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The air above the arena shimmered with heat, the scent of scorched earth and dragon‑breath curling through the stands. Harry stepped onto the rocky ground as though he were walking into a familiar market square, not a battlefield. The crowd roared, but it washed over him like distant surf — background noise compared to the shrieks of harpies, the bubbling of boiling mud pits, the crackle of Eda’s latest “totally safe” experiment detonating somewhere behind the Owl House.
A flicker of memory tugged at him: Luz, grinning wildly as she sketched a wind glyph on the ground.
“Okay, Harry, ready?”
He’d nodded, and the glyph had exploded into a tornado that launched them both into a tree. Eda had laughed so hard she’d wheezed.
“Perfect form! Terrible aim!”
The warmth of that memory steadied him now.
The dragon’s shadow swept over him, wings beating the air into violent gusts. Students gasped. A few screamed. Someone in the stands muttered, “He’s dead. He’s actually dead.”
Harry simply lifted his hand.
A glowing glyph flared beneath his palm, lines of light etching themselves into the air with a soft crackle. The wind answered instantly, spiraling upward in a controlled cyclone that lifted the dragon just enough to unbalance it.
The stands went silent. Not impressed — unnerved. A ripple of fear passed through the crowd like a cold wind.
“What is that?” a witch whispered.
“That’s not wand magic,” another hissed.
“Is he even human?”
Harry pressed a second glyph to the ground. Vines burst upward, coiling around the dragon’s limbs. The creature blinked at him, bewildered.
“Easy,” he murmured.
The dragon huffed a plume of smoke that ruffled his hair.
Up in the stands, Dumbledore’s expression flickered between awe and alarm. McGonagall’s lips thinned. Karkaroff looked ready to bolt. Madame Maxime muttered something in French that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.
Harry dusted off his hands.
The crowd recoiled as if he’d just detonated something.
---
The days between the First and Second Tasks felt stretched thin, like the castle itself was holding its breath.
Students stared at Harry in corridors, whispering behind hands. Some avoided him entirely. Others followed him at a distance, as though expecting him to sprout wings or breathe fire. Even the portraits watched him with wary eyes, whispering to each other in frantic brushstrokes.
Hermione cornered him in the library, eyes sharp as cut glass.
“That wasn’t wandwork,” she said. “And it wasn’t runes. And it wasn’t elemental conjuration. Harry, what did you do?”
He shrugged. “Improvised.”
“You improvised a hurricane,” she hissed.
Ron leaned over the table. “Mate, you’ve been holding out on us.”
Nearby students pretended not to listen but leaned so far sideways they nearly fell off their chairs.
Harry didn’t look up. “You never asked.”
But even as he said it, he felt the tug of homesickness — the crooked skyline of Bonesborough, the smell of apple blood and swamp fog, the way the sky shifted colours when the Titan dreamed. He missed Eda’s cackle echoing through the house, Luz’s excited rambling, King perched on his shoulder declaring himself ruler of all he surveyed.
He missed home.
---
The Second Task dawned cold and grey, mist curling over the lake like ghostly fingers. Students huddled together, breath fogging in the air. The judges watched Harry with open suspicion now, wands subtly drawn.
Harry stepped forward, boots sinking slightly into the damp sand.
The chill in the air tugged another memory to the surface — Luz kneeling beside him on the Owl House floor, guiding his hand as he traced glyphs.
“Magic isn’t about control,” she’d said. “It’s about connection.”
Eda had snorted from the couch. “It’s also about not blowing yourself up, but that’s a lesson for later.”
Harry smiled faintly at the memory as he drew a circle in the sand.
A few Ravenclaws gasped. One Slytherin muttered, “He’s doing the weird thing again.”
He layered glyphs into the sand.
“Is that safe?” someone whispered.
“No,” another replied. “Obviously not.”
Harry slapped his hand down.
The lake split open with a thunderous rush. Water peeled back in a towering tunnel, exposing the lakebed all the way to the hostages.
The crowd screamed. A few people fell off the stands. Madame Pomfrey sprinted forward with smelling salts.
Merpeople froze mid‑swim, staring at him with wide, startled eyes.
Harry walked calmly down the path.
“Hi,” he said.
They blinked.
He blinked back.
Up on the shore, Fleur looked horrified. Krum looked impressed. Cedric looked like he was reconsidering every life choice that had led him here.
---
The days between the Second and Third Tasks were worse.
Students didn’t whisper now — they stared openly. Some with awe. Some with fear. Some with the kind of fascination usually reserved for dangerous magical creatures behind reinforced glass.
Professors watched him too. Snape’s eyes narrowed whenever Harry passed. Flitwick scribbled notes. Sprout muttered about “unregulated botanical manipulation.” Even Dumbledore seemed… cautious.
Harry tried to ignore it. He focused on the maze. On the tasks. On staying small.
But the Isles had never raised him to be small.
---
The Third Task’s maze loomed tall and foreboding. Students whispered nervously. Professors watched Harry like he was a lit fuse.
Inside, the hedges tried to close in. Harry walked through them like mist.
A blast of green light shot past him — a curse from a bewitched hedge. He slapped a fire glyph on it. The hedge recoiled with a startled hiss.
Somewhere in the stands, Moody barked a laugh. McGonagall elbowed him sharply.
Harry reached the Cup easily — and then the world twisted.
Graveyard. Cold air. Death Eaters circling.
Voldemort sneered. “You have power I do not recognize.”
Harry sighed. “Yeah. That’s kind of the point.”
He snapped his fingers.
A glowing circle erupted beneath the Death Eaters. They shrieked as purple abomination goo glued them to the ground.
“What is this?!” one howled.
“Kill him!” another screamed, stuck up to the knees.
Voldemort tried to cast. Harry slapped a light glyph to his chest. Voldemort flew backward into a gravestone with a crack that echoed across the graveyard.
“Wild magic,” Harry said. “You wouldn’t get it.”
Voldemort screamed something dramatic.
Harry tapped a sleep rune to his forehead. The Dark Lord collapsed.
The Death Eaters stared at him in horrified silence.
“Is he—he’s not human,” one whispered.
Harry shrugged. “Close enough.”
---
When Harry returned to the stadium with Voldemort slung over his shoulder, the world seemed to stop.
Students screamed. Professors surged forward. The judges stood so quickly their chairs toppled.
Dumbledore’s wand slipped from his fingers.
Fudge turned white as parchment. “Is—is that—?”
“Voldemort,” Harry said, dropping him unceremoniously onto the grass.
The crowd recoiled.
Dumbledore approached slowly. “Harry… my boy… where did you learn magic like that?”
Harry hesitated — not out of fear, but out of loyalty. The Isles weren’t just another world. They were Luz’s laughter, Eda’s chaos, King’s tiny claws gripping his hair. They were crooked houses and glowing glyphs and skies that changed colour when the Titan dreamed.
He remembered the night he’d left — Luz hugging him so tightly he couldn’t breathe, Eda pretending not to cry, King declaring, “Return victorious, my champion!”
He remembered promising he’d keep them safe.
He remembered meaning it.
So he lifted his chin, eyes steady.
“Another world,” he said softly. “One that doesn’t follow your rules.”
The crowd rippled with fear, awe, confusion.
McGonagall whispered, “Merlin’s beard.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed, calculating.
Fleur looked shaken.
Krum looked intrigued.
Cedric looked like he wanted to sit down.
Rita Skeeter scribbled so fast her quill snapped.
Harry shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Something older. Wilder. And it’s mine.”
The wind stirred around him, carrying the faintest echo of Boiling Isles magic — wild, warm, alive.
The wizarding world felt it.
And for the first time, they understood:
Harry Potter wasn’t just powerful.
He was other.
He was untamed.
He was raised by a world that didn’t believe in limits.
And now they had to reckon with him.