The final days of April melted seamlessly into May, signalled only by the deepening green of Hogwarts' grounds and the hushed corridor chatter that followed Harry like a faint echo.
The atmosphere within the castle still rang with the aftermath of the duelling tournament—rumours swirled about the forthcoming third task, tugging at everyone's nerves.
Yet, for Harry, the constant hum of gossip receded whenever he lost himself in training.
From the moment the Goblet of Fire had spat out his name, he'd expected danger to shadow every step of the Triwizard Tournament.
And indeed, Harry's resolve had only hardened between the shock of recent manipulations by those in power, Ron's funeral, and the whole Horcrux mess.
His training had become unrelenting, each session sharpening his focus until his wand movements felt like second nature—almost invisible flicks that paired with a well-honed nonverbal skill.
There was also his magic… surging beneath his skin, responding with an almost eager potency he hadn't possessed before.
But there was more to his life than spellwork alone.
Fleur had pushed him to test the limits of his Draconic form, which meant many nights spent aloft in the starry sky.
Bit by bit, Harry discovered a nimble grace in the air that nearly matched Ozeth's own—gliding through clouds under moonlight, the bracing wind on his scales making him feel more alive than he'd thought possible. The last Abyssal Reaver was growing more formidable indeed.
Beyond Hogwarts' walls, Sirius remained a steady, if distant, presence. He immersed himself in Horcrux research, occasionally exchanging snippets of arcane knowledge with Harry—things Sirius gleaned from old and battered tomes and half-scorched records.
Their updates, though brief, gave Harry an anchor to the wider wizarding world, a reminder that not all corners of life were confined to the castle's stone corridors. Even amidst conspiracies and investigations, their bond stayed strong and reassuring.
As May drew to a close, details of the third task began to emerge.
Anyone stepping near the Quidditch pitch found themselves staring at towering hedgerows that twisted into a maze under constant watch.
Late into the evenings, witches and wizards wove spells around it, thickening the walls with enchantments unknown to most.
It was a sight that set the champions' hearts racing each time they spotted it, for it promised an obstacle far more ominous than the tasks they'd faced.
Still, Harry didn't intend to enter the challenge blind. A clandestine scouting mission was already forming in his mind—he planned to slip out under the cover of darkness, trusting his dragon eyes to pierce any illusions that might lurk within the maze.
Hermione wasn't kept in the loop with that particular plan, and that was why Harry had found himself in her presence
Huddled together in one of the library's more secluded alcoves, Hermione peeked over the top of a dusty tome, her voice low with anticipation.
"It's definitely a maze," she murmured. "Physical illusions, magical creatures, traps—anything might be hidden in there."
Harry flipped through a battered copy of Dangerous Magical Obstacles and Their Counters, his eyebrows knitting at the possibilities. "I'm expecting illusions and creatures," he said quietly. "But if they've got the budget and the flair for theatrics, there's no telling what we'll face."
Hermione leaned over, turning a page for him. "At the very least, you'll need the Four-Point Spell—it's essential in any labyrinth. And some form of detection magic. Don't get complacent," she added, giving him a stern look, "because no matter how sharp your senses have become, you could still be caught off guard."
Harry leaned back in his chair, a small smile curving his lips. "I've used the point me charm before, and I promise, I'm not about to let anything creep up on me." He nudged another hefty book—The Maze of Mortal Danger: Defensive Tactics for Unknown Challenges—towards her.
"Have a skim through that if you want to be helpful."
She shot him a mock glare but took the volume, turning the pages with her customary diligence.
The gentle rasp of parchment, the scratch of quills, and the faint whispers of the library's enchanted windows all combined into an oddly comforting soundtrack.
Even so, Harry's focus drifted. His mind slipped back to the morning's memory of Fleur's laughter and the warmth of two shared cups of coffee on the castle lawns. A tiny spark of anticipation flickered inside him at the thought of their next outing—perhaps the trip to France she'd mentioned.
A sudden rustle snapped his attention back to the present. The shelves behind them had been silent until now.
Hermione stiffened, half-rising from her seat. "He's here again," she muttered under her breath, eyes darting over her shoulder.
In the dim glow of the library lamps, Harry caught sight of a familiar silhouette.
Professor Snape stood at the far end of a nearby bookcase, his sallow face partially concealed by shadows. Though Harry couldn't see his expression, years of Potions classes had taught him to imagine Snape's disdainful scowl quite vividly.
Hermione's brow furrowed in unease.
"He doesn't even bother trying to hide it now," she whispered. "Why would he be skulking around here?"
Harry exhaled softly. "He's been hovering ever since Skeeter's imprisonment," he replied in a low voice. "You've seen how Dumbledore's got everyone watching me. Snape's probably acting under his orders."
Hermione's lips thinned in disapproval. "I still can't believe how quickly they locked Skeeter away. The trial was over in a blink."
Before Harry could respond, Snape turned and swept down another aisle, black robes fluttering behind him. Hermione let out a quiet breath she'd apparently been holding.
"Well," she said, voice taut, "he's gone."
Harry gave a short shrug, though he could still feel the lingering trace of Snape's magic slipping away. "He'll be back," he said, shutting his book with a snap. "He'll keep at this until the end of term or until something else catches his interest."
They resumed their reading, though an undercurrent of tension now threaded through the library's stillness. Harry cast one final glance around before immersing himself in the maze diagrams again.
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Chapter 95: DADA
Chapter 96: The Impostor
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Chapter 104: Hello Tom