Chapter 310: Too Many
Karkaroff's weathered hands clenched into fists as he watched Sean with barely concealed anxiety. Cold sweat beaded along his forehead despite the classroom's chill. The spectre of Sean creating powerful alchemical weapons that could devastate his prized champion gnawed at his composure like acid through steel.
Krum's strengths lay in the Dark Arts and Transfiguration, with respectable Charms work rounding out his arsenal. But potions and alchemy? Those arcane disciplines remained foreign territories for the famous Quidditch star.
Initially, Karkaroff had found comfort in the tournament's strict limitations. Twelve items maximum. Surely that restriction would level the playing field, allowing Krum's mastery of combat magic to compensate for any deficiencies in scholarly pursuits.
But witnessing Sean's earlier potion brewing had shattered that confidence. The boy's casual display of master-level expertise had sent warning bells clanging through Karkaroff's mind. When Sean modestly claimed to know 'a little, a little' about alchemy while inscribing complex transmutation circles, genuine panic seized the Durmstrang headmaster's throat.
Now he scrutinised every movement with predatory intensity, his mind already calculating ways to challenge Sean's right to carry whatever monstrous creations emerged from those flames.
However, as the first alchemical puppet took shape within the blazing circle, Karkaroff's rigid posture gradually relaxed. His lips even curved into a dismissive smirk.
Crude workmanship. Laughably simple construction. What possible threat could these pathetic puppet dogs and birds pose to a wizard of Krum's calibre? A single well-placed Blasting Curse would reduce them to smoking debris. Even their limited magical reserves would crumble under basic Transfiguration attacks. Such amateur efforts represented wasted time and energy.
Across the chamber, Dumbledore maintained his characteristic calm while observing Sean's work with considerably sharper attention. The elderly headmaster's blue eyes narrowed behind half-moon spectacles, catching details that escaped less trained observers.
Unlike Karkaroff's surface assessment, Dumbledore recognised the truth lurking beneath Sean's deliberately humble presentation. The puppets appeared crude by design, but their crucial components demonstrated remarkable sophistication. Sean had expertly concealed advanced mechanisms and enchantments within seemingly amateurish exteriors. Without substantial alchemical knowledge, most observers would miss the ingenious traps and capabilities built into each creation.
The boy had clearly anticipated multiple scenarios and prepared accordingly. Dumbledore's confidence in Hogwarts' chances began crystallising into near certainty. With such thorough preparation and natural talent, Sean stood poised to dominate the tournament's opening challenge.
The rhythmic scraping of chalk against stone filled the chamber as Sean completed his final transmutation circle. Sparks cascaded like fallen stars when his wand touched the geometric patterns, igniting flames that danced with otherworldly colours.
Twelve humanoid puppets emerged first, their crude features masking sophisticated internal mechanisms. Twelve alchemical dogs followed, their metal joints gleaming with subtle enchantments. Finally, twelve puppet birds took shape, their wings bearing hidden capabilities that would surprise any who underestimated them.
Thirty-six creations in total, each bearing the deceptive appearance of novice work while concealing master-level artistry beneath rough exteriors.
The supervisor approached with obvious relief, magical seals materialising around each puppet as he completed his tedious duties. "Bulstrode, do you require additional time for further creations?"
"No, sir. This completes my preparations."
"Excellent." The man's shoulders sagged with gratitude as he rushed through the remaining procedures, clearly eager to escape toward whatever evening pleasures awaited beyond Hogwarts' walls.
With bureaucratic formalities concluded, Bagman and Crouch departed alongside the supervising officials. The three headmasters collected their respective champions, preparing for strategic discussions that would shape the coming contest.
Dumbledore's robes whispered against ancient stone as he walked beside Sean toward the dungeons, his expression thoughtful. "You appear remarkably well-prepared, Sean."
"Professor, you saw through my preparations?"
"Actually, your concealment proved quite effective. Had I not been aware of your Spirit Vision abilities and prophetic insights, I might never have suspected the truth." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with approval. "Compared to conventional preparations, your specialised potions targeting scent and vision remain somewhat conspicuous to those who know what to look for.
As for your alchemical puppets, they certainly appear crude at first glance. But for deployment as decoys and disposable reconnaissance tools, that crudeness serves perfectly, doesn't it?"
"You know about the first task's nature, Professor?"
"Not precisely, though I happened to learn that several European dragon reserves recently transferred significant numbers of their charges. I believe coincidences of such magnitude rarely occur naturally, so I deduced the first challenge would likely involve draconic encounters."
"Your deduction proved accurate, Professor."
"Then prepare yourself thoroughly, Sean." Dumbledore's parting wink carried both encouragement and warning as he turned toward his tower office.
Sean continued toward Snape's domain, intending to inform his Head of House that advance knowledge of the first task had already reached him. Such news would surely ease the professor's evident concerns.
As November advanced, excitement permeated Hogwarts like morning mist through ancient corridors. Students offered enthusiastic greetings wherever Sean ventured, while his daily correspondence swelled with romantic overtures. Love letters arrived by the dozen, accompanied by questionable gifts. Cookies, cupcakes, and chocolates laden with amateur love potions appeared regularly, their magical tampering transparent to any competent Potions master.
After Charms concluded one particularly busy afternoon, Sean and Blaise gathered their belongings for the familiar journey to dinner. The Great Hall's warmth and the promise of hearty food beckoned invitingly.
"Sean!" Harry's voice cut through corridor chatter as he approached with Ron and Hermione flanking him. Without the burden of unwanted tournament participation weighing on his shoulders, Harry seemed considerably more relaxed this term. His friendship with Ron remained intact, unmarred by jealousy or suspicion.
"What brings you here, Harry?"
Harry glanced meaningfully at Blaise before tugging Sean aside for privacy. His voice dropped to an urgent whisper. "Hagrid asked me to deliver a message. Tonight at eight-thirty, meet him at the Forbidden Forest's edge. You'll see something that might prove... helpful."
The unexpected communication genuinely stunned Sean. His relationship with Hagrid remained cordial but hardly intimate. Certainly not close enough to justify rule-breaking assistance that could endanger the gamekeeper's position. Someone else had to be orchestrating this revelation. Someone with both authority and motivation to ensure Sean received advance intelligence.
Dumbledore seemed the most likely candidate.
Despite lingering confusion, Sean expressed appropriate gratitude. They conversed briefly about tournament preparations and mutual concerns before parting ways with warm farewells.
When darkness claimed the castle grounds, Sean wrapped himself in a Disillusionment Charm and slipped past sleeping portraits toward his mysterious appointment. The Forbidden Forest loomed like a wall of shadows against the star-scattered sky, its depths holding secrets both wonderful and terrible.
At the designated location, massive iron cages gleamed in moonlight, each containing a different species of dragon. The great beasts shifted restlessly within their confines, scales glittering like precious gems in the pale illumination.
Sean counted carefully, his expression growing increasingly troubled with each additional enclosure.
Twelve cages. Twelve dragons. Far too many for any standard tournament format.
His memory insisted only four dragons should be present, one for each supposed champion. But twelve suggested something far more complex and dangerous than the competition he remembered.
Whatever lay ahead, the first task had evolved into something entirely beyond his expectations. The careful preparations that had seemed so thorough suddenly felt inadequate against such overwhelming numbers.
The scent of sulphur and barely contained wildfire filled his nostrils as Sean contemplated the implications. This tournament would test him in ways he'd never imagined, and survival itself might prove the greatest victory of all.