The amplified voice of Ludo Bagman crashed over the arena like a wave.
“And here’s our final champion, of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry… Haaaarr-rryyyy Potterrrrr…!”
Harry stepped out of the champions’ tent into the bright morning light.
No one had wished him luck.
He hadn’t expected anyone to.
The other three competitors were already done, their times respectable, their dragons subdued.
Now it was his turn, and the crowd’s mood had soured into open hostility.
He could hear the grumbles and scattered boos even before he fully entered the arena.
They still believed he had cheated his way into the Tournament.
Let them.
In a few minutes they would have something far more interesting to talk about.
” Right,” he muttered under his breath.
Softly, so only the air around him could hear, he said, “Dobby.”
There was a muted pop.
The little house elf appeared at his side, ears perked, eyes bright but no longer manic with excitement.
A year and a quarter of patient work had calmed Dobby’s more frantic tendencies.
He still worshipped Harry, but the elf had learned to wait, to listen, to move without drawing attention.
“Yes, Master Harry, sir?” Dobby whispered.
“Everything set?”
“Yes, Master Harry.”
“Remember—when I snap my fingers, bring me the Bag of Destruction.
And stay unseen.”
“Yes, Master Harry.”
“Thank you.
I’ll call you in about thirty seconds.”
Dobby vanished with another soft pop.
Harry drew his wand, squared his shoulders, and strode into the arena.
The Hungarian Horntail waited at the far end, black scales gleaming, wings half-furled.
It was chained near a pile of jagged rocks topped with a crude nest.
The golden egg sat in plain view.
When the dragon spotted him it let out a deep, warning roar that vibrated through the ground, but it did not lunge.
The chains held.
For now.
Harry’s mouth curved in the smallest, coldest smirk.
Ready to be utterly embarrassed, you bastards?
Bagman’s voice rang out again.
“Your time starts now, Mister Potter!”
Harry raised his wand and cast his own Sonorus.
His voice rolled across the arena, clear, steady, and carrying the weight of someone who had waited years for this exact moment.
“Thank you very much, Mister Bagman.
Now, I remind you all of the conditions of the tasks of the Tournament.
You may not help or hinder a competitor.
I doubt any of you are willing to help, so that only leaves hinder.
“By hinder I mean the following: if you cast any charm or spell on me, that is hindering.
If you cast any charm or spell to interfere with what I am doing, that is hindering.
If you take any other form of action to interfere with what I am doing, that is hindering.
I include silencing charms and masking charms of any sort.
If you hinder me, I can, under the rules of the Tournament, call on the Goblet of Fire to strip you of your magic.
And if I determine you have hindered me—be very aware—I will call on the Goblet of Fire to do just that.”
High in the judges’ box, Amelia Bones had been watching Dumbledore since the moment Harry began to speak.
She saw the old man’s hand drift toward his wand.
She moved faster than anyone expected.
Her own wand was out and pressed to the back of Dumbledore’s neck before he could fully draw.
The tip touched skin.
Dumbledore froze.
“Don’t even think about it, Albus,” she said quietly, voice like iron.
“Carefully finish drawing your wand and hand it to me.
Grip it by the fingertips only, middle of the shaft, and keep it pointing down.
If I see it pointing anywhere near me or Mister Potter, I will stun you on the spot.”
“Amelia?” he murmured.
“Do it,” she snapped.
“Or I’ll stun you anyway and take it.”
Without another word, Dumbledore slowly drew the wand and passed it over his left shoulder.
Bones plucked it from his fingers.
“Thank you.
We can’t have you doing anything foolish, now, can we?”
“Now, Amelia, there was no need—”
“Be silent.” Her voice dropped to a hiss.
“You will be silent or I will silence you.
If you then remove that silencing charm wandlessly, I will stun you.”
“Amelia—”
She flicked her wand in a tight, vicious motion.
“Silencio.”
Dumbledore’s mouth kept moving for half a second before the spell took hold.
His eyes widened.
Down in the arena, Harry continued as if he had expected exactly this kind of interference.
“From now until I have completed my task, I had better not hear you.
If I hear you, I will think you are attempting to distract me.
If I think you are trying to distract me, I will consider it hindering.
“Mister Bagman, you are to immediately cancel your Sonorus charm.
If I hear you during my task, I will believe you are attempting to hinder me and call on the Goblet to strip you of your magic.
“Headmaster Dumbledore, you and your staff are also so warned.
Staff of the other schools, so are you.
Students, you are also warned.
Guests—with the exception of the currently active staff of the wizarding British DMLE who are on duty—if what you are doing is in the course of your duties and not an attempt to hinder me, you are not.
Such is the power of the Goblet of Fire.
For the duration of the Tournament, such is the authority I now hold.
“You have all now been warned.
After your collective treatment of me over the past few weeks, I am not in a forgiving mood.
Do not, for even a moment, believe I will forgive your transgressions against me.
“I, Harrison James Potter, by right of primogenitor Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter, do so swear it.”
A ripple of shock moved through the stands.
Dumbledore gave a visible start, eyes widening further.
He had been certain the boy did not know his full name.
He had been certain Harry had no idea of his true heritage or the power that came with it.
The arena fell into stunned silence.
Even the dragon shifted uneasily, as if it could sense the sudden change in the air.
Every face Harry could see—from students to foreign dignitaries to Ministry officials—wore the same expression: shock, disbelief, and the first cold touch of fear.
He gave them a moment to let it sink in, then continued, voice colder now.
“You stupid, daft bastards in the Ministry and the Heads of the three schools clearly had no idea what you were doing when you used the Goblet of Fire as the ultimate adjudicator for this Tournament.
You’ve given a fourteen-year-old and three other just-of-age wizards and witch the absolute power to strip you of your magic—if not outright kill you.
And there’s not a bloody thing you can do about it until the Tournament has concluded.
Think about that for a while, won’t you?
“Next: as you’re all now aware, my task is to get that golden egg sitting in the dragon’s nest over there”—he pointed—”and take it back to where I walked in.” He indicated the entrance.
“There were no other instructions.
In other words, I can take as long as I bloody like to complete my task, as there is no time limit.
No limitations have been placed on me.
I can also go about it in whatever way I like, so long as I accomplish the task.”
He lowered his wand slightly, the Sonorus still active, and let the silence stretch.
The crowd remained frozen.
No one coughed.
No one whispered.
Even Bagman had gone quiet after cancelling his own charm.
Harry’s green eyes swept the judges’ box.
He couldn’t see exactly what had happened up there, but he could feel the shift in the magical atmosphere.
Bones had done her part.
Dumbledore was neutralised, at least for now.
He raised his free hand.
It was time to begin.
The snap of his fingers was sharp and deliberate in the sudden, perfect quiet of the arena.