Harry Wayne and the Batman of Hogwarts
Chapter 37- Maybe I'm A-Mazed
Harry Wayne moved cautiously through the shadows, the cloak of dense trees and thick bushes his only cover as he made his way to Hagrid Pennyworth's hut. The weight of the TriWizard Tournament, Hermione's abduction, and the looming threats from Viktor Zsasz and Barty Strange Jr. sat heavy on his shoulders. Every rustling leaf or snapping twig set his nerves on edge.
When he reached the hut, Hagrid was outside, tending to his massive boarhound, Fang. The towering groundskeeper turned, his face breaking into a warm, albeit concerned, smile. "Harry! What're yeh doin' out here so close to the tournament starting? Shouldn't yeh be preparin' fer the last task? Somethin' wrong?"
Harry glanced over his shoulder, ensuring no one had followed him, before stepping closer. "I needed to talk to you, Hagrid. Away from prying eyes."
Hagrid's expression grew serious as he ushered Harry inside. The cozy warmth of the hut was a stark contrast to the chilling evening outside. Harry took a seat by the fire, his voice low and urgent as he began to speak.
"Hermione's been kidnapped," Harry said, his fists clenched. "Barty Strange Jr. and Viktor Zsasz took her. They're threatening to kill her if I don't win the final task—and if I tell anyone, they'll kill her anyway."
Hagrid's face darkened, his massive hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly that the wood creaked. "Those slimy gits," he growled. "They've got no right! No right at all! And Hermione…sweet Hermione... I'll rip 'em apart if they lay a finger on her!"
"There's more," Harry continued, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside him. "I found out something about Viktor and Barty. They weren't under the control of a Dementor. They lied. It wasn't a Dementor that killed the Durmstrang students—it was them. They're Death Eaters, Hagrid."
Hagrid's jaw dropped. "Death Eaters? But Ra's al Ghul's been gone fer years. Without 'im, they're nothin' more than a bunch o' scattered cowards."
"That's what I thought too," Harry said, his brow furrowed. "But they've got some plan, Hagrid. Something bigger than just winning the tournament. And it doesn't end with Hermione."
Hagrid leaned back in his chair, his brows knit together in deep thought. "Sounds like they're tryin' to bring Ra's back," he said after a moment. "Dark magic…dark magic that'd take more than a couple of lunatics like Barty an' Viktor. Still, we can't let 'em get away with this. I'll keep an eye on Crane and that Ivy girl—they won't be messin' with the tournament. And if yeh need me, Harry, yeh just send word. I'll be there."
Harry nodded, grateful for Hagrid's unwavering loyalty. "Thanks, Hagrid. I don't know how I'm going to do this, but knowing you're watching my back helps."
As Harry slipped out of the hut and back into the Forbidden Forest, his thoughts were a whirlwind of plans and fears. The faint light from Hagrid's hut disappeared behind him, swallowed by the dense trees.
Halfway through the forest, Harry froze. The familiar chill of being watched crept down his spine. From the shadows, Viktor Zsasz and Barty Strange Jr. emerged, their faces illuminated by the faint glow of the setting sun.
"Well, well," Viktor sneered, his knife glinting ominously. "Out for a little evening stroll, Harry? Or is there something you're not telling us?"
Barty crossed his arms, his piercing eyes locked on Harry. "You weren't going to rat us out, were you? Because if you did…"
"Relax," Harry interrupted, raising his hands defensively. "I was checking the maze. I thought if I studied it, I might get an edge for tonight. I want to win just as much as you want me to."
Viktor stepped closer, his knife twirling idly between his fingers. "You'd better be telling the truth, Wayne. One wrong move, and she dies."
Barty's gaze lingered, searching for any sign of deception. After a tense moment, he nodded. "Fine. Go. But remember—stick to the plan. One slip-up, and we'll make good on our promise."
Harry clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain calm. "I get it," he said coldly, brushing past them. As he walked away, Viktor shouted, "See you at nightfall!"
While Harry made his way back to the castle, his mind raced. The stakes had never been higher, and the weight of Hermione's life hung heavy over him. Tonight would determine everything.
Hours later, the time had finally come for the tournament to start. The night was still, save for the murmur of the crowd gathered around the Quidditch pitch, now transformed into an elaborate maze of towering hedges. The full moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie silver glow over the scene. Torches flickered along the perimeter, their light barely penetrating the dense foliage of the maze.
Hagrid loomed near the crowd like a watchful guardian, his keen eyes scanning the faces and shadows for any sign of trouble. His massive frame and intense gaze were a comfort to Harry Wayne, who stood at the edge of the maze's entrance, his mind racing with anticipation and worry.
Harvey Weasley stood beside Harry, his hand resting on Harry's shoulder. "You've got this, mate," Harvey said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "Just remember, no matter what happens, Hermione's counting on you."
Harry gave a small nod, his jaw clenched. A few paces away, Viktor Zsasz, Jervis Delacour, and Waylon Diggory lingered, each one preparing in their own way. Viktor stood calm and confident, a smirk tugging at his lips as if he already knew how this would end. Jervis muttered to himself, his eyes darting nervously toward the maze. Waylon cracked his knuckles, his imposing figure almost as intimidating as the maze itself.
Headmaster Dumbledore stepped forward, raising his hands to quiet the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice carrying across the field, "the time has come for the final task of the TriWizard Tournament. Tonight, our four Champions will face a test of courage, skill, and wit as they navigate the maze to find the TriWizard Cup. The first to reach it shall be declared the winner."
The crowd erupted in cheers, but Harry barely registered the noise. His eyes were locked on the dark entrance of the maze. He could almost feel it wanting to pull him in.
Dumbledore turned to the Champions, his expression kind but serious. "Champions, take your places."
Viktor stepped forward to the starting line, his smirk never fading. Behind him, Harry and Jervis lined up side by side, their eyes fixed ahead. Finally, Waylon took his place at the rear, his hulking frame casting a long shadow.
Dumbledore raised his wand. "Remember, the maze will test you in ways you cannot predict. Stay vigilant, and may your courage see you through. Now, Champions, ready yourselves."
The first horn blared, echoing across the field. Viktor stepped into the maze, disappearing into the darkness.
A tense minute passed before the second horn sounded. Harry and Jervis moved forward, crossing the threshold into the labyrinth. The walls of the hedges seemed to close in around them, blocking out the cheers of the crowd.
Another minute crawled by, and the final horn blared. Waylon lumbered into the maze, his heavy footsteps fading into the distance.
As Harry advanced deeper into the maze, his heart pounded not just from the task ahead but from the stakes that loomed over him. Viktor and Barty's threats echoed in his mind, and the weight of Hermione's life pressed down on him with every step. There was no room for error.
Ahead, the maze twisted and turned, the hedges whispering in the wind. The final task had begun, and the true test of Harry's resolve was just starting.
As Harry and Jervis navigated the narrow, twisting paths of the maze, the ambient noises seemed to fade, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the occasional distant growl of some unseen creature. The air grew heavier, as if the maze itself was alive and pressing down on them.
Harry glanced at Jervis, who was muttering to himself as he scanned their surroundings. Seizing the opportunity, Harry leaned closer and spoke in a hushed tone. "Jervis, listen to me. Viktor's dangerous—he's not just here to win. He's out for blood. You can't trust him."
Jervis didn't flinch or even seem fazed. Instead, he gave Harry a curious smile, his demeanor oddly calm. "Oh, dear Harry," Jervis said softly, his voice carrying an unsettling sing-song tone. "Danger is a funny thing, isn't it? Always lurking, yet so often misunderstood."
Harry furrowed his brow. "This isn't a game, Jervis. I'm trying to help you. He—"
Before Harry could finish, Jervis turned to face him fully, his eyes locking onto Harry's. There was an unnatural shimmer to Jervis's gaze, as if his pupils danced with an invisible rhythm. Harry felt a strange pull, his body stiffening as his mind began to fog.
"Don't you worry bout Viktor, dear boy," Jervis cooed, his voice melodic and laced with something sinister. "You have much bigger concerns. You must win this tournament, Harry Wayne. At all costs."
Jervis stepped closer, his hypnotic eyes never leaving Harry's. "Even if it means hurting poor Waylon. Yes, even him. After all, friends come and go, but victory... victory is forever."
Harry tried to shake his head, to resist the pull of Jervis's words, but his body refused to obey. He felt the rhyme reverberating in his mind, as though it were taking root, twisting his thoughts.
"You must win, Harry," Jervis continued, his voice a soft chant. "No matter who stands in your way. No matter what the cost."
Harry's glowing belt emitted a faint flicker, as though sensing his distress, but the hypnotic grip of Jervis's rhyme held fast. For a moment, Harry's thoughts blurred, and he felt an overwhelming compulsion to do as Jervis commanded.
And then, just as suddenly as it had started, Jervis stepped back, releasing Harry from his trance. Harry stumbled slightly, blinking as clarity returned to his mind.
"Now, off you go," Jervis said with a cheerful wave, as though nothing unusual had happened. "The TriWizard Cup awaits!"
Harry stared at him, his heart pounding. He didn't know what had just happened, but he felt a chilling certainty: Jervis was not an ally in this maze. The dangers within were not just the hedges or the creatures lurking in the dark—they were the people walking beside him.
Harry moved through the twisting paths of the maze with a renewed sense of urgency. His stride was steadier, his mind honed to a single goal: finding the TriWizard Cup and saving Hermione. But the maze was deceptive, with its walls shifting subtly and paths that seemed to loop endlessly. Every choice of direction felt like a gamble.
He paused briefly at a fork in the path, trying to quiet his racing thoughts and listen for any sounds that might guide him. Before he could decide which way to go, a shadow moved in the corner of his vision. Viktor Zsasz lunged out from the hedges, a glinting knife in hand.
"Thought you could outsmart me, Wayne?" Viktor sneered, his voice low and menacing. "You'll never leave this maze alive."
Harry barely had time to react as Viktor slashed at him. He dodged the first attack, then the next, but Viktor's speed and precision were unnerving. Finally, the knife grazed Harry's midsection, and a sharp pain flared through his body. He stumbled backward, clutching his side, blood staining his shirt.
The image of Hermione flashed in his mind, her life hanging in the balance. Jervis's hypnotic words echoed in his head like a haunting refrain: Win at all costs. No matter who stands in your way.
As Viktor moved in for another strike, Harry's instincts took over. He caught Viktor's arm mid-thrust, twisting it sharply until the knife clattered to the ground. With a surge of strength, Harry threw Viktor to the ground. Viktor scrambled, reaching for the fallen blade, but Harry was faster, kicking it out of reach.
Harry loomed over Viktor, the knife now in his hand. His chest heaved with anger and adrenaline as he stared down at his opponent. Viktor's defiant smirk only fueled Harry's rage.
You must win, Harry... even if it means hurting others... even him. Jervis's voice whispered in his mind, louder and more persuasive than before.
Harry tightened his grip on the knife, his knuckles whitening. His glowing belt pulsed faintly, as though sensing the battle raging within him.
But then a strange heaviness settled over him—guilt. He stared at Viktor, who lay sprawled and defenseless on the ground, and he saw more than just an enemy. He saw the consequences of what he was about to do. He saw the line he would cross if he gave in to his anger.
I'm not like him, Harry thought, the weight of his own morality breaking through the haze. I can't be like him.
His fingers loosened, and the knife fell from his grasp, landing in the dirt. Viktor's eyes widened in surprise, but before he could react, Harry turned and sprinted down the maze's nearest path, leaving Viktor behind.
The pain in his side throbbed with every step, but Harry pushed forward, his mind focused on the goal. The real fight wasn't against Viktor, or even Jervis's manipulations. It was against the maze itself, the clock ticking down on Hermione's fate, and the temptation to lose himself in the darkness of his own anger.
Jervis strode through the maze with calculated ease, his sharp eyes scanning for any sign of Harry or the other champions. The hypnotic trance he had planted in Harry earlier had filled him with confidence—everything was under his control.
As he rounded a corner, his eyes fell on Viktor Zsasz lying on the ground, blood smeared across his torn robes and a grin stretched across his face.
Jervis hurried to Viktor's side, his brow furrowing in concern. "What happened? Did Harry get the better of you? Are you injured?"
Viktor's grin only widened as he slowly sat up, brushing dirt off his clothes. "Nothing happened," he replied, his voice calm yet laced with malice.
Jervis tilted his head, his unease growing. "You're bleeding, and Harry isn't with you. How is that nothing? Did you fail to stop him?"
Viktor chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction. "Oh, Jervis, you still don't see it, do you?" He leaned in closer, his grin twisting into something even more sinister. "Everything is going exactly as planned."
Jervis took a step back, his mind racing. "You let him go? Why? He was in your grasp!"
Viktor shrugged nonchalantly, his demeanor unsettlingly calm. "Because the boy thinks he's won something by sparing me. He thinks his little act of mercy proves he's stronger. But what Harry doesn't realize is that mercy... mercy is just another weakness for us to exploit."
Jervis's expression shifted from confusion to understanding, a small smile creeping across his lips. "Ah, I see. You've planted the seed of doubt in him, haven't you?"
"More than doubt," Viktor said, standing and brushing himself off. "He's questioning himself, questioning his actions. By the time he reaches the cup, he'll be so distracted by his inner turmoil that he won't even see what's coming. And when he finally realizes the truth, it'll be too late."
Jervis let out a quiet laugh, his earlier concern now replaced with admiration for Viktor's cunning. "You really are as ruthless as they say, Zsasz."
Viktor turned toward the maze's winding paths, his grin never faltering. "This isn't just about Harry, Jervis. It's about breaking him—body, mind, and spirit. And when the dust settles, Ra's al Ghul will rise again."
Jervis nodded, his hypnotic eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "Then let us ensure that the game continues to unfold in our favor."
The two men exchanged a knowing look before disappearing into the shadows of the maze, leaving behind only the faint scent of conspiracy in the cool night air.
After several minutes of searching, Harry felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he sensed the TriWizard Cup was near. The faint glow of its light flickered in the distance, urging him forward. However, as he rounded a corner in the twisting maze, his steps faltered. The ground beneath him suddenly gave way, and he found himself sinking into quicksand.
Panic set in as Harry thrashed and clawed at the shifting sand, but the more he struggled, the deeper he sank. The quicksand swallowed him up to his chest, then his neck. His breathing grew shallow, and his vision blurred as the crushing weight pressed down on him. He thought for sure this was the end.
Just as the quicksand began to engulf his head, a strong hand shot down through the darkness and grabbed hold of his wrist. Harry's eyes widened in shock and relief as he felt himself being pulled upward with surprising force. When he finally broke free from the suffocating sand, he saw Waylon standing over him, his clothes stained with dirt and his face etched with determination.
Waylon had tied himself to one of the maze's thick stalks, using it as leverage to rescue Harry without getting trapped himself.
"You okay?" Waylon asked, breathing heavily as he steadied Harry on his feet.
Harry nodded, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. "Thanks… you didn't have to do that. You could've kept going."
Waylon gave him a knowing look. "I don't leave friends behind."
Grateful but guilt-ridden, Harry vowed to keep moving. The two pressed on together, sprinting through the labyrinth as the hedges seemed to come alive, twisting and branching out to block their path. The closer they got to the cup, the more the maze fought against them.
Finally, they turned a corner and saw it—a gleaming, golden cup perched on a midsized pedestal. Its light seemed to beckon them, promising victory and glory. Harry glanced at Waylon, who was also fixated on the prize.
Waylon's eyes burned with determination, and Harry could tell he was ready to reach the cup first. But then, the words of Jervis echoed in Harry's mind: Win at all costs. A dark resolve took hold of him, and he knew he had to act.
As Waylon surged forward, Harry stuck out his foot and tripped him. Waylon hit the ground hard, grunting in pain as Harry took off toward the cup.
But Waylon wasn't giving up so easily. He reached out, grabbing Harry's ankle and yanking him to the ground. Harry landed with a hard thud of his own, the air rushing from his lungs. Furious, he kicked Waylon in the face, freeing himself from his grasp.
Both scrambled to their feet, the tension between them boiling over. Waylon lunged at Harry, tackling him to the ground with raw anger.
"You'd betray me after I saved your life?" Waylon growled, his voice thick with rage. "And I considered you my friend!"
Harry struggled beneath him, his mind consumed by one thought: I have to win. "I didn't have a choice!" he shouted.
The two wrestled in the dirt, grappling and shoving, neither willing to yield. Finally, Harry threw Waylon off him and scrambled back to his feet, Waylon quickly springing up also. Both of them, battered and bruised, made a mad dash for the cup.
Harry was faster, his legs pumping with desperate energy, but Waylon had one final trick. With a flash of movement, he transformed into his animagus form—a massive crocodile—and closed the gap in an instant.
The two of them reached the pedestal at the same time, their hands stretching toward the cup in a final, desperate lunge. Time seemed to freeze as their fingers brushed the gleaming surface, both champions refusing to let go, their determination etched into their faces.
To be continued…