reading people. And I’m eleven, so I notice everything because no one expects me to be paying attention.”

The boy shifted uncomfortably.

“Like how you pick at your food every time a task gets mentioned—because you know you’d cry if your name had come out of that Goblet.”

The other boy snorted, trying not to laugh.

“Or how you always sit with your back to the wall. Because you're scared someone might prank you like they did first week when you screamed because of a beetle.”

Now the color was draining from the boy’s face.

“And when you say Harry’s going to die,” Regulus added, his voice dropping, “what you really mean is you hope he does. Because if he doesn’t, you’ll keep being the boy who’s not brave enough to try, not smart enough to be picked, and not strong enough to matter.”

The boy’s mouth opened but no sound came out.

Regulus smiled, small and sharp. “So maybe don’t talk about people like Harry. Because he saves the world while you hide behind your porridge you had for breakfast. Anyway. I hope your day gets better.”

The boy and his friends left quietly.

Across the courtyard, Lyall whispered to Pietro, “Remind me never to make him mad.”

Pietro nodded. “Too late. I told him his hair stuck up funny last night.”

Regulus didn’t look up. “I heard you.”

They both froze.

Then Regulus smirked back at them. "Neither of you can say anything about hair."

"Where have you been hiding that part of yourself?" Peitro asked.

"Saving it." Regulus grinned. "Don't mess with the son of an assassin or my brother."