discord.gg/q5KWmtQARF
Join my Discord!
**************
As May rolled in, Neville and Fleur were officially a thing. And by "officially," that meant Harry had to constantly check the Map to track them down when Neville conveniently "forgot" to show up for class or training. Whenever Harry did find them, usually tucked away in some secluded corner of the castle, a well-aimed jet of water was enough to separate them—earning him a scowl from Fleur and a sheepish, half-apologetic shrug from Neville.
The others, of course, found it hilarious.
"I give it another week before McGonagall catches them and assigns detention for excessive snogging," Tracey said one evening as they lounged in the Slytherin common room.
Pansy smirked. "Please, McGonagall's seen worse. She'll probably just hex them apart and tell them to get to class."
Astoria, curled up on the couch with a book, didn't even look up. "Neville's just lucky she hasn't transfigured them into something inconvenient yet."
Daphne flicked through the latest copy of Witch Weekly, barely paying attention. "Or hexed their lips shut. Honestly, I wouldn't put it past her."
Harry, who had just returned from dragging Neville out of yet another "accidental" disappearance, dropped onto the couch beside them. "At this point, I might start charging a retrieval fee."
"Should've started ages ago," Blaise muttered from his chair. "You could've made a fortune by now."
Ginny, sitting cross-legged on the floor, grinned. "Just wait till Fleur leaves. Poor Neville won't know what to do with himself."
Neville, who had just arrived, rolled his eyes as he plopped down next to Harry. "I'm standing right here."
"We know," Tracey said cheerfully. "We're just ignoring that fact."
The castle had mostly returned to normal after the Second Task, though "normal" was a relative term when it came to Hogwarts. With the third task looming, speculation was everywhere, and the atmosphere was tense—not that Harry particularly cared. As far as he was concerned, the Triwizard Tournament was just an over-glorified game with too many restrictions. If it weren't for the fact that someone clearly wanted him dead, he would've been tempted to drop out entirely just to see what the organizers would do.
Dumbledore eventually announced that the third task would take place in a maze, which was currently being grown in the Quidditch Pitch. Naturally, this prompted an immediate round of bets in the common rooms.
"The obvious choice is that they'll throw some kind of creatures in there," Theodore said one evening, flicking a chess piece between his fingers. "Probably dangerous ones, but nothing impossible."
Draco scoffed. "Knowing Hogwarts, they'll throw in a full-grown dragon and call it an 'obstacle.'"
Blaise leaned back in his chair. "Or Peeves. They could just let him loose in the maze, and half the champions would forfeit out of sheer frustration."
With the final task revealed, it was time for Harry to figure out how to handle it.
He had known for a while that Voldemort planned to use the Triwizard Cup as a Portkey, taking him Merlin-knew-where for some ridiculous resurrection ritual. And while Harry was confident in his abilities, he wasn't an idiot. Walking straight into a trap just because he could fight was a stupid way to die.
That didn't mean he wasn't tempted to go just to mess with Voldemort further. The idea of ruining the ritual, throwing a wrench into whatever half-baked plan Voldemort had, was amusing. But whether he would actually do it was another matter.
First things first, he needed to confirm the Portkey's destination.
Once he was sure "Moody" had enchanted the Cup, Harry waited for the right moment and slipped out to inspect it.
He was certain by now that Dumbledore knew "Moody" was actually Crouch Jr. and was planning something. Otherwise, the Cup wouldn't be sitting in a half-baked warded room but locked up in his own quarters, properly protected. Who in their right mind would leave something that important behind these measly wards? It was obvious to Harry that Dumbledore wanted it tampered with.
And he was willing to give the old man that much credit. Because the alternative? That Dumbledore had no idea one of his oldest friends—one of his supposed comrades, a man he had fought alongside since the first war—had been replaced by a Death Eater? That the supposed greatest wizard of the age couldn't tell the difference? That he just casually left critical artifacts lying around like a senile fool?
No. Harry had seen this pattern before. It was just like first year with the Mirror of Erised. Just like the Stone. This wasn't incompetence. It was intentional.
Harry crouched near the entrance, wand tapping lightly against his thigh as he examined the protective wards in place. They were barely passable for something this important—basic detection charms, a couple of alarms, but nothing that would stop a determined intruder. If he were actually trying to steal it, he wouldn't even need to break a sweat.
His fingers traced the air in front of him, testing for any hidden layers. No traps, no secondary security. Just an open invitation.
"Subtle," he muttered under his breath.
The Cup itself sat on a raised platform in the center of the room, looking completely ordinary. But Harry knew better. Moody—Crouch—had definitely tampered with it. Turned it into a Portkey, rigged to take him straight to Voldemort.
Which meant all he had to do now was figure out where exactly it led.
He pulled out a small, folded piece of parchment from his pocket and tapped it with his wand. A neat line of runes shimmered into existence, forming the basis of a tracking spell he'd been working on. If the Cup was enchanted as a Portkey, this would give him a general idea of its destination. Not the exact location—Portkeys weren't that simple—but enough to narrow it down.
With a flick of his wand, the runes expanded, wrapping around the Cup in a delicate web of magic. They pulsed once, then again, before settling into a steady glow. Harry watched as the spell processed the information, filtering through the magic tied to the artifact.
Then, slowly, letters began forming in the air above it.
Little Hangleton.
Harry exhaled sharply through his nose.
So. Not just some random hideout. Little Hangleton. The Riddle manor.
He'd expected as much, but now he had confirmation.
The spell flickered again, revealing the finer details of the Portkey's activation. Two-times-use trigger, set to activate upon touch once the maze task was completed. Standard Portkey mechanics—nothing complicated, nothing new.
"Complete the ritual, kill me, and then send me back with the cup again. It will appear as though I died within the maze, and no one will be any wiser."
That was the plan. Simple, clean, and just stupid enough that Voldemort probably thought it was foolproof. He had tendency to underestimate others. Just like he did in the cave.
Harry could easily cancel the enchantment, undo the Portkey, and be done with it. But where was the fun in that? He wanted to see Voldemort's face when the grand resurrection fell apart. Watch him summon his Death Eaters and wait… and wait… and wait, until the panic set in.
"I still say it is mighty dangerous, Harry," Nigel commented in his mind.
Harry already knew that. "It's Voldemort. Of course, it's dangerous. The question is, can I get in and out?" He tapped the edge of the desk with his wand, watching as the residual glow from his spell faded around the Cup. "I can take precautions, sure, but that only covers theory. In practice? No idea. And then there's the other problem—should I let this play out? Should I broadcast the whole thing? These are things I need to think through."
Nigel snorted. "Broadcast? Right, because nothing says school spirit like watching their classmate get murdered live by the Dark Lord's grand comeback tour."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Not what I meant."
"Sure, sure," Nigel said. "You just want a front-row seat to see Voldemort's disappointment when you don't show up. Because that's healthy."
Harry ignored him, studying the Cup again. Little Hangleton. The Riddle manor. If Voldemort was actually waiting there, then his resurrection was nearly ready. He wouldn't set the trap unless everything was in place.
The tournament was already a joke. Harry had no real interest in playing along, but if he did, he wasn't about to walk into it blindly. He had options—too many, really.
He could destroy the Portkey now and be done with it. Simple, efficient. But that meant Voldemort would know something had gone wrong. He would adjust, disappear, and then who knew when he would surface again?
Or Harry could let it play out and make sure Voldemort regretted every choice that had led him to this moment.
He stepped back from the Cup, tucking his wand into his pocket.
"I'll decide later."
"Oh, good. Let's keep the options open," Nigel said dryly. "One leads to instant death, the other to boredom. Real dilemma there."
Harry snorted and left the room, resetting the weak wards behind him.
-----
To Read up to 50 advance Chapters (25 for each novel) and support me...
patreon.com/thefanficgod1
Please drop a comment and like the chapter!