CHAPTER 5: THE RIPPLE OF CHANGE

The weather had shifted as October settled in, transforming the once-light, warm rain into a heavy, chilly downpour that drummed relentlessly upon the thick canopy of the Forbidden Forest. It painted a mosaic of orange, brown, and red, creating a serene backdrop for the morning mist that wafted over the Black Lake.

Harry's gaze, previously fixated on the ever-changing weather outside the window, reluctantly returned to the Great Hall. Seamus, his fellow Gryffindor, broke the silence, his curiosity evident in his question.

"Still not considering entering, Harry?" Seamus inquired.

Harry, a hint of wistfulness in his expression, replied, "My yearning for everlasting glory met its end around the age of eleven." He extended his hand to affectionately pat the top of Hermione's substantial bundle of research notes. "Considering the stack of old newspapers in my past, it's quite likely yours won't survive the tournament either."

Seamus remained optimistic, assuring Harry, "No, mate. They must have enhanced the safety measures this time. Even Dean's joining in now."

A smirk played on Harry's lips as he retorted, "Have you been attending a different school for the last few years? We've faced a troll, a Cerberus, a werewolf, a baby dragon, a basilisk…"

"And a vampire," Ron chimed in, his head emerging from behind a mountain of eggs and bacon. "Don't forget Snape."

Dean nodded in agreement. "He might just be the worst of the lot. I wouldn't be surprised if his Potions class is the final task."

The memories of their harrowing encounters at Hogwarts lingered in the air, with Harry adding, "You wouldn't say that if you'd seen the basilisk."

"The other schools are arriving today," Seamus exclaimed, his excitement palpable. "It's nearly time!"

Harry let out a sigh and delved back into "A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration," skillfully raising the book to shield it from Katie Bell's valiant but ultimately unsuccessful attempts to spill pumpkin juice all over everything. With a flick of his wand, he made the trail of juice that was inching perilously close to his lap disappear, and then he discreetly tucked his wand back up his sleeve.

Katie blushed and offered her thanks, to which Harry nonchalantly replied, "No worries."

She leaned in closer, curiosity piqued. "Why are you reading OWL books?"

Harry met Hermione's inquisitive gaze as she looked up from her own reading. "Well," he began, "someone dared me to create my own spell. In Transfiguration, specifically. They mentioned I might have a latent talent that's gone to waste."

Hermione's interest was piqued. "What kind of spell are you thinking of?"

He lowered his book, revealing a hint of a mischievous smile. "It's something based on the Bird Conjuring Spell. But instead of birds, I'm thinking of conjuring butterflies."

Katie playfully teased, "How girly of you."

Harry, not one to back down, shot back, "Sporty tom-boy says what?"

Katie laughed, admitting, "Can't argue with that."

However, the Slytherin house wasn't as amused, and Harry cringed inwardly as he recalled the portrait's furious reaction. Even though he knew that a swarm of butterflies could create a nearly impervious shield against the Killing Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, or any dark curses that didn't inflict physical harm, he couldn't help but wish it were something less gentle, like snakes.

Hermione, arms crossed, broke the silence with a request. "Show us, then."

Katie added with a polite "please," intrigued by the potential of Harry's newfound magical experiment.

"Papilionis," Harry incanted, tracing a narrow, graceful vee in the air with the tip of his wand.

In response, a lone, rather unimpressive grey butterfly wobbled erratically in a spiral around his head. Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. It wasn't the elegant creature he had in mind, and the color was all wrong.

The pitiful butterfly executed a corkscrew maneuver across the table, narrowly avoiding Ron's fork, and finally collapsed in front of Hermione. She poked it with her own wand, and the frail butterfly disintegrated into a wisp of black smoke.

Harry furrowed his brow, scratching his head in puzzlement. "Something isn't quite right," he mumbled to himself.

Hermione seized the opportunity to flash him a smug look, but Harry brushed it off, convinced that she was simply irritated because he hadn't divulged the secret of his mysterious activities or sought her help as frequently as before.

With determination, he tried the spell again, intently pouring more magical energy into it. This time, two black butterflies materialized and darted across the table, heading straight for Katie's face. She shrieked and swatted them away in surprise.

These butterflies were an improvement. Harry observed Katie, who was setting his conjurations alight. The wings were more accurately shaped, and their color was spot on.

Hermione, unable to contain her half-sincere condescension, offered Harry a knowing smile that was part encouragement and part satisfaction. "Only truly remarkable wizards create their own spells before taking their OWLs, Harry. Even modifying existing spells is known to be a formidable task."

Harry, determined to prove himself, took a deep breath, thinking, At least when the champions are selected for the tournament, Hermione can have her "I told you so" moment and stop being so irritable with everyone.

Before the conversation could progress further, Alicia interjected with a pertinent question, "Aren't Beauxbaton and Durmstrang's students supposed to be arriving today?"

Angelina nodded in agreement. "Yes, I believe so. I'm just not sure how they'll be arriving."

Suddenly, the chatter in the room was eclipsed by startled exclamations erupting from near the window.

"What's that?" Dean craned his neck to peer past Harry's shoulder.

"It's a bird," someone commented.

"No, it's a plane!" a student chimed in, drawing a few snickers, along with more than a few perplexed looks from those less accustomed to Muggle pop culture.

A seventh-year Ravenclaw, embodying Hermione's penchant for knowledge, finally clarified, "It's Beauxbatons' flying carriage, pulled by Abraxan horses."

The carriage was a vision of pale pastel blue adorned with intricate golden decorations. Its enormous, gleaming wheels spun with grace in the wind. The entire spectacle, including the majestic winged horses and the carriage, vanished from view as it moved behind the central tower.

Harry returned to his book with a faint smile, thinking, At least it means everyone will be talking about something other than my butterfly spell.

Professor Dumbledore and the majority of the Hogwarts staff strolled down the hall, followed by what appeared to be the remaining students.

"There's something happening on the lake," a wide-eyed first-year squeaked, her voice trembling with excitement.

The sudden revelation sent half the students in the Great Hall scurrying from one side to the other, eager to catch a glimpse of the unfolding spectacle.

"It's bubbling!" someone in the crowd shouted.

"There's a ship!"

"It must be Durmstrang," the same knowledgeable seventh-year Ravenclaw announced.

A curious girl inquired, "Do they know about the giant squid?"

Harry stifled a chuckle, thinking, That could be quite the unexpected encounter.

"I heard Durmstrang is in the Czech Republic," Ron contributed.

Hermione, always the voice of reason, retorted, "The Czech Republic is a land-locked country, Ron. Traveling by ship would be highly impractical."

Seamus, eager to share the tidbits he'd picked up, added, "My mum mentioned something about Scandinavia."

Dumbledore's calm, authoritative voice sliced through the buzzing chatter, effectively directing everyone's attention. "If everyone could please find a seat at their house tables. Let's ensure we make a good impression on our guests, shall we?"

Amidst the commotion, everyone scrambled back to their respective tables, and Harry found himself wedged between Katie and a sixth-year boy. He instinctively tucked his elbows in as much as possible, attempting to ignore the warmth that enveloped him. Yet, every time he made an effort to create some breathing space, they seemed to inch closer.

It's only temporary, Harry reassured himself, taking several deep breaths as he envisioned the circle of dark ink on white parchment, using it as a calming anchor. They're just close to you. They won't bite.

Katie, craning her neck around Harry, stretched so far that she was practically lying over his lap. In response, Harry leaned as far back as he could on the bench without toppling over.

She giggled, her apology laced with amusement. "Sorry, Harry. Didn't mean to be so forward."

Harry managed to conjure a smile that he hoped looked genuine, though it felt somewhat forced. Katie, however, noticed the crease in his brow and seemed concerned. He quickly layered on another smile, a bright, easy one that flowed from the depths of his mind like water from a spring.

Her cheeks flushed with a charming shade of pink as she quipped, "At least it's the sporty tom-boy lying all over you. If I were Lavender, you'd probably smell like apple blossoms or something equally girly for the rest of the day."

Harry mused, "I suppose it could be worse."

Katie, still fidgeting, observed, "It made you smile. It's a nice smile. I've never seen you smile like that before."

Unbeknownst to Katie, Harry's momentary smile had stirred a sense of disquiet within him. A cold, prickling sensation clamped around his spine, and the expression slipped from his lips. The image that had flickered into his mind before, with high cheekbones, neatly combed hair, and mahogany eyes tinged with a hint of hunger, resurfaced. It's Riddle's smile. Bloody hell.

Amid Harry's internal turmoil, the Durmstrang students made their grand entrance into the Great Hall, clad in fur cloaks and knee-high leather boots. Their headmaster, a silver-haired, stern-faced man with a short, pointed goatee, brought up the rear, his arm draped around the shoulders of his final student.

Ron whispered in hushed excitement, "That's Viktor Krum."

A ripple of murmurs swept through the hall as the Bulgarian seeker's eyes remained fixed on Professor Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore," the Durmstrang headmaster, Igor, responded with a curt nod. "Madame Maxime is on her way. She stopped to provide more precise instructions to your gamekeeper about her Abraxans."

Professor Dumbledore lowered his outstretched arms as the Durmstrang students, with Krum leading the way, made their way to the Slytherin table.

Whispers and curious murmurs filled the Great Hall, buzzing with anticipation for the arrival of Madame Maxime and the Beauxbatons students.

Harry returned to the pages of his Transfiguration book, his thoughts turning to his recent spell failures. Maybe the reason it's not working is something to do with the fact that I'm conjuring out of nothing, instead of using an elemental medium like I did for the basilisk.

A hush settled over the Great Hall, only to be broken by Katie's murmured remark, "That girl is not normal."

A group of French witches, presumably Beauxbatons students, strolled past the wide-eyed Hogwarts students. Harry briefly caught sight of platinum hair at the end of the Ravenclaw table as the witches found a place to sit. A two-person gap opened around the silver-haired witch, and she appeared to be completely disinterested in her surroundings.

Just as Harry was contemplating his magical conundrums, a large bowl of fish stew suddenly materialized on the table. He instinctively jerked his book upward to avoid having the largest prawns he had ever seen adorn its spine. They do look quite tasty, actually, he mused, trying to free his arms. However, Katie and the sixth-year boy had monopolized the available space, leaving him no room to maneuver. Guess I'll have to wait.

Harry nonchalantly turned the page in his book, tuning out the sounds of cutlery, plates, and goblets clinking around him. To his right, Katie engaged in a lively discussion about Quidditch with Angelina and Alicia. With the corner of his book, he nudged her goblet of pumpkin juice out of harm's way.

The table fell silent, and the commotion of the Great Hall seemed to dim. A soft, French-accented voice drifted over Harry's shoulder, inquiring, "Do you still want the bouillabaisse?"

Harry caught a glimpse of platinum hair in his peripheral vision, and he surmised that bouillabaisse must be the dish with the giant prawns. He replied, "All yours," leaning aside to make room for Katie, who eagerly reached for the dish.

Katie swung the bowl past Harry's nose and into a pair of small, fair-skinned hands. "Bizarre," the soft voice murmured, adding, "Merci." With quiet footsteps, the person walked away.

Harry looked up and met Katie's inquisitive gaze. "What?"

"You're not acting like all those idiots," Katie commented, gesturing at a pair of fifth-year boys across from them who were openly gawking at the French girl.

Harry blinked, somewhat perplexed. "Am I supposed to be?"

Katie beamed at him. "It's a good thing, don't worry."

Harry gave a small nod. "If you say so." He then drew and raised his wand, ready to try his butterfly conjuring spell again. "Papilionis."

This time, a swarm of imperfect butterflies burst forth from his wand tip, fluttering chaotically across the table. Alicia let out a startled shriek, while Ron hunched over his lunch like a vulture over a carcass.

"Sorry," Harry apologized, quickly banishing the butterflies into black smoke. "I wasn't expecting so many."

Katie, with a hint of annoyance, warned, "No more insects."

Harry conceded, "Fair enough." Internally, he made a note to consult with Slytherin to resolve his ongoing issues with the spell. Another argument about butterflies beckons.

As the hall settled, Professor Dumbledore approached the lectern at the head of the hall, and the magically summoned food vanished. "Now that our guests have arrived, it is time for the main attraction of the year," he began, "the Triwizard Tournament. However, first, we must cover some of the rules."

An ancient, rough-hewn goblet materialized at the edge of the dais, its blue flames dancing above the cup, and an otherworldly glow radiating from it into the air. The entire hall fell into a silent stupor.

Harry watched as the azure fire flickered in Ron's eyes, sensing that the events about to unfold would mark the beginning of an extraordinary journey.

"First of all, it should be made very clear that nobody below the age of seventeen is allowed to enter," Professor Dumbledore announced, his voice carrying through the Great Hall. A collective groan rippled through the students in attendance. "To ensure no mishaps occur, I have taken the liberty of drawing an age line around the goblet. Aside from that, the tournament will proceed as it did before it was cancelled. Anyone wishing to be chosen as a champion may enter their name into the goblet over the next two days, and the names of the champions will be announced by it soon afterward."

Instantly, the entire table erupted into a frantic scramble for parchment, ink, and quills, as if being among the first to submit their name would give them an advantage. Ron, in particular, launched into a colorful tirade, laced with expletives that even Mrs. Weasley herself would have approved of.

Amid the chaos and noise, Harry contemplated making his way to the Chamber of Secrets, where Slytherin's portrait was waiting. He thought, It might be best if I went to the chamber.

Slytherin's portrait scrutinized Harry from where it had been leaned against one of the columns. Harry explained his predicament. "They're such feminine insects. Can't you use dragonflies, or bats, or anything more respectable?"

"Butterflies are simple, and their wings cover a lot of area," Harry replied. "Now, are you going to help or sulk?"

The portrait crossed its arms defensively. "Salazar Slytherin does not sulk."

"Of course he doesn't," Harry muttered, his irritation apparent.

Slytherin inquired, "What are you visualizing?"

"Butterflies, swirling around me in a sort of demi-sphere," Harry explained.

Slytherin then offered his wisdom, "How are you picturing them forming?"

"I wasn't really," Harry admitted. "It never mattered for the bird-conjuring spell."

Slytherin's demeanor turned sagely. "But I'd wager you only ever conjured one bird. A single bird, you can probably get away with, but for lots, you have to focus on them being created from the air beforehand. It's harder to conjure from such an insubstantial source."

Harry visualized the butterflies swirling together as if materializing from wisps of smoke. "Papilionis."

A cloud of wings and legs engulfed him, their gentle tickling sensations touching every inch of his skin.

"That's pretty good," Salazar remarked, his tone tinged with approval. "Practice directing them as a shield, and you could use them to deflect certain types of curses as you desire, or even transfigure them and employ them as weapons."

The idea of transfiguring the butterflies intrigued Harry. Transfiguring them sounds like a good idea.

Salazar, ever perceptive, noticed Harry's prolonged stay in the Chamber of Secrets over the past month and inquired, "You've spent a lot of time down here lately. And that's not even taking into account the use of the time-turner."

Harry offered a casual explanation, "My friends are all obsessed with the Triwizard Tournament. I don't particularly enjoy talking about it constantly, and I need to improve for the next time something goes wrong."

Slytherin's wisdom resonated, "Don't forget your friends. You'll need them, especially given your track record of getting entangled in anything remotely dangerous."

"I haven't forgotten them," Harry responded, "but it's challenging to spend all my free time with them when most of them aren't interested in the same things I am. The one who does share my interests resents having any real competition."

Slytherin offered a straightforward piece of advice, "Choose better friends, then."

Harry remained steadfast, stating, "There are no better friends."

Slytherin, accepting Harry's perspective, shrugged, his snake perched on his shoulders. The snake hissed in irritation, and Slytherin said, "If you say so."

"I do," Harry affirmed, emphasizing his strong bond with his current friends.

As he pondered Salazar's previous advice, Harry decided to try out his newly honed skills. "Papilionis." This time, he conjured a cloud of black butterflies and expertly directed the swarm to whirl around him at a rapid pace, forming a protective shield of fluttering wings. In the midst of this ballet of butterflies, he transfigured one into a gleaming steel spike. With a flick of his wand, he sent the spike flying out of the shield.

The steel spike hissed across the chamber and struck the stone wall a few inches above Slytherin's portrait. The outburst from Salazar was immediate and indignant. "Be careful! I do not need one of those impaled through my canvas. Sometimes you're worse than Godric!"

Undeterred, Harry tried the spell several more times, this time using sponge balls instead of steel spikes. With practice, he gradually gained the skill to direct his projectiles precisely where he intended.

Slytherin couldn't help but voice his discontent. "My Chamber of Secrets looks like a children's playground."

Harry glanced at the massive basilisk corpse and quipped, "I suspect it wouldn't meet health and safety requirements." He then promptly vanished the remnants of his practice.

Salazar, somewhat begrudgingly, acknowledged the practicality of the spell. "It's a surprisingly useful spell, despite the ridiculous butterflies."

Hermione would huff in disapproval if she knew that the spell was already working. Harry lifted the portrait and placed it back above the entrance, slipping the time-turner onto its hook on the desk.

"Godric used to steal that and move my things around," Salazar reminisced with a faint smile. "He thought it was hilarious, until Rowena found out and yelled at him for messing with time over something so petty."

Harry noted, "You miss them."

"I'd miss anyone after half a millennium with no company but a mad serpent and a delusional child," Salazar mused. "Even Godric's childish japes, Helga's mothering, or Rowena's lectures." His gaze wandered to the floor. "I think when you've redeemed the title of Heir of Slytherin and no longer need my advice, I'd quite like to be moved somewhere else in the castle. Maybe you'll find a portrait of my old friends in the Room of Requirement."

Harry promised, "I'll search for it."

Slytherin urged, "You should go back to your tower and see your friends. Heir of Slytherin or not, you'll need them."

With a nod of acknowledgment, Harry ascended the stairs and found a group of fourth-years lounging around the common room's fire.

"It's rather empty in here," Harry commented as he joined them. "Where's everyone else?"

Ron's face twisted into a scowl. "Still by the goblet in the hall. The younger years are in lessons."

Harry, already aware of their discontentment, prompted, "Not happy about the age rules, I take it."

Ron's response was more colorful. "Bloody pissed off is more like it."

Hermione let out a tut of disapproval, clearly disappointed by the situation.

"Don't take it too hard," Harry tried to console Ron.

Ron's shoulders slumped as he sighed, "It was my chance, Harry. You wouldn't understand. You've always been noticed and famous and had everything. I was going to be noticed too. I didn't want the whole limelight or anything, just a glimmer for myself."

Harry understood Ron's frustration, but he also knew that fame and notoriety weren't all they were cracked up to be. It's not worth wishing for, he thought, burying a flicker of distaste. And even if it was, wishes are made, they don't happen just because you hope.

With genuine empathy, Harry admitted, "Honestly, Ron, I'd happily give you the entire thing."

Dean, with a touch of bitterness, chimed in, "It's easy to say that from where you're standing, mate. I'm just another Muggle-born student that half the wizarding world doesn't think should be here. You've been a hero from birth."

Harry responded, "I didn't want to be."

Seamus, feeling overshadowed, remarked, "We know. You never go chasing things like this or even use your fame at all. It's just a little annoying to be in your shadow sometimes."

Harry assured them, "Well, we'll be in the shadow of the Hogwarts champion together. I've no desire to enter my name, and I couldn't anyway."

Hermione added, "Fred and George tried to cheat past the age line earlier. It didn't work, but I've seen loads of younger students trying everything they can to get in."

Dean couldn't help but be impressed, saying, "I'd take my hat off to anyone who manages to slip past an age line created by Dumbledore."

Harry considered the challenge of getting past the age line and concluded, "I've no idea how the ward works, but I doubt anyone's going to get past it."

In a somewhat resigned tone, Harry suggested, "Maybe next time, Ron. You'd have a better shot at winning then."

Seamus contributed some historical context, saying, "It was held every five years back when it was running."

Dean agreed, "This was our only shot."

Feeling the weight of the disappointment in the air, Ron stood up abruptly, announcing, "I'm going upstairs," and left the common room with a noticeable slouch.

Seamus and Dean exchanged glances and decided to follow Ron's lead.

Hermione, always attentive to academic matters, inquired, "Did you try to put your name in?"

Harry shook his head, responding, "No, I've been trying to perfect my butterfly summoning spell."

Hermione, appreciating the difficulty of the task, offered some encouragement, "That's really advanced Transfiguration, Harry. You shouldn't be trying it for another year at least, really. I'm only starting to read about it now, and I probably won't be able to do it until Christmas or the spring. I'm really impressed you managed to conjure anything at all."

Harry managed to muster a smile, even though it felt forced. With a borrowed touch of Riddle's insincere cheer, he replied, "Thanks, Hermione."

Welcome to PEVERELL_LEGACY on P.A.T.R.E.O.N . This is where the magic happens, where stories come to life, and where you get the first glimpse of what's next.

FOR SUPPORT AND EARLY ACCESS TO NEW CHAPTERS JOIN US ON P.A.T.R.E.O.N. PEVERELL_LEGACY

NOTE: I WILL PUBLIC NEXT UPDATE OF STORIES ON P.A.T.R.E.O.N A DAY BEFORE RELEASING ON FANFICTION AND AO3 YOU CAN JOIN P.A.T.R.E.O.N. FOR FREE TO READ A DAY EARLY.