Harry Wayne and the Batman of Hogwarts
Chapter 36- Dining With the Devil
It took Harry all night to fall asleep. Not only was the pain from Viktor's stab wound a constant throb in his side, but his thoughts were an unrelenting storm of worry for Hermione. The darkness of their shared dormitory did little to hide the tension in the room. He could hear the faint rustle of sheets as Harvey shifted for the hundredth time, pretending to sleep. Harry knew better—knew that his best friend was just as awake, just as troubled.
The weight of the past few years pressed on Harry's chest, as oppressive as the thick Hogwarts air during a storm. His mind raced through a cavalcade of grim memories, each one more vivid than the last.
Dudley, his cousin, turning into the Penguin after an enchanted curse from Hagrid warped his body and soul. Draco Napier, laughing maniacally as he fell into the bubbling green depths of the Ancient Temple's river—what had become of him? Was he still out there, lurking, waiting to strike?
Harvey, poor, poor Harvey, forever changed by a spell gone wrong, the left side of his face marred beyond recognition. That same spell had taken his twin brother, Denton. Was Denton truly gone? Or was he hiding, deep within Harvey, biding his time to resurface?
Tom Nygma, the elder boy with a brilliant but twisted mind, getting his hands on the Cryptic Journal of Ra's al Ghul. Harry shuddered at the memory of that smirk as Tom disappeared into the shadows, the journal clutched tightly to his chest. Where had he gone? The Riddler's absence was almost worse than his presence, his schemes lingering like a shadow cast over Hogwarts.
Ginny—sweet Ginny—nearly losing her life to the basilisk's venomous bite. Cornelius Fridge, a respected Ministry official, transformed into a frost monster that terrorized the castle during the winter solstice. The unspeakable murder of Neville's father in the Forbidden Forest still haunted the school, a grim reminder that nowhere—not even the nearby grounds of Hogwarts—was truly safe.
Each memory was a sharp stab of guilt. It was as if Harry's very presence at Hogwarts had unleashed chaos upon everyone he cared about. He couldn't shake the feeling that it was his fault—that his being here had drawn a dark, tangled web of misfortune around his friends. And now, Hermione was caught in it.
The thought of how scared she might be plagued him. They had promised to release her if he won the TriWizard Cup, but could he trust them? Barty's sinister grin and Viktor's cold, calculating eyes suggested otherwise. The thought of Hermione trapped, possibly harmed, gnawed at his insides.
Would winning the Cup truly save her? Or was it just another game in a larger, more dangerous plot?
Harry let out a soft sigh, barely audible over the creaks of the old castle. He had to figure it out. He had to save her. Whatever the cost, whatever the danger.
His scar throbbed faintly, a sinister pulse that felt almost alive. Was it Ra's al Ghul's doing? Or something worse? Harry didn't know, but as the first rays of dawn crept through the window, he made a silent vow: he would fight. For Hermione, for Harvey, for all of them.
Because if he didn't, who would?
Later that day, in the mid-afternoon, the Goblet of Fire hosted a grand luncheon in the Great Hall. The long tables were laden with decadent food and goblets of pumpkin juice, the room buzzing with the excited chatter of students and faculty. Overhead, the enchanted ceiling reflected a crisp spring sky, its golden light streaming down on the champions seated at the head table like royalty.
Dumbledore stood to address the hall, his voice calm but firm, commanding immediate silence. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "it is my pleasure to announce the standings in this year's TriWizard Tournament. After two grueling tasks, our champions have shown courage, ingenuity, and resilience. Currently, Harry Wayne, Viktor Zsasz, and Jervis Delacour share the lead, with Waylon Diggory close behind. However..." His tone shifted slightly as his eyes scanned the room. "Due to the unforeseen interference of a Dementor during the second task, Viktor Zsasz has been granted a slight advantage to account for the unusual circumstances."
A murmur rippled through the hall. Harry's jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. Inside, his frustration burned like fire. He knew Viktor was a talented menace, but giving him an advantage because the Goblet believed the lie he told of the Dementor's interference felt like handing him a golden ticket to victory. This meant Viktor would enter the maze first—a dangerous edge, especially if he used it to set traps for Harry or the other competitors.
As applause reluctantly broke out across the hall, Viktor Zsasz rose to his feet, acknowledging the crowd with a stiff nod. He turned, his dark eyes locking onto Harry, and strode toward him with an air of cold confidence. Harry tensed, but didn't back away as Viktor approached.
Standing close enough for only Harry to hear, Viktor leaned in, his voice low and dangerous. "Remember our rules, Wayne," he whispered, his accent sharp and menacing. "No cheating. No shortcuts. No using your precious little cloak or that fancy belt of yours." Viktor's hand drifted to his side, tracing the outline of one of the marks carved into his skin—a grim reminder of what was at stake. "You wouldn't want Hermione to become the next... decoration, would you?"
Harry's fists clenched under the table, his nails digging into his palms. Viktor smirked, clearly enjoying the power he held over Harry. "Keep your head, Wayne. Do as you're told. Maybe you'll get your precious little friend back in one piece. And remember—if you tell another living soul about this… it doesn't end well for her."
Harry's gaze burned into Viktor's as the Bulgarian Quidditch star walked away, his smug demeanor making Harry's stomach churn. The stakes had never felt higher. Not only was his reputation on the line, but Hermione's very life depended on him outsmarting Viktor in the maze.
Harry stared at his untouched plate of food, his appetite completely gone. The maze loomed ahead like a shadow—a battlefield where everything could go wrong.
As the applause settled and the room quieted, Dumbledore raised his hand once more, his expression grave but tinged with a hint of excitement. "And now," he said, his voice carrying effortlessly through the Great Hall, "I must address the matter of the third and final task. It is no secret that the TriWizard Tournament has tested our champions in ways both seen and unseen, challenging their wits, courage, and resolve. Tonight, as the full moon rises overhead, they shall face their greatest challenge yet."
The room fell silent, the gravity of his words sinking in. "At dusk, our champions will enter the enchanted maze constructed upon the Hogwarts grounds," Dumbledore continued, his tone foreboding. "Within this labyrinth lie obstacles and creatures most formidable, designed to test not only their magical skill but their strength of heart. The first champion to reach the center of the maze and claim the TriWizard Cup will be declared the victor."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine. He'd heard whispers about the maze, tales of its ever-shifting paths and the horrors hidden within. The thought of Viktor entering first, with ample time to lay traps or ambush points, made his pulse quicken. He cast a wary glance at Viktor, who sat with an air of smugness, clearly unfazed by the announcement.
Dumbledore's gaze swept over the room, lingering briefly on the champions. "Let it be known," he said solemnly, "that this task is not without peril. Champions, you must rely on your ingenuity and bravery. And above all, remember: the maze is alive. It changes, adapts, and does not suffer fools lightly."
A murmur rippled through the students. Some whispered in awe, others in fear. Beside Harry, Harvey shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his usual confidence overshadowed by concern for his friend.
As Dumbledore returned to his seat, the tension in the hall was palpable. Harry's mind raced, the weight of the task pressing down on him. At dusk, under the eerie glow of the full moon, everything would come to a head. Victory, survival, and Hermione's life—everything hung in the balance.
Harvey noticed Harry's furrowed brow and the tight grip he had on his goblet. The weight of the task ahead was clearly taking its toll. Leaning in slightly, Harvey spoke in a low, earnest tone. "Can I tell you something, Harry?"
Harry turned to him, surprised by the shift in Harvey's demeanor. "Of course," he said, setting his goblet down to give his friend his full attention.
Harvey hesitated for a moment, as though carefully choosing his words. "I've been thinking about this a lot," he began. "You know, my name could've easily been the one the Goblet of Fire chose instead of yours. But honestly? I'm glad it wasn't."
Harry blinked, taken aback. "Glad? Why?"
Harvey looked down at the table for a moment, his finger tracing the rim of his plate. Then he met Harry's eyes, his gaze steady and filled with sincerity. "Because I've seen just how dangerous this tournament is. The things they're making you face… they're not just games, Harry. They're life and death. And as much as I hate to admit it, I don't think I could've handled it the way you have. You're braver than I am, stronger in ways that matter. And..." Harvey paused, taking a deep breath. "I truly believe you're the only one who can win this thing and save Hermione in the process."
Harry stared at him, his chest tightening with a mix of emotions. The sincerity in Harvey's voice was undeniable, and for the first time in days, a flicker of hope sparked within him.
"Thanks, Harvey," Harry said quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "That means a lot."
Harvey grinned, the usual spark of mischief returning to his eyes. "Don't mention it. Just, you know, don't get yourself killed out there. I'd hate to have to explain to everyone that you didn't make it back because of some oversized spider or enchanted shrubbery getting the best of you."
Harry chuckled despite himself, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. Harvey's words of encouragement weren't just a boost to his morale—they were a reminder that he wasn't alone in this fight. And for that, Harry was deeply grateful.
As Harry sipped his pumpkin juice, his eyes drifted to the Slytherin table, where Ivy sat surrounded by her comrades, her crimson hair glowing under the enchanted ceiling's midday light. She laughed at something one of the other students said, her demeanor carefree and unbothered.
But Harry couldn't shake the thought—since the maze was made of plant life, Ivy's unique abilities could play a significant role in helping Viktor win. The memory of her entangling him in vines during the first task flashed in his mind. When he'd confronted her about it, she'd acted as though she had no idea what he was talking about, her words sounding genuine in a way Viktor's never did.
Harry frowned. What if she really hadn't been acting of her own will? Could she have been controlled by someone else? But who, or what, could manipulate someone with powers as formidable as Ivy's?
His gaze flicked back to Harvey, who was watching Harry with quiet concern. "Harvey," Harry said, his voice low, "I need a favor."
"Anything," Harvey replied immediately, leaning in closer.
Harry glanced toward Ivy again. "During the final task, keep an eye on Ivy for me. If she tries to interfere—or if something seems off—do whatever you can to stop her. I can't afford any surprises in there. Not with Hermione's life on the line."
Harvey followed Harry's gaze, his eyes narrowing as they landed on Ivy. "You really think she'd pull something during the maze?"
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "But if she does, I need to know someone's watching her. Someone I trust."
Harvey smirked, straightening in his seat. "You're putting a lot of faith in me, Harry."
"That's because I know you can handle it," Harry said with a faint smile.
"Consider it done," Harvey said, his tone firm. "I'll keep both eyes on her. If she so much as looks at that maze the wrong way, I'll make sure she doesn't get the chance to cause trouble."
Relieved, Harry nodded. With Harvey keeping watch, he could focus entirely on the maze and the challenges it would bring. Still, he couldn't ignore the gnawing doubt in the back of his mind. Ivy's actions—or inactions—might just hold the key to Viktor's plans.
As the luncheon came to a close, Harry stood up, his plate untouched, his thoughts swirling. His gaze wandered across the Great Hall, scanning the dispersing crowd. Then he spotted them—Barty Strange Jr. and Professor Severus Crane huddled together in a corner. Their conversation looked heated, with Barty gesturing animatedly and Crane frowning deeply, his sharp features etched with disapproval.
Harry's chest tightened as he noticed both men glance in his direction. Crane's piercing gaze lingered for a moment before he returned to the conversation, his lips pressed into a thin line. Whatever Barty was saying, it didn't seem to sit well with the notoriously stoic potions master.
"What could they be talking about?" Harry murmured to himself, his thoughts racing. Barty had already shown his true colors, orchestrating Hermione's kidnapping and meddling in the tournament. But Crane? Could he be involved, too?
The idea unsettled Harry deeply. If Crane was working with Barty, the stakes were even higher than he realized. With Crane's mastery of poisons and his infamous fear toxin, the possibilities were chilling. What if Crane decided to slip Harry a dose before the maze? The last thing Harry needed was to be consumed by his worst fears while navigating Viktor's traps and saving Hermione.
"Harry," Harvey said, breaking into his thoughts. He was standing beside him, concern written all over his face. "You all right? You're staring at Crane like he owes you a favor."
Harry tore his gaze away and forced a weak smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... thinking."
Harvey followed Harry's line of sight and raised an eyebrow. "Crane? You think he's up to something?"
"I don't know," Harry admitted, lowering his voice as they started walking toward the exit. "But he's talking to Barty, and they keep looking at me. Whatever it is, it can't be good."
Harvey frowned. "You really think Crane would poison you or something before the maze?"
"It's Crane," Harry said flatly. "Fear is his specialty. I wouldn't put it past him."
Harvey's expression hardened. "Then we'll make sure he doesn't get the chance. I'll keep an eye on him too. You focus on the maze—and on Hermione."
Harry nodded, grateful for Harvey's steadfast support. But as they stepped out into the castle corridor, he couldn't shake the feeling that the web of danger and deceit was growing ever tighter around him. Crane's involvement—or lack thereof—might be another piece of the puzzle. One more mystery Harry would have to solve before it was too late.
As Harry walked beside Harvey down the corridor, his thoughts drifted inward. He was grateful for Harvey's help—more grateful than he could put into words—but a pang of guilt gnawed at him. Harvey had already endured so much: the scars from the spell gone wrong, the loss of his twin brother, and now the weight of keeping an eye on Ivy and Crane during the tournament. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he was asking too much of him.
Maybe I need bigger reinforcements, Harry thought to himself, his mind immediately landing on someone who had always been a pillar of support—Hagrid Pennyworth.
Hagrid, the gentle giant of Hogwarts, had always been there to guide Harry when things seemed their darkest. His wisdom, courage, and unmatched mastery of magical creatures and the unknown made him the perfect ally. If anyone could help him navigate this tangled web of danger, it was Hagrid.
Harry made up his mind. Before the tournament began, he would find Hagrid and explain everything—Hermione's kidnapping, Viktor's threats, the possibility of Ivy's involvement, and Crane's unsettling conversation with Barty Strange Jr. If anyone could help him untangle this mess and provide insight or support, it was Hagrid.
"Harvey," Harry said, breaking the silence, "thanks for everything you're doing. It means a lot."
Harvey smiled, though his exhaustion was evident. "What are friends for? We'll get through this, Harry."
Harry nodded but kept his thoughts about Hagrid to himself for now. He didn't want Harvey to feel like his efforts weren't enough.
As soon as the opportunity arose, Harry would make his way to Hagrid's hut. He needed the wisdom of the old groundskeeper now more than ever. If they were going to survive this nightmarish tournament—and if he was going to save Hermione—Harry would need all the help he could get.
To be continued…