Chapter 31: Fire and Shadows
The atmosphere in Hogwarts was electric as the day of the First Task dawned. The frost-covered grounds shimmered under the early morning sun, and students buzzed with excitement and nervous whispers about dragons, daring stunts, and, most intriguingly, Harrison Strange Potter.
### Letters of the Heart
Before the chaos of the tournament, Harry Potter had a quiet mission of his own to resolve. The anonymous love letter had continued to occupy his thoughts, especially since he had deciphered small personal details that only someone close to him could know. The elegant, looping script. The subtle perfume. The affectionate references to moments they shared. It had to be someone who knew him well.
It was after breakfast, while walking back from the Owlery, that he found her—Cho Chang. Her face flushed when their eyes met. She tried to walk away, but Harry gently stopped her.
"Cho... did you write that letter?" he asked softly.
She hesitated. "I did," she confessed, her voice trembling. "I was afraid you'd think I was silly. I've admired you since first year. But after everything with Cedric... and then you being selected again—"
Harry's heart fluttered. It was a mix of surprise, warmth, and confusion. He hadn't expected this, but somehow, it felt right.
He smiled. "It wasn't silly. Thank you. It meant a lot to me."
She returned his smile, eyes glistening. For the first time in weeks, Harry felt a sense of peace.
### The First Task: Fire-Breathing Trials
The entire school was transported to the edge of the Forbidden Forest where a massive arena had been conjured for the First Task. Magical stands floated midair, providing a panoramic view of the fire-scorched field below.
Magical barriers surrounded four giant nesting enclosures, each containing a different dragon: a Welsh Green, a Chinese Fireball, a Swedish Short-Snout, and the deadly Hungarian Horntail.
The champions drew lots to determine their opponent.
Fleur Delacour was assigned the Welsh Green.
Viktor Krum faced the Chinese Fireball.
And Harrison drew the Hungarian Horntail.
The judges—Dumbledore, Madam Maxime, Igor Karkaroff, Barty Crouch Sr., and Ludo Bagman—watched from a floating pavilion.
Fleur went first. She used a dazzling combination of Veela charm and water charms to lull the Welsh Green into a stupor. Her performance was elegant, and the crowd cheered wildly as she emerged victorious, albeit with a singed cloak.
Krum relied on brute force and transfiguration, turning surrounding rocks into iron projectiles. It was effective but messy, leaving the Fireball furious and injured. Still, he retrieved the golden egg and returned to applause.
Then came Harrison.
He stepped into the arena with quiet resolve, greeted by an almost reverent silence.
The Horntail roared, her massive wings sending gusts of hot wind across the field.
Harrison raised his hand and invoked the Cosmic Sigil of Ma'at. A shimmering astral projection—a falcon-headed avatar of Horus cloaked in stardust—emerged behind him.
He spoke softly. "Balance. Patience. Strength."
The Horntail charged, flame bursting from her jaws.
Harrison summoned his spectral sword and shield—celestial constructs of his divine combat avatar. The flames were absorbed by the shield, dissipating into glowing wisps. Then, he advanced, not to fight, but to connect.
He called out to the dragon in ancient Draconian, a nearly extinct language he had learned from past lives and magical texts.
To the crowd's awe, the Horntail stilled.
She lowered her head, huffed, and stepped aside, allowing Harrison to take the egg without violence.
When he turned back to the stands, the silence broke into roaring cheers.
Even the other champions couldn't hide their astonishment.
### Suspicion and Revelation
That evening, Harrison couldn't shake an uneasy feeling. There was something off about Alastor Moody—the way he watched Harry, how his magical eye never blinked, and how his flask constantly glimmered with spells not of preservation, but concealment.
Late that night, while patrolling the corridors under the invisibility cloak, Harrison intercepted Moody sneaking into the dungeons.
He confronted him.
"Your disguise ends here, Bellatrix."
The impostor hissed, eyes narrowing. With a wave of her wand, the Polyjuice wore off. Bellatrix Lestrange stood in Moody's place, hair wild, face drawn and tired—not mad with glee, but broken and disoriented.
"How\... how did you know?"
"Your magic trembled. Moody doesn't tremble."
He bound her in golden chains of cosmic truth and gently tapped her forehead.
In a pulse of radiant energy, Harrison summoned the memory of her childhood—the innocent girl who once read fairy tales and laughed without cruelty.
He entered her mindscape, found the shattered pieces of her psyche, and began to mend them.
Memories of torture, Azkaban, Voldemort's manipulation—all dissolved in the cleansing flame of his power.
Bellatrix collapsed, weeping.
"You... healed me? Why?"
"Because no one is born broken."
She knelt before him, trembling. "I owe you my soul. I will follow you until the end of time."
"Then rise, Bella. And help me build a better world."
### Aftermath and Unity
The next morning, rumors of Harrison's victory and the confrontation with a disguised intruder rippled through the school. Dumbledore convened an emergency staff meeting, where Harrison revealed Bellatrix's recovery.
Skepticism abounded, especially from Snape and McGonagall.
But when Bellatrix herself stood before the faculty, humbled and soft-spoken, many jaws dropped.
She spoke only one line. "I choose to serve life, not death."
The shift in tone was undeniable. And once again, all eyes turned to Harrison—champion, teacher, healer, and mystery.
The First Task was over, but something far greater had begun.