Professor McGonagall came striding down the length of the Gryffindor table.

"Potter," she said briskly, her voice carrying easily over the low hum of chatter in the Great Hall, "the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast. The champions' families are invited to watch the final task."

She barely paused before moving on, her heels clicking sharply on the stone floor as she swept away toward the teachers' table.

Harry gaped after her, his fork halfway to his mouth, before setting it down slowly. "She doesn't expect the Dursleys to turn up, does she?" he asked Ron, completely baffled.

Ron snorted into his juice. "I'd pay to see that."

Harry grimaced, "Yeah, that's not happening, though to be honest, I wouldn't mind having Dud here.." he muttered, shaking his head.

Hermione frowned, glancing over at Harry with a thoughtful expression. "Maybe they'll surprise you."

Harry let out a humorless laugh.

Expecting nothing, Harry walked across the Great Hall and entered the chamber off to the side. He hadn't allowed himself to hope for much, but a small part of him still dreaded the idea of being the only champion without someone there to support him.

Inside the chamber, he immediately spotted the new Durmstrang champion, Ivan Ivanovic, standing utterly alone in a corner, his face blank and pale. At least Harry wouldn't be the only unsupported champion he thought. On the opposite side, Fleur stood with her family. She was chattering away rapidly in French to her mother, who was watching her with a fond, if tired, smile. Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle, was clutching their mother's hand. When Gabrielle spotted Harry, her face lit up, and she waved at him excitedly. Harry grinned, waving back.

He was about to turn away when he noticed Mrs. Weasley and Bill standing by the entrance, beaming at him. Relief washed over him, and a warm feeling spread through his chest. As he headed over, he couldn't help but notice Fleur glancing over at them, though she quickly returned to her conversation with her mother. Harry smirked a little, satisfied, but forced himself to focus on Mrs. Weasley and Bill instead.

"This is really nice of you," Harry muttered to Mrs. Weasley as he reached them, feeling suddenly shy. "I thought for a moment... well, I was worried the Dursleys might show up."

"Oh, don't be daft, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said briskly, pulling him into a tight hug. "You know we'd never let you go through this without us. The Dursleys wouldn't know what they were missing, anyway."

Bill clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. "How about showing us around? Haven't been here in years."

Harry eagerly agreed, grateful for the distraction. Together, they left the chamber and began walking through the castle. Bill was full of questions about the changes at Hogwarts since he'd left, and Mrs. Weasley listened with pride as Harry described the tournament so far, though he carefully left out any mentions of how dangerous it had been. Not that she hadn't pieced that together herself, especially given how the tournament had already claimed two lives, so far.

As they passed through a quiet corridor, the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, strode past them, looking hurried and distracted. He gave Harry a polite nod and said, "Ah, Potter! Good luck for this evening," before continuing on his way without waiting for a reply.

Mrs. Weasley raised an eyebrow. "My, my, the Minister himself," she muttered. "This tournament must be quite a big deal if he's here already—and the third task isn't even until tonight."

"Yeah, must be," Harry said, watching Fudge disappear around the corner.

They took a stroll around the grounds after that, and for the first time in days, Harry felt like he could relax. Bill kept the conversation light, pointing out hidden passages and forgotten parts of the grounds from his Hogwarts days. It was a welcome distraction from the mounting pressure of the evening ahead.

Eventually, they returned to the castle for lunch. As they made their way to the Gryffindor table, they were joined by Ron and Ginny, both looking surprised to see them.

"Blimey, Mum!" Ron said, sitting down next to them. "What are you doing here?"

Bill grinned at his younger brother. "Oh, we've decided to re-enroll. Figured we'd give Hogwarts another go."

Ron snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, right."

Soon enough, Fred and George joined them, along with Ginny, and before Harry knew it, they were all sitting together, laughing and chatting like they were back at the Burrow. For the first time in a while, Harry felt like he could breathe. The looming threat of the third task faded into the background, and he was able to enjoy the company of the people he cared about. He even forgot, for a time, that Fleur had been avoiding him.

Halfway through lunch, Hermione arrived, sliding into the seat beside Ron. "You've all started without me," she said, but her smile was warm as she glanced around at them.

The afternoon passed in a blissful blur. Harry, Bill, and Mrs. Weasley spent more time walking around the castle, laughing about old stories, and before Harry knew it, the sun was setting, and it was time to return to the Great Hall for the evening feast.

Ludo Bagman and Cornelius Fudge had joined the staff at the head table, Bagman looking his usual cheerful self while Fudge sat beside Madame Maxime, his expression stern and his arms crossed. He didn't speak much, and it was clear that whatever business had brought him to Hogwarts was weighing heavily on his mind.

As they sat down to eat, the tension of the evening began creeping back into Harry's thoughts. The final task was only hours away now, and the excitement in the hall was palpable. But for now, surrounded by his friends and the Weasleys, Harry allowed himself a brief moment of peace.

The Great Hall was filled with more courses than usual, but Harry could barely touch his food. His nerves were starting to get the better of him, his stomach twisting uncomfortably as the minutes ticked by. The enchanted ceiling overhead began to fade from a vibrant blue to a dusky purple as dusk approached, the colors deepening along with the growing tension in his chest.

At the staff table, Dumbledore rose to his feet, and the hall fell silent. His presence commanded instant attention, the kind that made Harry's pulse quicken even more.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Dumbledore's voice rang out, calm but carrying a weight of importance, "in five minutes' time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr. Bagman down to the stadium now."

A round of applause erupted throughout the hall. Harry, along with Fleur and the Durmstrang champion, rose from their seats, and the Gryffindor table in particular cheered for him loudly. His legs felt like they were made of lead as he walked toward the doors, Bagman leading the way. Ron and Hermione gave him encouraging smiles from the table, but Harry could barely muster a smile back.

As they left the Great Hall and began walking toward the Quidditch pitch, Fleur's hand grazed Harry's several times. The contact sent a jolt through him, and though neither of them said anything, the brief touch made his pulse quicken even more. He glanced sideways at her, but her face remained set, focused.

The closer they got to the pitch, the darker the sky became, casting long shadows across the castle grounds. When they finally stepped onto the Quidditch field, Harry barely recognized it. The familiar stadium was now transformed, dominated by towering, twenty-foot-high hedges that ran all the way around the perimeter of the field. In front of them loomed a narrow gap, the entrance to the vast maze. The passage beyond it was dark and foreboding, the faint rustle of leaves carried by the wind, and Harry's stomach flipped again.

Five minutes later, the stands were filling quickly. The rumble of feet and excited voices echoed across the field as hundreds of students filed into their seats, the air buzzing with anticipation. Harry could hear the murmurs and chatter from the stands—his name mentioned more than once—but he blocked it out, his eyes fixed on the entrance to the maze.

As Harry stood at the edge of the maze, gripping his wand tightly, his eyes scanned the growing crowd of spectators. Among them, he saw familiar faces—Dumbledore, Madame Maxime towering above the others, and a Bulgarian teacher he didn't recognize standing somewhat apart from the rest. Crouch was there, looking pale and tired, but Karkaroff was nowhere to be seen. Harry thought that was strange. For a headmaster, especially one so protective of his school's reputation, Karkaroff's absence felt glaring.

Then, joining the group of judges, Fudge appeared, accompanied by a very short, middle-aged woman with a toadlike face. There was a strange mood lingering over the evening, something Harry couldn't quite place.

This was it. The final task.

He gripped his wand tighter, trying to steady his nerves. Fleur was standing close by, her expression unreadable, and the third champion was off to the side, pacing slightly. Bagman clapped his hands together, beaming as he walked over to join the champions.

"Ready, then?" Bagman asked, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

Harry swallowed hard. As ready as I'll ever be, he thought.

"Right, champions!" Bagman called. "Before we get started, let's go over the rules once again. The maze is full of obstacles—magical creatures, enchantments, and various other surprises. If at any point you feel you cannot continue, or if you're in danger, you are to send up red sparks. The marshals will be stationed around the maze to help you, should you need it. We'll come right to you."

He demonstrated by pointing his wand skyward and casting a simple spell. Red sparks shot up from his wand, exploding in the air above them like fireworks.

"Right then," Bagman continued, turning to the three champions. "Each of you, give it a go. Let's make sure you can call for help if needed."

Fleur, standing tall and composed, went first. With a graceful flick of her wand, red sparks burst into the air effortlessly. She gave a small, satisfied nod.

Harry followed, his hand steady despite the tension in his chest. Red sparks flared from his wand, crackling in the darkening sky. He let out a breath, relieved that it worked without issue.

Then it was Ivan's turn. The new Durmstrang champion, pale and jittery, raised his wand awkwardly. He cast the spell, but nothing happened. His brow furrowed, and he tried again, but the air remained clear.

Bagman's cheerful demeanor faltered for a moment. He stepped closer to Ivan with a look of concern. "You sure you're up for this, lad?" Bagman asked kindly. "If you can't manage the red sparks, it might be a good idea to withdraw. No shame in it."

Ivan shook his head, his lips pressed into a tight line. "No, I'll compete," he said, his voice low and determined.

Bagman glanced at him, then sighed, muttering under his breath, "It's your funeral..." Harry caught the words and frowned, thinking that was a bit harsh. Ivan clearly wasn't as confident as Krum had been, but to dismiss him like that felt cold.

Still, no one else commented. The mood remained tense as Bagman stepped back to address the judges, leaving the champions to ready themselves at the entrance of the maze. The crowd in the stands was buzzing with anticipation, but the strange sense of unease lingered in Harry's mind. Something about the evening felt off. He couldn't shake the feeling that this task would be different from the others—not just because it was the final one, but because there was something darker at play.

The maze loomed before them, its towering hedges casting long shadows across the field. The entrance yawned open like a mouth waiting to swallow them whole.

Bagman pointed his wand at his throat, muttering, "Sonorus," and his voice amplified through the stadium, booming over the heads of the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin!" he announced, his voice echoing through the darkening sky. Excitement buzzed through the stands, eager murmurs spreading like wildfire.

"Let me remind you how the points currently stand!" Bagman continued, his tone upbeat, as though this was just another Quidditch match and not a life-threatening tournament. "In first place, with an incredible ninety-six points—Mr. Harry Potter, of Hogwarts School!"

The roar of cheers and applause that erupted made Harry's ears ring. The sound swelled as it spread across the stadium, so loud that it sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the twilight sky. Harry glanced up, his stomach twisting as he acknowledged the attention, his nerves tightening with every cheer.

"In second place, with... eight points—Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!" Bagman continued, as another round of applause followed, this time more polite, though still enthusiastic. Fleur stood tall beside him, her chin raised as she acknowledged the cheers with a gracious nod. Harry noticed, with some satisfaction, that a few of her supporters were giving her admiring glances. It was no secret that she hadn't performed as well as expected, but she carried herself with pride nonetheless.

Bagman's voice echoed again, though this time it had a slight hesitation. "And in third place—Mr..." He faltered, glancing over at Ivan, who stood rigid and pale beside them. Leaning slightly toward the Durmstrang champion, Bagman whispered, though the amplified Sonorus spell still carried his voice just as loudly, "Sorry, kid, your name is? Hard to keep track of you all..."

A ripple of awkward laughter spread through the crowd as Ivan mumbled something under his breath, his face flushing red with embarrassment.

"Mr. Ivan Ivanovic, with... well, zero points!" Bagman announced, completely unfazed by the boy's indignation, his voice almost gleeful as the final tally was revealed.

Harry felt a wave of discomfort at how easily Bagman had humiliated Ivan. The poor boy had been thrown into the tournament after Krum's death, and now, standing in front of a crowd of strangers, he had to endure this public shaming. Harry glanced at Ivan, whose jaw was clenched tight, staring at the ground, looking as though he wished it would swallow him whole.

Bagman didn't seem to notice or care, and Harry couldn't help but think that the former Quidditch commentator rather enjoyed humiliating the third Durmstrang champion a bit.

With a final cheer from the crowd, Bagman gestured toward the maze, the towering hedges swaying slightly in the evening breeze. "Now, champions, prepare yourselves for the third and final task. You'll enter the maze in the order of your current standings. Mr. Potter, you'll lead the way, followed by Miss Delacour, and then Mr. Ivanovic. Remember, the goal is to reach the Triwizard Cup at the center of the maze!"

Harry nodded, his heart hammering in his chest. The entrance to the maze loomed before them, dark and foreboding, and for a moment, the noise of the crowd faded into the background. He could feel Fleur standing beside him, poised and ready, while Ivan remained stiff and silent. The maze felt like a living thing, waiting for them to step inside.

"Good luck," Bagman called out, his voice filled with forced enthusiasm. "Let the final task... begin!"