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Chapter Text

A.N.: Hello! For the first time, I'm writing an Indy!Harry series. This story contains Weasley and Dumbledore Bashing, which is not everyone's cup of tea. If you're looking for a different take on these characters, you won't find it in this story's universe. It's an alternate universe and will diverge from canon. I hope you have as much fun reading this prologue as I had writing it!

No dragons were harmed in the making of this story.

The sky over the Quidditch Pitch was grey and heavy with clouds, but Ron Weasley was laughing like it was the best day of his life.

The redhead had scored a great seat, front row, no less, thanks to his brother Percy. He had been waiting for this day for weeks!

The ginger boy chewed loudly on greasy, caramel popcorn, sipping ice-cold pumpkin juice, eyes glued to the task.

He had already eaten a good handful of that sweet, crunchy treat, and each bite seemed to match the agony of a champion.

The first to enter was Cedric Diggory, and the result was hilarious. The Hufflepuff champion looked around dazed and confused, utterly unprepared for what stood before him.

Ron laughed, because he already knew about the scaly, deadly beasts thanks to his brother Charlie. The champions didn't. A satisfaction sweeter than any treat he'd ever had.

The Gryffindor had nearly spilled his juice on the unfortunate soul next to him when Cedric was flung into a boulder while trying to grab the golden egg and blacked out momentarily.

"Is he…Is he breathing?" someone whispered.

Cedric had barely survived, and Ron was sure that badger wouldn't be showing his face in public anytime soon, not with a burned cloak and pants nearly shredded to pieces.

Next up was Fleur Delacour, the dazzling French veela. She was a majestic girl, but Ron hated the fact that she didn't even notice him and always kept to herself, in her own little world.

The wizard was sure this beating would knock her down a peg.

That witch looked more prepared than Cedric and transformed into a winged version of herself, almost like one of the harpies his brother Bill had told him about.

She didn't hesitate, charging straight at the dragon in an attempt to fight it. Every burst, every growl, every flame was music to Ron's ears.

He burst out laughing when Fleur, despite her fierceness and determination, was nearly smashed against the rocks by a tail swipe.

"Did you see that?" he snickered, elbowing the juice-soaked neighbor beside him. "Guess even pretty faces burn!"

"She's done for!" another shouted.

However she got back up, bloodied but still standing.

The French champion's performance was far better than Cedric's, though she too left with wounds across her goddess-like body.

Then came Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian champion. Ron couldn't deny he had once been a huge fan but alas, Viktor was just another arrogant show-off who deserved to be humiliated.

The Durmstrang students were on their feet, chanting his name at first but the cheers quickly died when the dragon nearly bit off his leg.

Ron shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth, caramel oozing down his fingers as he laughed with his mouth full. His eyes were glued to the fight below, where Viktor had just narrowly avoided a lethal swipe from his dragon.

"Now this is entertainment!" he exclaimed, spitting crumbs on his poor neighbor, who was holding back curses with Herculean effort.

"Thought he was some kind of prodigy?" someone scoffed from the Ravenclaw section.

Behind Ron, several students, mostly Hufflepuffs, laughed along with him. You didn't get to see 'great champions' nearly turned to ash every day.

They laughed, but none with the same cruel enthusiasm as Ron. He wasn't just there to enjoy the show. No, he was waiting for one moment.

That moment.

"Harry Potter!"

The Traitor. The Hero. The Boy-Who-Did-Nothing-But-Show-Off. No one was cheering for Harry, they wanted blood. And he was first on the list.

After all, it was the fair punishment for someone who cheated his way into the tournament.

Harry's assigned dragon, a Hungarian Horntail, was the fiercest of them all. His brother Charlie had told him no one could handle that beast. Ron licked his greasy fingers, ready for the spectacle.

He had waited with cruel patience. After years living in Potter's shadow, the time had finally come to watch him fall.

No one would save him this time.

And yet, when Harry walked out of the tent, he didn't look nervous or afraid. He walked with confidence, eyes unwavering even in the face of that terrifying creature.

Harry had only a wand and that damn, insufferable look of determination.

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Someone whispered that he didn't seem scared at all. Ron growled, lips curling. "Smug little git," he said. "Let's see how long that lasts."

The dragon and the young wizard didn't move, they studied each other.

Ron leaned forward, barely breathing. "Come on, Potter," he muttered. "Make me laugh!"

The dragon roared, rose on its hind legs, and unleashed a burst of fire straight at the boy. Ron laughed…and then stopped.

The fire engulfed the final champion completely…nothing.

Harry was still standing. Untouched. The flames hadn't harmed him at all and the real show began.

Harry moved his wand with a flurry of rapid, precise, deadly motions. Ron didn't recognize half the spells being cast. The dragon had no time to breathe, spells striking it from every angle.

Harry didn't stop, didn't flinch, never hesitated.

The dragon collapsed with a guttural roar, wings folded, eyes half-closed.

Silence.

The silence was broken only by the sound of Harry calmly walking toward the golden egg.

And only then did the crowd realize the 'cheater' wasn't dead and he had won.

Ron was frozen. The popcorn bag had fallen into his lap, the rest of his pumpkin juice with it. His hands were cold.

"Did you see that?" the boy next to him said, giving Ron a sharp elbow. For once, Ron had nothing to say.

Harry was walking back toward the tent, and Ron felt worse than ever.

No.

No.

NO!

A girl was waiting for him at the entrance. Short, but with a proud, elegant posture; long, wavy red hair like blood spilled in battle. Sharp, thoughtful eyes.

Ron went pale.

If that girl was with Harry…if she had helped him…

For the entire Weasley family was over.

From the judge's stand, Dumbledore observed with hands clasped and a watchful gaze. His lips hid an enigmatic smile no one would ever interpret as malicious satisfaction and yet, it was.

It was time for Harry to fail.

"A public humiliation…nothing fatal, of course, but something to remind him who he is, who he must be," thought the old headmaster darkly.

"Sacrifice, submission, obedience. All qualities Harry has yet to learn. Defeat will make him more compliant, more willing to do what must be done. Today, he will understand."

As the other champions failed, stumbled or, in Cedric Diggory's case, screamed in terror, Dumbledore nodded slightly, as if everything were going according to script.

Beside him, Karkaroff and Madame Maxime whispered annoyed comments about their champions' results, but he barely listened.

His icy blue eyes were fixed on the arena's entrance.

When Harry walked in, Dumbledore took a long sip of pumpkin juice offered by a visibly worried Barty Crouch Senior, and prepared to witness the fall of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry was supposed to be brought to his knees. That was the point of this trial. None of the students had been truly prepared—but Harry? He least of all.

He had left him alone, isolated. He had to fail. And once he did, he would seek help. He would find comfort in the safe, wise guidance of his 'mentor.'

The dragon's fire blazed.

Dumbledore leaned forward, intrigued.

And then…something went wrong.

The fire hadn't touched the boy at all.

Harry wasn't faltering, he was in full control.

Dumbledore's smile vanished.

The boy showed no fear. The spells he cast were not those of a fourth-year student but of a seasoned wizard. They were precise, deadly strikes.

No one understood, but Dumbledore did: Harry was targeting the dragon's tendons, forcing the beast to collapse on itself, unable to rise again.

The dragon stood no chance. And the crowd, who should have booed, ridiculed, humiliated him, was now silent, subdued by something that resembled respect…or perhaps, dread.

Then he saw her.

Standing by the champions' tent, waiting for the victor. Her long, wavy scarlet hair like ocean waves. A confident look no girl her age should have.

"No..." Dumbledore whispered.

Cassandra Prewett.

Molly was the exception in that dangerous bloodline, proud, impossible to tame. Dumbledore had thought he'd neutralized them, reduced them to a harmless, forgotten branch.

But now, Harry was laughing with her.

And in that moment, Dumbledore realized that for the first time in years, he was no longer in control.

Chapter Text

Night had fallen over Hogwarts like a heavy cloak, and in a forgotten corner of the intricate castle, a hidden room burned with the flickering light of an old fireplace.

A room that two curious twins had discovered long ago thanks to the help of their mysterious idols, the 'Marauders'. It was one of the many forgotten hideouts of their heroes, and now it no longer served to talk about some adolescent prank.

Scattered among rickety furniture, a few members of the Weasley family had gathered. The silence was heavy, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

Ron sat on a moldy armchair, fists clenched on his knees. Fred and George stood by the fireplace, Ginny leaned against a cracked pillar, Percy was stiff as a statue near a broken bookshelf, and Charlie, the only one who seemed comfortable, surveyed the room with a look of disgust.

"Nice hideout, really," Charlie commented sarcastically, blowing dust off an old portrait of a knight, the canvas seemingly shredded by the claws of some beast. "Perfect for your useless loser chats."

"This isn't the time to be a smartass, Charlie," Ron snapped, his eyes red not just from irritation. "We need to talk. And you're the last one who should be joking."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Oh, look at that, little Ronnikins is angry. Don't take it out on me just because your 'best friend' pulled off another heroic stunt this morning."

Ron sprang up, furious. He jabbed a finger into Charlie's chest.

"YOU were the one who told us the Hungarian Horntail would destroy him! You swore he'd be humiliated in front of all of Hogwarts!"

Fred nodded, frowning. "Our dumb little brother's right. You said no one would ever walk out of that task alive, let alone win it."

"Literally your words," added George. "'No one has ever beaten a Horntail alone.' Ring a bell?"

A shadow crossed Charlie's face. A brief flicker of hesitation, unnoticed by the others. "I stand by it. No normal person could. Clearly, Potter doesn't play by the rules."

"Clearly, it's the same old Potter luck." Ron moved away from his brother, disappointed, and slumped back into the armchair.

Ginny, who had been silent until then, turned away from a magical clock shaped like a wolf's mouth, which howled at regular intervals.

"Luck? You call that luck?! That dragon won't be walking for a week!" she burst out, incredulous.

"Yeah, luck. Harry was only good in DADA last year because he was the professor's pet." Ron shot back. "His whole reputation is based on luck, he's all bark and no bite. Just…as the MACUSA guys would say, an 'Average Joe.'"

Ginny didn't answer. Her gaze returned to the annoying clock. After all, even staring at that stupid contraption was more interesting than talking to her brother.

"So, how did your little chat with the 'Average Joe' go?" Charlie teased, arms crossed. "Wasn't he supposed to beg you for forgiveness on his knees?"

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "I was going to talk to him at the party Fred and George threw."

Charlie raised an eyebrow and looked at the twins. "And I suppose that party was a huge success too, wasn't it?"

Fred cleared his throat. George scratched his neck. No one spoke for a few seconds.

"Well… uh…"

The common room was a storm of excited screams, popped bottles, and playful magical sparks. Students of all years had gathered to welcome back the champion of their brave house. A boy with green eyes, full of fame and expectation, was about to enter.

Banners with Harry's face and the dragon's slithered across the ceiling, while the tables overflowed with stolen sweets from the kitchen and Butterbeer by the gallon.

All of Gryffindor was there, ready to cheer for him, as always!

"He's coming!" yelled a second-year by the door.

And the room exploded.

Harry stepped through the threshold with slow steps, the golden egg tucked under his arm. Next to him, a small, silent girl whose presence could silence anyone with just a look. Her scarlet hair stood out amid the chaos as she followed him like a quiet shadow.

Harry didn't speak to her, but the distance between them was thick with unspoken things.

"WELCOME BACK, HERO!" many shouted in unison.

Popped bottles, cheers, confetti. A Butterbeer soared through the air toward him. But Harry…stopped.

He didn't smile. He didn't even seem to look at the people shouting around him.

The young witch stepped closer, rose on her tiptoes, and whispered something in his ear. No one heard the words, but he nodded.

In the chaos, no one noticed that it was the only moment when Harry closed his eyes, as if savoring a rare instant of peace.

"I don't have time for this," he said coldly, his voice leaving no room for argument, turning toward the exit.

One hand was clenched behind his back, knuckles white. The girl noticed. Without a word, she brushed his fingers with the back of her hand.

"Keep celebrating without me," he let fall behind him, without a glance.

The room fell silent. No one dared say anything.

The faces that remained were full of confusion and disappointment. A hero who wouldn't let himself be adored. Ron stood frozen, mouth half open. Ginny, unlike her brothers, wasn't surprised at all.

No one dared follow him.

Ginny shook her head. "I knew we'd gone too far. We should've stood by him, not—"

"Oh, give it a rest!" Ron interrupted angrily. "Harry's always playing the victim! Every year he finds a way to turn everyone against him!"

"True." Fred nodded. "Remember first year? He lost all those points for Gryffindor and then sulked when no one talked to him!"

"Or second year, talking Parseltongue like a lunatic," added George.

"Or third year… when he got wrecked at Quidditch by Cedric. Ah, good times!" Fred pretended to wipe a nostalgic tear.

Then he turned serious.

"We should talk to Dumbledore. Pull out of the plan before this 'Average Joe' tears us apart like that big lizard."

The others looked at him, shocked. George especially.

"You're joking, right?! We can't back out NOW! With all those galleons, we could open a hundred joke shops and-!"

"We could, if we're still alive," Fred replied grimly. "I've got a strong feeling Harry figured something out. And you all know whose fault that is…"

Another silence.

Ginny broke it.

"Cassandra."

Charlie clenched his jaw. "That damn little brat, those bloody Prewetts. It's their fault, definitely." The family dragon expert held back a growl of frustration. "They were never supposed to meet at Hogwarts, let alone get close."

"How did she do it?" Ron crossed his arms. "Dumbledore said no one would ever put the pieces together."

The eldest brother shook his head. "I don't know how, or when those two got close, but if he really suspects something…we're screwed."

A cold chuckle sliced through the air. They all turned.

It was Percy, who until then had stood silently, impassive.

"What's so funny, Percy?!" Charlie snapped.

Percy adjusted his tie with a slow, theatrical motion.

"You see…I've got everything under control."

His siblings stared at him, confused.

"Thanks to the glowing recommendation of our esteemed Headmaster, I work side-by-side with one of the most powerful men in the Ministry: Barty Crouch Sr."

"Work? You mean you're his bootlicker," muttered Ginny, sarcastic.

Percy ignored the jab.

"For now, yes. But the path is clear: first assistant, then Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation…and finally, Minister for Magic. When that day comes, the Potters and Prewetts will be nothing but faded names in history books."

"You talk like victory is guaranteed. But if Harry really found something out, you might lose everything, even your precious career," Fred warned him.

Percy shrugged calmly.

"Relax. He won't talk."

"What do you mean?" George asked, low and visibly afraid.

"Barty's original idea for the Second Task was far too…easy. But I convinced him to raise the stakes."

Ron gulped. "What do you mean?"

Percy smiled. A sharp smile.

"Let's just say our 'dear' Harry thinks he's safe. But his own ego will be what sends him crashing from the top of this tournament into an abyss he'll never crawl out of."

He burst into laughter. A slow, cold, wicked laugh.

Everyone looked at each other. No one laughed with him.

For the first time, even the Weasley twins felt a chill down their spine.

A.N.: New chapter!

I'm really enjoying the narrative universe of this story especially, in the case of this chapter, writing the Weasley siblings bickering with each other, even though they have to 'collaborate' for a common goal.

The 'Average Joe' line is a deliberate jab at how nerfed Harry was in canon. For example, in the third book it's explicitly stated that "Not many adult wizards can cast one (a Patronus), much less a fully corporeal one!" and Harry is shown to be quite powerful because he manages to cast one in his third year with actual Dementors present.

Sadly, Rowling later watered him down, allowing almost all of the DA to learn and cast it (and even some weak members of the Order), and by turning Harry into a wizard obsessed with using only 'Expelliarmus'. Again, she really dismantles him pretty badly in the later books overall.

I wanted to give him justice by staying true to and respecting the Harry's potential.

Hope you enjoyed reading, see you next time!

Chapter Text

The morning after the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament, the Great Hall was buzzing with voices, laughter, sharp remarks, excited chatter, and barely whispered comments. The euphoria from the previous day's event lingered everywhere; at every table, mouths moved more than forks.

At the Durmstrang table, the conversation was more of a show than an actual discussion. The students were yelling in a mixture of Russian and Bulgarian, while Viktor Krum laughed unashamedly about his performance, slowly munching on a piece of bread like nothing had happened.

Viktor responded with equal gusto, shrugged off the more heated remarks with the ease of a warrior adjusting his armor, an armor made of confidence and defiance.

On the opposite side of the hall, however, the atmosphere was much colder. The Beauxbatons girls, who looked like they had stepped out of a castle painting, were throwing venomous comments at Fleur. Their champion had taken second place, had wounded her dragon, and yet was being quietly accused of not being bold enough.

Fleur, sitting alone on the edge of the bench, impeccable as always, paid them no mind, ignoring the poisonous and pointless barbs with a regal indifference.

The Hufflepuff table was a theater of pity. Cedric Diggory was being pampered, comforted with exaggerated words and gestures.
"If only I had known about the dragon…I would've taken it down in a blink!" he complained dramatically, while his friends encouraged him fondly.

Only a few still wore the mocking badge against the other Hogwarts champion; most had decided to hide it out of fear.

The staff table was no exception. Even Severus Snape, usually silent in the mornings, had entered into a verbal spat with Filius Flitwick, who, with his usual teasing tone, seemed to be enjoying the win from a personal bet.
"Told you you should've bet on the 'arrogant four-eyed one' for first place, not second!" the half-goblin professor mocked the grumpy and stern Potions Master.

Dumbledore, as always, remained the eye of the storm, hands folded calmly in front of him, though his eyes were not entirely detached.

The great doors opened, and for a moment, everything stopped.

Harry Potter walked in with his back straight. Following beside him, like a loyal shadow, was Cassandra, her usual aristocratic, graceful demeanor intact.

Harry moved forward, cold and impassive, offering no reaction to the mixture of terror, respect, and blatant disgust in the eyes that followed him.

Dumbledore himself lifted his gaze, as if sensing something out of place.

Fleur, for the first time since sitting down, looked at someone with a hint of curiosity.

Cedric stared at him with a mix of hatred and frustration.

Viktor watched him the way one sizes up an opponent.

The murmuring resumed the moment the two of them sat down at a distant end of the Gryffindor table. The world once again began chattering its opinions.

From their house table, a few Gryffindors cast furtive glances and whispered amongst themselves. Harry pretended not to notice. Cassandra, on the other hand, didn't miss a thing.

"They're probably still talking about your reaction to their little 'party' yesterday," she remarked, as though reading his mind.

Harry shrugged. "They're friendly only when it benefits them."

"Or when they're afraid," Cassandra added, her tone calm but razor-sharp.

"Lions devour the weakest member of the pride. If that member turns out to be the strongest, they immediately seek its favor." Her voice carried a touch of melancholy. After all, she too had been born and raised under the scarlet banner and knew all too well how rotten their pride could be.

Harry didn't answer. Disgust flickered across his face, barely perceptible.

Cassandra silently passed him a plate with a treacle tart. He took a piece, closed his eyes, and savored the treat, one he considered a true luxury.

"My Lord, I don't understand how a wizard such as yourself can endure that explosion of sugar," she said in an overly aristocratic tone.

Harry smiled. A genuine small smile, and only she would have noticed it.

Then, a flutter of wings: the mail had arrived.

A small owl dropped off an envelope and a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of Cassandra. She opened the letter first, silently, and read it in seconds.

"My mother congratulates you on your victory," she said, then handed him the paper.

Harry took the newspaper and flipped through it with the same coldness he had shown when facing the dragon the morning before. On the front page, a photo showed him from behind, standing with the defeated dragon in the background.

THE BOY WHO DEFEATS DRAGONS!

Harry Potter triumphs in the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament. The others? Better left forgotten!
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

The sky that autumn day was cloudy and dark, a foreshadowing of tragedy, until Harry Potter, the youngest of the champions, quite literally set the arena ablaze!

With skills worthy of Merlin himself, Potter faced the ferocious Hungarian Horntail, one of the most dangerous known dragons, and not only managed to seize the golden egg but defeated the beast with such speed and daring that left the judges speechless. Banners bearing his name already wave from many Hogwarts windows!

"Never seen anything like it from a fourteen-year-old!" commented judge Ludovic 'Ludo' Bagman.

"Mr. Potter left me and my family stunned. A far too unexpected surprise," added one of the Tournament organizer Percy Weasley.

Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons, who took second place, managed to injure her dragon, revealing the fierce side of a Veela. A magical burn on her arm and additional wounds suggest the young witch may have overestimated her abilities. After all, beauty is no match for a fire-breathing creature.

Now for the other two champions.

Viktor Krum, the famous Bulgarian Seeker, seemed more focused on causing chaos than on winning. His approach was direct, yes but also crude and ineffective. He obtained the egg and third place, but the dragon didn't seem remotely fazed. A sports champion, surely. A magical one? Still debatable.

And then there's Cedric Diggory, the 'jewel of Hogwarts,' the favorite of the faculty…who finished in a humiliating last place. A real stain on the honor of the noble Diggory family, known for their skill and integrity. Evidently, not for their dragon-slaying prowess!

The crowd has spoken. The applause, the cheers, the emotional tears…all for him: Harry Potter. The true hero. The real champion.

But the real question that haunts this journalist's heart is this:

Is Harry Potter a prodigy of the Light…or a dark reflection of the Dark Lord himself?

How can a boy of just fourteen possess such power and reflexes to overpower an ancient, brutal creature like a dragon?

His power grows before our very eyes. Intelligence, composure, courage… and even a necessary touch of ruthlessness. All traits once displayed by someone who must NEVER be named.

Could this be the dawn of a new hero or the rise of someone darker, more dangerous?

Only time will tell.

Meanwhile, Hogwarts can only bow to its true champion.
Harry Potter: the boy who lived…and now conquers! Including, it seems, the heart of a certain red-haired witch who follows him wherever he goes.
Expect great things from him.
Better yet, prepare to be amazed.

Harry looked up toward the staff table. Dumbledore was reading the same page.

"A victory for the Headmaster, no matter what," Cassandra commented, without emphasis.

"If you had lost," she explained, "you would've been mocked by the entire magical world. You'd have needed support, advice, and he would've offered it, in exchange for your complete submission and obedience. But you won, and now he gets the honor of hosting your legend under Hogwarts' roof. It's simple politics. In every scenario, the Headmaster wins...for now."

"May I keep it?" Harry asked after a brief silence.

"Of course, my Lord," she replied with a half-curtsy and a smile.

He slipped the Prophet into his bag with mechanical precision, and together they headed for the exit.

A figure stepped in front of them, clearly waiting. Disheveled hair. Sharp voice. A girl Harry remembered all too well…Hermione Granger.

"Harry. We need to talk." Anxiety and anger stormed across her face, fists clenched tightly.

Harry looked at her, coldly. Cassandra stood behind him, unmoving.

"Alone," Hermione added, her glare sharpening as it met Cassandra's.

"No, we don't. And certainly not alone," Harry replied, his voice cold and clear. Hermione was caught off guard by the iciness.

"And if you really wanted to talk to me, you could've done it before the First Task," he added sharply.

Hermione stiffened, the air around her vibrating with resentment. Her fists clenched until her knuckles turned white.

"Harry, Ron told me everything. That girl's not a normal second-year student! She's evil, just like her family!" She pointed at Cassandra like one points at a threat. "She's a Prewett! There's a reason they're nearly extinct! Ron says she's manipulating you!"

Cassandra tilted her head slightly. No anger. Just well-mannered contempt.

"Funny that Ron would talk about manipulation," Harry said sarcastically. "He's an expert, after all."

"Don't be like this!" Hermione protested. "You're not the same! Even the dragon…to leave it like that, it couldn't have been your idea!"

Harry stepped forward. He was close. Too close. He backed her against the wall without even touching her. Their faces were just inches apart.

Hermione froze as he spoke.

"You're right. It wasn't my idea."

Hermione exhaled, hopeful.

"My idea was to kill it."

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Cassandra convinced me to spare it. Killing it would've been...counterproductive."

Hermione was in shock. Her voice trembled as she tried to protest.

"No, that's not possible…Y-you…you're not like this."

But the fear in her eyes betrayed her.

Harry gave Cassandra a slight nod and walked off with her. Hermione remained behind, fists clenched, lips trembling...

A.N.:New chapter, a bit longer than the previous ones. The castle is starting to react to Harry's change, will they all manage to keep up with him?
Will Rita keep dropping her exclusive scoops on our beloved champion?
Will Cassandra finally eat a treacle tart? All this and more, in the next chapters!

A note for Hermione fans: In this story, she won't play a major or supportive role for Harry. If you're looking for that, I've written other works where Harry/Hermione is the main pairing or where she has a more significant and positive role.

Chapter Text

The morning after the First Task of the Tournament, Parvati Patil was walking down one of Hogwarts' corridors, chatting with her best friend Lavender Brown, as they always did. Light streamed in through the tall windows, and the soft murmur of students preparing for the day created a comforting, familiar backdrop.

"And so Neville said that Seamus told him that Dean told him that Roger Davies told him…that this morning, Harry Potter had a fight with Hermione Granger!" gossiped Lavender, stopping to admire her reflection in the glass.

She ran a hand through her long, wavy blonde hair with the air of someone who had just discovered the juiciest secret in the entire school.

"Are you serious?" asked Parvati, her heart beating a little faster. It seemed almost impossible.

"I swear, Pav! And apparently…he scared her. He pushed her against a wall. With his body!"

Parvati's eyes widened. A shiver ran down her spine, and her reflection flushed crimson.

"W-what?! No way, that's impossible. That's not like him…" she whispered, torn between shock and a strange sense of excitement.

"I'm telling you, the famous Golden Trio is finished. Everyone's noticed. They don't even sit together anymore. It's like they can't stand each other."

Lavender spoke with the air of a seasoned human behavior analyst. After all, no one knew Hogwarts drama better than she did.

Parvati bit her thumbnail, thoughtful. Ever since the Tournament had started, Harry had grown quieter, more distant.

"I can't blame him," Pav murmured, her tone darker than usual. "Since his name came out of the Goblet, the rest of Gryffindor abandoned him. They turned their backs on him when he needed support the most. And now they think a silly little party can make up for it? Pathetic."

Parvati sighed, and Lavender fell silent for a moment.

"And I wasn't any better than them," she added bitterly. "What kind of friend does that make me, Lav?"

Lavender gently took her hand.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up. It's not like you two were best friends. And Harry's not exactly…outgoing. How were we supposed to know how he felt?"

Parvati sighed again. "But I should've seen it. It wasn't hard. That second-year girl did, and she's been at his side from the beginning. Now they seem…inseparable."

Lavender nodded slowly. "I know. They almost look like a couple, don't you think?"

That comment made Parvati's lips twitch ever so slightly.

"Do you know anything about her?" she asked in a small voice.

"Not much. She's…odd. Cute, in her own way, though. Like she walked right out of one of those Victorian novels the Muggles are always writing! She's a Weasley cousin, but they never talk. They act like she's got the plague, honestly."

Lavender added, "Who knows, maybe Rita will dig up some juicy scoop about her!" she giggled. Parvati raised an eyebrow.

"Rita Skeeter? Pfft, she's hardly reliable."

"Maybe not, but that article she wrote today was pretty on point. Admit it, Pav, yesterday your Harry did something worthy of Merlin himself!"

"Yeah, but she also suggested he was…wait, 'my Harry'?!" Parvati blushed.

Lavender nodded, amused. "You can't hide it from me. I've seen how you look at him lately, all dreamy-eyed. Like one of those romance novel heroines you love so much!"

"What? Oh, come on!" Parvati protested, blushing furiously and staring hard at the floor. "He's not…mine! I'm just…just worried about a housemate, that's all."

The image of Harry came vividly to her mind. He used to be the shy, awkward boy with crooked glasses and a quiet smile. But now he was… something else entirely. His green eyes were colder, sharper, and the way he moved, measured, silent…like a predator on the hunt.

That new aura of his pulled her in like a moth to flame.

And what if he had really pushed Hermione against the wall? For a moment, she imagined being that girl against the wall…

The closeness, the heat of his body, the touch of his lips on her neck, his hands roaming her hips…

"H-Harry…" the witch whispered breathlessly.

"PAV!"

Lavender shook her out of the daydream. "Sit next to him today."

"Y-you're joking, right?!"

"No one goes near him anymore, Neville looks like he's so scary at the mere thought! And you want to apologize, right?"

Parvati hesitated. "What if he hates me?"

"Could it really get worse? At least then you can stop torturing yourself."

With her heart pounding like a drum, Parvati followed Lavender toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

The Defense lesson was about to begin, and Professor Moody had yet to arrive.

As expected, Harry sat alone at a desk near the back. His gaze was unfocused, hands clasped on the table.

At another desk, Ron and Hermione whispered to each other, and Parvati glanced at them with disdain.

She remembered how hard it had always been to talk to Hermione. The girl always looked down on her as if studying Divination were a waste of time. She had always treated her with thinly veiled superiority, dismissing any attempt at friendship.

As for Ron…Pav found him immature, jealous, even cruel at times. It seemed like he'd been waiting for the right moment to betray Harry. And now he had.

"I told you, my sweet Hermione, Harry's always had a dark side," Ron said dramatically. "Even last year…he didn't want me talking to you. Said you deserved it, about the broom."

Hermione flinched.

"R-really? But…after everything we've been through…"

"Yup. He's always been a snake in lion's clothing," Ron concluded. "But a snake's a snake, no matter the house."

Parvati clenched her fists. Ridiculous. Those were pure lies, and the so-called 'brightest witch of her age' was swallowing them whole.

Even some of the Slytherins were turning away from Ron in disgust. Goyle looked like he might break Ron's nose.

That's when she made a decision. She crossed the classroom and sat next to Harry.

"Hey," she said, her voice not as steady as she would've liked.

Harry didn't reply. He didn't even look at her. His green eyes stared off into the distance, as if seeing something no one else could.

Parvati cleared her throat, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks.

"You were amazing yesterday," she added, hoping to break the ice. Silence, save for the creaking floorboards and Ron's constant chatter.

Parvati looked down.

"I…I wanted to say I'm sorry, Harry." Tears welled up in her eyes, as dark as her hair. "You probably think I'm just trying to make myself feel better, clear my conscience…and maybe you're right. But…even if you never talk to me again, I just wanted you to know…I support you. I don't believe what they're saying about you. You're not a Dark Lord, or a liar, or anything like that."

Another silence. Then a familiar, grating voice.

Ron was still speaking loudly.

"You know, my dear, at first he claimed those bars on the windows were because his relatives mistreated him… but maybe they were just trying to protect the world from him. They knew he was a monster, a freak."

Harry turned abruptly.

Parvati felt a chill run down her spine.

With one smooth motion, he pulled her toward him, shielding her with his body, wand pointed straight at Ron.

A light.

An inhuman scream.

Shouts. Confusion. A hiss.

Parvati felt her heart hammering. Her eyes shut, her head resting against Harry's chest. His breathing was slow. Controlled.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice cold, yet carrying a brief note of warmth.

She looked up and saw in his emerald eyes a fierce, protective glow.

"W-what just happened?"

Near them on the floor lay a grotesque creature, like a Pixie, but with rotten flesh-colored skin. A steaming scar on its chest.

Behind the monster, Ron was unconscious, mouth foaming, a wet stain spreading across his trousers. He had collapsed on Hermione, who now covered her mouth in shock.

A raspy laugh echoed through the classroom.

Moody.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that was a 'Silence Brownie'," he explained, limping into the center of the room. "Invisible little bastards. Love to cause mischief…or worse."

Parvati understood in that moment. Those creaking floorboards…Harry had heard them. He'd known. He hadn't ignored her, he'd protected her.

"That thing could've hurt someone!" Hermione protested, horrified, standing up and letting Ron drop like a big, awkward sack of potatoes.

"Go to hell, Granger. This is the real world! The Dark Lord could return any moment, and he won't be playing pranks, he won't have mercy!" Moody barked, pointing a stubby finger at her.

Parvati was still trying to slow her breathing, cradled in Harry's arms. He hadn't moved.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your insolence, Granger. And take your friend to the infirmary before we all drown in his piss."

Loud laughter filled the room. Hermione, red-faced with humiliation, levitated Ron's body and left silently.

Moody turned to Harry.

"Thirty points to Gryffindor for Mr. Potter's quick reflexes. I'm sure, like with the dragon, our 'champion' will continue to impress us…" Parvati noticed the professor's tongue dart across his dry lips, it felt more like a threat than a compliment.

"…and another ten points for showing us that chivalry is not dead!"

Parvati, initially confused, realized Harry was still holding her. When he finally let go, she sighed, wishing that moment had lasted just a bit longer.

Moody returned to the board to explain how to defend against an ambush, while Parvati noticed that Harry wasn't taking notes, his gaze lost again in some distant place.

"You could've let the brownie attack me, but you didn't…" she said, beginning to write in her notebook.

Unexpectedly, Harry replied.

"Once, my godfather told me—" and at the mention of his godfather, a small, fleeting smile appeared on his face. "You never deny a second chance to a beautiful witch."

Parvati felt warmth bloom in her chest, like she had made peace with Harry.

Then she realized he had just called her a 'beautiful witch'.

Her face turned scarlet red and Professor Moody, noticing, let out a loud, gruff laugh.

A/N: New chapter! Hope it entertains you as much as I enjoyed writing it! See you soon!

Chapter Text

The morning was icy, the sky a milky pale that seemed intent on erasing all color from the world. The air smelled of resin and wet earth, the damp scent of an autumn that refused to die, and the Forbidden Forest stretched before him like a dark, unmoving sea.

Harry stopped at its edge, before an ancient, leafless tree, its roots bare and gnarled like claws scratching at the ground.

He closed his eyes.

He breathed slowly, trying to quiet the storm inside him that never truly stilled.
The image of the Golden Egg flashed in his mind, a relic born for the sole purpose of tormenting him.

For days, he had tried to make sense of that cursed, infernal object. But every time he opened it, he was greeted by that inhuman scream, so piercing it made his very bones vibrate.

He had tried everything: blasting it with spells, muffling it with a pillow, even dunking it in water, hoping to drown the sound.
Nothing.
The egg remained an enigma, mocking him from within its gleaming golden shell.

Harry clenched his fists. That frustration, that burning helplessness, ignited something raw inside him.

He could not afford to lose. Not this time.

"I could help you, if only you would bend to me."

A deep voice, dripping with false warmth and affection, echoed in his mind.
Dumbledore.

Harry's hands curled tighter, nails digging into his palms until they nearly drew blood.

And with that voice, a memory came rushing back.

Two days.

Only two days had passed.
But to Harry, it felt like an eternity.

Two days since the Goblet of Fire had spat out his name, condemning him.
Two days since every gaze in the castle had turned into a blade aimed at his heart.

Where once he had found comfort, now there was only contempt.
Friendly laughter had become venomous whispers.
Students turned their heads as he passed, snickering behind their hands.

"Cheater."
"Show-off."
"A pathetic orphan desperate for attention!"

It wasn't the first time the castle had turned against him, but this time it cut deeper than ever before.

Ron no longer spoke to him. Their last conversation had been an explosion, he still remembered Ron's face, twisted with fury.

"You think you're better than everyone, don't you? You always need the world to look at you! You can't stand it when someone else shines! It always has to be you!"

And Hermione…she had simply walked away. She avoided his eyes, his touch, too disappointed to stand by him.

She had been his anchor to normality, and now she'd left him adrift in the storm.

Even McGonagall, when she'd told him the Headmaster wanted to see him, hadn't managed to hide the disgust in her voice.

"The Headmaster is expecting you, Potter."
Flat tone. No emotion.

Harry had walked a long way to Dumbledore's office, his palms sweaty, stomach in knots.
The stone gargoyle had shifted aside with a reluctant groan, and the spiral staircase had lifted him slowly upward, as if the castle itself knew what awaited him.

The office greeted him with a deathly silence.
The odd brass instruments that usually pulsed like living hearts were still, and even the portraits of past headmasters, normally asleep, watched him with cold, judging eyes.

Not even the fire in the hearth gave off warmth.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, perfectly motionless. His gaze, behind the half-moon glasses, was sharp as glass.

"Harry," he said softly, but the tone brooked no hesitation. "You know why you are here."

Harry nodded, legs stiff as stone beneath him.
"Yes, sir." He hesitated for a heartbeat. "But it wasn't me. I swear it wasn't. I…I-I didn't put my name in the goblet."

The words trembled on his lips, but they were true.

Dumbledore didn't answer immediately. Only the ticking of a clock broke the silence.
Then, suddenly, his hand slammed down on the desk.

The sound cracked through the room, and Harry flinched, stumbling back a step.

"HUMILITY!" the Headmaster thundered, his face hardening.

"Humility, Harry! You think yourself above the rules!" He drew in a long breath. "Just like your father."

Harry froze, his eyes dropping to the floor.
"My…m-my father?"

Dumbledore rose to his feet, and his tall figure loomed, casting a long shadow over him.

"Severus warned me you were like James," Dumbledore said evenly.
"A braggart. A scoundrel. An egocentric boy who thought the world revolved around I…I didn't believe him."
He paused. "But I was wrong."

Harry's throat tightened. "My father…He…He wasn't like that…" he stammered, voice breaking.

"Oh, really?" Dumbledore tilted his head, a smile void of compassion curling his lips.
He stepped closer, and the shadow of his frame swallowed Harry whole.

"How would you know? You never even met him."

Harry backed away, eyes glassy, tears threatening to fall.
"I knew him," Dumbledore continued, his tone cutting like a blade. "He was arrogant. Insolent. Convinced the world owed him everything. Just like you."

The words burned deeper than any curse.

Dumbledore's hand landed on his shoulder, firm, authoritative.
The old man shook him, just enough to make him stagger.

"I suppose the apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Dumbledore went on, voice dripping with disdain. "Especially when the apple is already rotten."

A chill ran down Harry's spine.

His muscles tensed like drawn wire, his heartbeat drowned out the world.

Dumbledore let him go abruptly.

Harry stumbled backward, trembling.

"James found redemption only when he realized to whom his loyalty truly belonged," Dumbledore hissed, turning away. "To me. You think he gave me his precious Invisibility Cloak out of generosity?"

He waited for an answer that never came.

"Perhaps, if fate is kind, you'll learn the same lesson."

His tone was calm, but the threat beneath it was unmistakable.

Harry couldn't speak. His throat had closed up, his vision blurred with tears, his breath came in ragged gasps.
He didn't know if it was fear, anger or shame.

Dumbledore moved back behind his desk, not sparing him another glance.
"Now go," he said simply. "I've wasted enough precious time on you."

Harry stood frozen for a moment, then turned and fled.

He ran.

Through empty corridors, up staircases he didn't remember climbing.
Only when he found an unused classroom did he stop, chest burning.

He sank to the floor, knees to his chest.
His hands still trembled where Dumbledore had gripped him.
His breathing came in broken sobs, raw and animalistic.

Then came the tears, hot and relentless.
He cried silently, like a wounded fawn that had given up on finding a way out.

The world he thought was his home…wasn't anymore.

Or maybe…it never had been.

That castle wasn't so different from the cupboard.

A tremor of unrestrained fury ran down his arms.

With a sharp flick of his wand, Harry hurled a spell at the tree.
Magic burst forth like thunder, bark and embers scattered through the cold air, leaving a smoking crater where the trunk had been.

The smell of burning wood stung his nose.

Harry breathed hard. His heart pounded so fiercely it felt as though anger itself had replaced the blood in his veins.

He forced himself to close his eyes. To breathe. To remember why he couldn't afford to lose control.

And then, like a mirage, she appeared in his mind.

A gray sky above the castle walls and beneath it, a slim figure, graceful, elegant, her long red hair glowing like fire against the monotony of the world.

She bowed with quiet poise.

"I would be honored to serve you, my Lord."

Cassandra.

His Cassandra.

Images flared behind his eyes: her delicate hand entwined with his, the sweet scent of cinnamon and apples that lingered around her, the way her hair gleamed like copper in the light of an empty classroom.

And then…the feeling that she was still there.

Harry opened his eyes and turned slowly.

Cassandra stood before him, in the flesh, calm as ever, the serenity of someone who knows she was expected.

"My Lord, I've brought you something to eat," she said softly, pulling a blueberry sandwich from her shoulder bag.

Harry nodded. He hadn't set foot in the Great Hall that morning, too lost in his thoughts to bother.

"I see you've made sure it wasn't poisoned," he noted dryly, spotting a small bite mark at the corner.

Cassandra dipped her head in a small, graceful bow.

"I am prepared to accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate for such an unseemly act." she replied, her tone as composed and elegant as ever, a girl born in the wrong century.

Harry didn't answer. He simply bit into the sandwich.
As he chewed, Cassandra pulled a rolled-up newspaper from her bag, the latest issue of the Daily Prophet.

"Anything interesting from our favorite 'journalist'?" he asked, voice laced with icy sarcasm that could have frozen the air.

"Another article on the Triwizard Tournament," she sighed. "Rita Skeeter managed to interview a few students like Crabbe, Davies, Baltimore, Malfoy, Longbottom…"
She paused dramatically, then mimicked the voice in a perfect imitation of Neville's nervous tone:
"I used to think Harry was good, but maybe Ron's right, maybe he's always been bad, and I just never noticed. People say he killed a man in cold blood his first year…freak stuff, really."

Harry swallowed the last bite calmly and shook his head.

"I said interesting, not pathetic."

Cassandra, unruffled as always, tucked the newspaper away and drew out a bright yellow envelope instead.

"Perhaps this will interest you more."

On the front, in a painfully familiar cursive hand, it read:
From Molly Weasley to Harry Potter.

Harry let out a low whistle.

"A Howler?"

"Almost," Cassandra replied evenly. "A Calm-etter. A variant invented by Eustace Black: same idea, slightly more…restrained."

Harry arched a brow, then pointed his wand at the envelope.
The letter unfolded, rising gracefully into the air above their heads.

My dear Harry,

I don't even know where to begin. Ever since you had the brilliant idea to put your name in the Goblet, you've become unrecognizable. A prideful little boy swollen with arrogance, who thinks he can look down on everyone just because he's had a moment in the spotlight.

What a disappointment, Harry. Truly. I never thought you could sink this low.

You've hurt Ronald, your best friend! The boy who welcomed you like a brother! He cried, yes, cried, wondering what he ever did to deserve such scorn!

And with him, you've turned your back on our entire family. Do you even realize what you've done? We're the ones paying the price for your selfishness and arrogance.

And would you believe it, even Charlie's suffering for your mistakes. Poor boy, condemned to shovel dragon dung for weeks because a certain 'champion' decided to tear apart a Hungarian Horntail. Do you understand, Harry? Your recklessness affects people who actually work for a living. But I suppose, now that you think yourself a hero, other people's problems mean nothing to you.

And for what? To feed your ego?

Ginny, oh…you can't imagine how it breaks my heart. She's always seen you as the hero who saved her from the Chamber of Secrets and now she cries herself to sleep every night because her savior is turning into a monster, just like the one who trapped her there.

Even Arthur, who never raises his voice, says he no longer understands what's gotten into you. The man who defended you in front of everyone had to admit the truth: you're not a lost orphan anymore, but a reckless, self-absorbed boy blinded by power and fame. Not so different from the worst of the pure-bloods!

And the twins? They lost a tidy little investment because of you during the First Task, yes, they were betting on you, imagine that! And somehow, you managed to ruin even that.

I can't help but wonder what's happened to you, Harry. Or rather, who led you astray. It's not hard to guess that the manipulative girl always hanging around you has something to do with it. Bad influences always find a way to sink their claws into weak hearts.

Oh, Harry…don't fool yourself. Everyone sees her for what she is: a little opportunist using you to feel important. She's filled your head with dangerous ideas, pushed you away from those who truly love you. Don't make me laugh, do you really think she cares about you? Once she's done using your name, she'll leave you alone, and by then it'll be too late.

But it's not too late to change…ot yet.
Speak to Ronald. Apologize properly. Beg if you must.

Show Dumbledore, your Headmaster, your mentor, your savior, that you still have a shred of decency left, and beg for his forgiveness, you ungrateful boy! Dumbledore has always cared for you, Harry, despite everything, and I'm certain he'll welcome you back if you show remorse.

Apologize to Percy as well. He could help you with the task, after all, the 'egg' was his idea, and you'd do well to admit you need him.

Think carefully, Harry. You still have one chance to make things right.
But if you keep going down this path…my next letter won't be nearly as kind. And believe me, dear boy, you don't want to find out what happens when a mother loses her patience.

Molly Weasley

The letter dissolved into a shower of glittering sparks.

Harry burst out laughing, a sharp, hysterical sound that echoed through the trees.

"Percy's idea? Oh, that explains so much!" he barked, running a hand through his messy hair.

If anyone had seen him then, they might've thought he'd finally lost his mind. And perhaps…they wouldn't have been entirely wrong.

Cassandra watched him, head slightly tilted, her expression unreadable.

"I don't see much difference between that and a Howler," she remarked calmly. "Molly was yelling so fast and so loud that it was hard to understand a word of it…"

Harry froze mid-laugh, turning sharply toward her.

"...say that again."

"That Molly was yelling so fast and so loud that it was hard to understand anything."

A spark lit in his eyes.

"Yes! Of course!"

With sudden excitement, he grabbed Cassandra by the waist and spun her around in a blur of surprise and confusion.

"M-my Lord, are you quite all right?!" she stammered.

Harry set her down, still grinning with wild joy.

"Perfectly fine, my Lady! Thank you!"

He kissed her cheek quick, impulsive, and disarmingly genuine, before stepping back with a grin.

"See you later, I've got an egg to crack!" he said, and before she could respond, he was gone.

Cassandra stood frozen, one hand pressed to her cheek, still warm.
Only then did she truly realize what had happened, and her face turned as red as her hair.

A.N.: New chapter! I didn't expect it to get this long, there was actually supposed to be another part right after this one (still about the egg) but I decided to save it for the next chapters instead.
Yes, the bit where Harry mentions trying to drown the egg but without success is intentional, the task itself was changed because of Percy's involvement.

As in another story of mine, even in the universe of this fic the charismatic and absurd Black relatives influence the magical world in some way, even if it is a simple type of letter.

Someone on ff asked if this story was going to become a Harry/Parvati/OC. The answer is no. The main pairing will always be Harry/Cassandra.

Parv will have a role later on, but this won't be a multi-ship story, sorry!

Thank you all so much for your comments and support, see you soon!