Harry Wayne and the Batman of Hogwarts
Chapter 34-Keep Fighting Until Your Last Breath
When Harry woke up the next morning, a dull throb pulsed in his temples, a lingering reminder of the fear toxin from the night before. He groaned and called out, "Harvey, do you have any pain medicine?"
Silence greeted him.
Pushing himself upright, Harry realized Harvey's bed was empty, and the room was eerily still. He frowned, the ache in his head intensifying as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. With the second stage of the Triwizard Tournament looming, Harry shook off his unease and began to prepare.
Deciding practicality was key, he donned a sleek black swimsuit and ensured his Belt of Chiroptera was secured around his waist. He had no idea if he'd need it, but the belt's gadgets had saved his life more times than he could count.
As he stepped into the hallway, Professor Severus Crane was waiting for him, his sharp features even more menacing in the morning light.
"Mr. Wayne," Crane began in his low, drawling voice, "I'm investigating an incident that occurred last night. Someone broke into my office and stole something of great value to me." His eyes narrowed. "I have reason to believe it was one of the tournament contestants."
Harry's heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face calm. "Why are you telling me this, Professor?"
Crane's lip curled. "Because Waylon Diggory claims he saw you wandering the halls late last night."
Harry's mind raced, but he managed to respond evenly. "I didn't leave my dormitory, Professor. I had a splitting headache and stayed in bed all night."
Crane studied him with a cold gaze, the silence stretching uncomfortably. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "For your sake, I hope you're telling the truth." Without another word, he swept away, his robes billowing behind him.
Harry exhaled, tension draining from his shoulders, and made his way to the Black Lake.
The lake's surface glistened under the morning sun, its depths hiding the challenges that awaited. The other three champions—Viktor Zsasz, Jervis Delacour, and Waylon Diggory—stood nearby, each looking as tense as Harry felt.
Dumbledore stepped forward, his voice resonating across the gathered crowd. "Contestants, the second stage of the Triwizard Tournament begins now. As your golden eggs revealed, you must rescue something most precious to you from the merpeople in the Black Lake."
Harry's stomach churned as Dumbledore continued. "Mr. Wayne, you will retrieve Mr. Harvey Weasley."
Harry's heart dropped. Harvey? He glanced at the lake, suddenly aware of the stakes.
Dumbledore turned to Jervis. "Mr. Delacour, you must rescue your sister, Miss Fleur Delacour."
Jervis gave a confident smirk but said nothing.
"Mr. Diggory," Dumbledore continued, "your task is to save Miss June Chang."
Waylon gave a subtle nod, his expression unreadable.
Finally, Dumbledore addressed Viktor. "Mr. Zsasz, your challenge is to rescue Miss Hermione Kyle."
Harry's head snapped toward Viktor, disbelief written across his face. Hermione?
He turned to Waylon, who stood beside him. "Why would Viktor have to rescue Hermione?"
Waylon raised an eyebrow, his voice low. "You didn't know? Viktor's been crushing on Hermione for a while. Everybody knows that," he informed him. "Plus, I heard the last guy that was crushing on Hermione mysteriously came up missing at Viktor's school. They still haven't found him."
Harry blinked, his thoughts racing. Memories from the Yule Ball ceremony surfaced—Harvey glaring at Viktor with a cold intensity. At the time, Harry had chalked it up to Harvey's scarred face twitching, but now...
A pit of unease settled in Harry's stomach. As Dumbledore raised his hand to signal the start of the challenge, Harry couldn't shake the strange mix of emotions swirling within him. Hermione and Viktor? Harvey and Hermione? And now Harvey is in danger?
The horn blared, jolting Harry from his thoughts. It was time to dive into the unknown.
Dumbledore's voice rang across the Black Lake. "The task is simple: retrieve the person most precious to you from the merpeople at the bottom of the lake. The first to return with their rescue will win the second round."
The crowd murmured with anticipation. Harry scanned the other contestants, his heart pounding. He had only one chance to make this work.
Reaching into his Belt of Chiroptera, Harry pulled out the Gillyweed he had risked everything to steal. As he began to munch on the slimy, rubbery plant, he felt a pair of eyes on him.
Professor Crane stood nearby, his sharp gaze locked onto Harry. Harry stiffened but kept chewing, forcing down the last bit with a large gulp. He gave Crane a brief glance before stepping to the lake's edge.
Without hesitation, Harry leapt into the water.
The cold hit him like a shock, but it wasn't the only thing he felt. A strange sensation rippled through his body as his ears stretched and transformed into gills. At first, panic gripped him—what if it didn't work? He kept holding his breath, unsure.
But then he remembered the urgency of the task. I don't have time for doubts.
With a deep, deliberate inhale, Harry drew water into his gills. Relief and excitement flooded him as oxygen filled his body. It was working! He let out a whoop that bubbled through the water and swam around in joyous loops, marveling at his newfound ability.
As he adjusted to the underwater environment, Harry noticed Waylon Diggory nearby. But something about Waylon was different. His body had elongated, his limbs transformed, and his skin had turned a leathery green. A crocodile?
Harry's eyes widened. Waylon's an animagus? It explained so much—the ease with which he talked about marine life, the affinity for water. The realization spurred Harry to focus; he couldn't waste time marveling at his competition.
Glancing around, Harry spotted Jervis Delacour and Viktor Zsasz not far away. Both had clear, shimmering bubbles around their heads, allowing them to breathe freely as they swam. Bubble-Head Charms, Harry realized.
Jervis swam with a strange grace, his movements calculated as he clutched a peculiar device in one hand—likely the ultrasound tool Harry had seen him use with the egg. Viktor, on the other hand, moved with brute efficiency, his focus unshakable.
The contestants were all on the move, the merpeople's territory looming below. Harry shook off his distractions and propelled himself forward, determined to save Harvey and win.
Harry reached the lakebed, his heart pounding. The eerie stillness of the underwater world amplified the tension. He scanned the area, expecting to see Harvey trapped alongside the others, but only Fleur, June, and Hermione floated, suspended in magical bubbles.
Where is Harvey?
Panic surged through him as his eyes caught a faint trail of bubbles leading away from the group. He followed the path, his strokes quick and purposeful. Rounding a corner of coral and seaweed, his breath caught in his gills.
Viktor Zsasz loomed over Harvey, his face twisted in anger and jealousy. Harvey struggled against the magical bonds holding him in place, his eyes wide with fear. Viktor held a knife, its blade glinting ominously even in the dim light of the water.
Harry's mind raced. Viktor wasn't just competing—he was trying to kill Harvey. The realization hit Harry like a wave. Viktor's feelings for Hermione, his intense stare at Harvey during the ceremony—it all made sense now.
With a surge of adrenaline, Harry propelled himself forward. He slammed into Viktor, the force sending them both tumbling. The knife clattered to the lakebed.
The fight was chaotic, every movement slowed by the water. Harry threw a punch, but Viktor twisted away with a powerful kick. The two grappled, exchanging blows as they tumbled in the murky depths.
Minutes passed—or at least, it felt that way. Every second Harry fought, he knew his oxygen supply was dwindling. His gills wouldn't last forever.
Just when Harry thought he was gaining the upper hand, seaweed snaked around his legs and arms, binding him tightly. He struggled, but the tendrils only tightened.
Ivy.
The memory of her control over the plants in the Forbidden Forest struck Harry like a jolt. She was here—somehow aiding Viktor.
Viktor retrieved his knife and swam back toward Harvey, holding the blade at his throat. Harry struggled against the seaweed, his mind racing. I can't let him win. I can't let him hurt Harvey.
Before Viktor could make his move, a golden blur zipped past Harry's vision. A three-pronged trident flew through the water, narrowly missing Viktor and piercing a rock behind him. The force popped Viktor's Bubble-Head Charm.
Viktor's eyes widened as he realized he couldn't breathe. He dropped the knife and swam away, gasping and panicked.
Harry turned his head, catching a glimpse of a mer-man clad in golden armor and green scales swimming away, his powerful tail cutting through the water. Who was that?
Freeing himself with a dagger from his Belt of Chiroptera, Harry slashed through the seaweed. He grabbed Harvey and began to swim toward the surface but stopped abruptly, remembering Hermione.
I can't leave her.
Turning back, he raced toward her location. The bubbles holding Fleur and June were gone, but Hermione remained. Harry tugged at the magical restraints, but the merpeople blocked his path, shaking their heads firmly.
She's not your task, their gestures seemed to say.
But Harry refused to leave her behind. His lungs burned, and his gills began to shrink. He knew time was running out. With a final, desperate pull, he broke the restraints and freed Hermione.
The three of them—Harry, Harvey, and Hermione—swam toward the surface. Harry's vision blurred as his body screamed for air. Just a little farther.
They broke the surface with a gasp, Harry heaving for breath as his gills faded completely. The crowd erupted in cheers and gasps at the sight of him holding both Harvey and Hermione.
Dumbledore stepped forward. "A remarkable finish!" he announced. "Jervis Delacour was the first to return, rescuing Fleur mere seconds before Waylon Diggory brought back June. However..."
The Goblet of Fire, glowing with an otherworldly light, began to hum and vibrate.
"The Goblet has chosen to recognize Harry Wayne as a victor as well," Dumbledore declared. "For his bravery and selflessness in saving two lives."
The crowd's reaction was a mix of cheers and murmurs. Harry felt a pang of frustration—he could have won outright if he hadn't gone back for Hermione. But as he glanced at her and Harvey, both safe and alive, he realized it didn't matter.
Some victories were worth more than the prize.
The celebration buzzed around Harry, but his mind was elsewhere. The cheers and applause felt distant as he scanned the crowd.
Where's Ivy?
She hadn't been near the lake during the task, and now, as the other students gathered, her absence was glaring. Harry's thoughts churned. The seaweed—there was no denying her control over it. She had helped Viktor, but why? What was her endgame?
He shifted his gaze, searching for Viktor. The other champions were present—Waylon basking in the applause, Jervis grinning smugly, and Fleur looking relieved to be reunited with her brother. But Viktor was gone.
Harry's stomach churned. Viktor wouldn't just disappear unless something was terribly wrong—or terribly intentional.
As the crowd thinned, Harry pulled Harvey and Hermione aside.
"Did either of you see Ivy during the task?" he asked, his voice low.
Harvey frowned, shaking his head. "No. But why would she be involved?"
Harry hesitated. "The seaweed that trapped me—it wasn't natural. Ivy controlled it, I'm sure of it."
Hermione's eyes widened. "If that's true, then why would she help Viktor? What's their connection?"
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "But it gets worse. Viktor tried to kill Harvey underwater. This wasn't just about the tournament. It was personal."
Harvey's face darkened. "Because of Hermione?"
Hermione glanced away, her cheeks tinged pink. "He... he's always been a bit intense, but this—this is something else."
Harry sighed, frustration boiling within him. "It's not just Viktor or Ivy. I can feel it—there's a bigger force at play here. Someone's pulling the strings, orchestrating all of this. The tournament, the challenges, even our rivalry—it feels manipulated."
Hermione folded her arms, her sharp mind already working. "If that's true, then we need to figure out who's behind it. This isn't just about winning the Triwizard Tournament anymore."
Harvey nodded, determination hardening his features. "We need to watch our backs. Whatever's going on, it's dangerous. And if Ivy and Viktor are part of it, we can't trust anyone."
Harry glanced toward the dark waters of the Black Lake, the cheers fading into the background. The golden light from the Goblet of Fire flickered, casting long shadows over the crowd.
Something—or someone—was pulling the strings, and Harry knew he was running out of time to uncover the truth.
As Harry, Hermione, and Harvey walked toward the castle, Jervis's voice carried through the celebratory chatter, loud and full of self-satisfaction.
"Of course, it wasn't hard," Jervis was saying, gesturing with exaggerated flair. "All you need is the right tools and a bit of creative thinking. That sonar device I used? Summoned a school of piranhas to chew through those blasted merpeople's restraints. Efficient, isn't it?"
Harry slowed his pace, frowning as he overheard Jervis's words. Hermione caught the look on his face and arched an eyebrow.
"Summoning piranhas? That's barbaric," she said, her voice tinged with disgust. "What if they attacked Fleur or the merpeople?"
Harry nodded, his unease growing. "Exactly. Jervis didn't just think outside the box—he crossed a line. There's something off about him. First the bubble-head charm and that smug attitude, and now this? He doesn't care how he wins, as long as he comes out on top."
Harvey muttered, "It's creepy how proud he is about it too. Makes you wonder how far he's willing to go."
Harry's jaw tightened. "This tournament's supposed to be about skill and bravery, not cruelty. Using piranhas to solve your problems? That's just... wrong."
They continued toward the castle; the conversation weighing heavily on them. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Jervis's methods weren't just a matter of desperation, but a glimpse into something darker.
If Jervis was willing to unleash dangerous predators just to gain an edge, what else was he capable of? And more importantly—what did it say about the larger forces Harry suspected were at play?
Epilogue
The shadows in Waylon Diggory's room stretched unnaturally as the moonlight flickered through the window. Waylon lay sprawled on his bed, his breathing deep and even. All was quiet—until a faint creak echoed from the corner of the room.
A figure emerged from the shadows, dressed sharply in emerald-green robes that shimmered like silk. His piercing eyes glinted behind round glasses, and a sly smirk played on his lips. It was Tom Nygma, the enigmatic mastermind who had been lurking in the tournament's periphery, manipulating unseen threads.
"Rise," Nygma whispered, his wand flicking in a deliberate, serpentine motion. A thin, green mist poured from its tip, snaking toward Waylon. The mist settled over him, shimmering briefly before sinking into his skin.
Waylon's eyes snapped open, but instead of his usual sharp focus, they were empty, a dull glaze obscuring his thoughts. He sat up stiffly, his movements mechanical.
"Good," Nygma purred, pacing in front of the bed. "You've always been the perfect tool, Diggory. Strong, resilient, and adaptable. But now... now you'll be so much more. Your animagus form will be the key to unlocking chaos in the final task."
Waylon tilted his head, his voice eerily monotone. "What do you command, Master?"
Nygma's smirk widened. "You will obey my every order without question. When the time comes, you will do exactly as I instruct. And when the others realize what you've become—what I've made you—they'll know the brilliance of Tom Nygma cannot be outdone."
Waylon stared ahead, unblinking, as the spell tightened its grip on him. "I will obey."
Nygma chuckled softly, stepping back into the shadows. "Sleep now. The game is only beginning."
With a flick of his wand, Nygma vanished into the darkness, leaving no trace of his presence behind. Waylon lay back down, his body still and rigid as if he were a puppet waiting for its master to pull the strings.
Far beyond the tranquil silence of the room, the stars glistened over Hogwarts, unaware of the storm brewing beneath its hallowed grounds. The final tournament loomed, and with it, a reckoning that would test the strength, loyalty, and resolve of all involved.
To be continued…