Enjoy the chapter! The recognizable section belongs to J.K. Rowling.
2nd Of November 1994, Defence Against The Dark Arts Class
"And I want a two-feet-long summary on the history of modern curses. That'll be all—dismissed!"
Adrian grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he rose from his seat, watching as the other students groaned at Moody's latest assignment. Some muttered under their breath, but no one dared complain too loudly—not when their professor had a tendency to really drive a lesson home if he thought they weren't paying attention.
Adrian, however, wasn't concerned about the homework. His mind was on Moody himself.
The man hadn't treated him any differently. Not even a lingering look. No pointed questions. No "Constant Vigilance" directed solely at him. Just business as usual.
So, I guess he still isn't sure if it was me that did the old switcheroo.
That was fine. It meant Moody hadn't figured out what had really happened. Maybe he suspected something, maybe he didn't—but the lack of attention was good. If the legendary ex-Auror wasn't pressing him for answers, then for now, Adrian was safe.
That's okay for now, I guess.
Terry shot him a sidelong glance as they left the classroom together, but Adrian ignored it, rolling his shoulders as he stepped into the corridor.
The usual murmur of Hogwarts' midday bustle greeted him—students heading to their next lesson, others loitering in groups, trading gossip and notes. His presence still drew attention. It was impossible to move through the halls without someone whispering his name, without catching the weight of stares from both the curious and the sceptical.
Well. Fuck them.
He had work to do.
Library time.
If he was going to survive the first task, he needed knowledge. He needed spells. He needed to be ready.
And in twenty-two days, the whole of Europe was going to see what Adrian Valor was truly capable of.
He slowly navigated the aisles of the library, the scent of bookshelves and ink were heavy in the air.
But before he could even begin his search, something caught his attention.
A familiar trio sat at one of the far tables, leaning in close, their voices hushed in secrecy.
Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley.
Adrian slowed his pace. He hadn't spoken to them since his name had come out of the Goblet, and frankly, he was intrigued.
Especially by Harry.
He was curious—what did he think of all this? Was he suspicious of him? Scared? Or just plain indifferent.
He inched closer, catching a snippet of their conversation.
"Harry, Sirius did ask you to tell him about anything weird happening... I'd say this counts as weird. A fourth champion? Who kno—"
Hermione's voice was sharp, laced with concern, but she cut herself off when she noticed Adrian approaching.
Adrian smirked. So, they were talking about me.
He stepped forward casually, placing a hand on the edge of their table.
"Mind if I join you?" His tone was easy, almost amused.
Hermione's eyes flickered with hesitation. Ron stiffened, his fingers curling slightly against the wooden table. Harry simply met Adrian's gaze, studying him, weighing something in his mind.
After a pause, he shrugged. "You can sit."
Adrian grinned. "Much appreciated, Potter."
He slid into the empty chair across from them, dropping his bag onto the table with a soft thud. The tension was palpable.
The three of them stared at him, as if waiting for him to make some sort of grand declaration.
Adrian chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "You guys look like you've seen a ghost. What? You think the Dark Lord Adrian is going to hex you where you sit?"
Ron let out a nervous laugh, shifting uncomfortably. Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't hide the small grin tugging at her lips.
"Wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen this year," Harry muttered dryly.
Adrian smirked. With the fucking Death Eaters attacking the world cup and the Tri-wizard tournament being re-instated after decades and the tournament essentially becoming the quad-wizard tournament, it had been an interesting year.
"So," Ron said, cutting through the moment, his tone careful, wary, yet laced with genuine curiosity. "How did you do it?"
Adrian quirked a brow. "The tournament? Or how did I get expelled from Durmstrang?"
Ron hesitated, then shrugged. "Both, I suppose, mate."
Adrian hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. "Well, Durmstrang's simple. Some blokes decided to jump me. It ended badly for them. I got blamed. End of story."
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, but Hermione's eyes remained fixed on him, sharp, assessing.
"And the tournament?" she asked.
Adrian sighed, resting his chin on his knuckles. "Haven't the foggiest. Didn't put my name in. Someone else must have done it. Or the Goblet malfunctioned or something."
Hermione frowned. "The Goblet is a very ancient and powerful artifact, Adrian. I highly doubt it would malfunction."
Adrian smirked. "You're probably right. But that still leaves the question—who put my name in?"
Harry tilted his head slightly. "Are you telling the truth?"
Adrian met his gaze head-on. "Yes."
Harry studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. "Alright. If you say so, I believe you."
Adrian blinked. That was easy.
A slow smirk curled his lips. Damn, what a nice lad. Dangerous, since he slayed a fucking basilisk, but nice nonetheless. I don't want Harry Potter as my enemy.
Ron scratched the back of his head. "Did they really hate you that much in Durmstrang?"
Adrian's expression darkened slightly. "Muggle-borns aren't allowed at Durmstrang, and half-bloods like me?" He scoffed. "They treat us like dirt on their shoes."
Ron made a face. "So it's basically just a bunch of Slytherins in there?"
Adrian chuckled. "More or less. But worse.
Adrian shrugged.
"So," Harry said, leaning forward slightly. "Are you happy that you're in the tournament?"
Adrian exhaled, his smirk widening. "Of course I am. A chance to prove myself? To show everyone what I'm capable of? It's the opportunity of a lifetime." His storm-grey eyes gleamed. "So yeah, I'm happy."
There was a pause.
"And what do you plan to do about it?" Hermione asked. "Do you know what the first task is?"
Adrian shook his head. "No clue. They're keeping it a mystery. All I know is that it's meant to test our daring."
Ron huffed. "That's not exactly helpful."
Adrian chuckled. "Tell me about it." He leaned back, arms crossed. "But from what I've been told, the first task is always dangerous. Some kind of powerful magical beast. Manticores, Acromantulas, Chimeras. Maybe a Dragon."
Ron visibly paled. "Bloody hell."
Adrian grinned. "Yeah. Should be fun."
Hermione, however, seemed to be lost in thought, her brown eyes flickering across Adrian's face as if piecing something together.
Adrian caught her gaze and smirked. "Like what you see, Granger?"
Hermione startled, her cheeks flushing pink. "What? I—I wasn't—"
Harry and Ron turned to her with matching expressions of amused disbelief.
Adrian snickered. Ahh, you're too much sometimes Granger.
Hermione quickly cleared her throat, composing herself. "Anyway," she said, voice slightly strained, "you need to take this seriously, Adrian. This isn't just some competition—people die in the Triwizard Tournament."
Adrian's smirk softened ever so slightly. "I know."
She bit her lip, watching him carefully. "Then I hope you're ready for whatever's coming."
Adrian met her gaze, and for the first time in the conversation, his voice dropped to something lower, something steadier.
"I will be."
A beat of silence.
Then Ron let out a breath. "Well, you've got bigger balls than me, mate. That's for sure."
Harry chuckled. "Yeah. That's one way to put it."
Adrian smirked. "Well, that's what separates us, Weasley."
Ron snorted. "Piss off, Valor."
Adrian laughed, shaking his head as he grabbed his bag. "This has been enlightening, but I've got some actual research to do. I'll see you lot around."
As he stood, he caught Hermione's gaze one last time—curious, lingering.
He winked.
Hermione's face flamed.
And with that, Adrian strode off, already planning his next move.
Time to prepare.
He strode between the towering bookshelves, fingers gliding over the aged spines as he skimmed through titles.
He had always liked books, but at this moment, they weren't just for enjoyment—they were a matter of survival.
He needed knowledge, and he needed it fast.
His fingers curled around a thick, worn tome titled Mastering the Arcane: Advanced Spell-work for Duels and Combat, and he pulled it from the shelf. Flipping through a few pages, he skimmed over chapters on high-level Shield Charms, spell layering, and rapid incantation chaining. Yeah, this will do.
Next, he turned toward the Magical Creatures section.
He let out a low whistle as he scanned the rows. Hogwarts certainly had no shortage of material on deadly beasts. His eyes landed on a particularly promising title—Monsters of Myth: An Encyclopaedic Guide to Magical Beasts & Their Weaknesses.
Perfect.
Just as he plucked it from the shelf, a sharp voice cut through the quiet.
"Mind the books, Mr. Valor."
Adrian turned, raising a brow. Behind the counter, Madam Pince was watching him like a hawk, her thin lips pursed in that permanent disapproving expression of hers.
"Wouldn't dream of damaging them, Madam Pince," Adrian said smoothly, offering her a charming smirk.
"Better not." added Pince. "For I make no exceptions for students, Triwizard champion or not."
"But of course! I am nothing but careful with books Ma'am." said Adrian with conviction.
Pince gave him a long, suspicious look before flicking her wand at the books, magically logging them in. "See that you return them in pristine condition."
Adrian gave her a mock salute before striding out.
Time to get to work.
Adrian strolled down the corridor, books in hand, his mind already on the intense training session ahead. He knew he was going to tire himself out today and he was happy about it. No pain no gain.
He reached the entrance to the abandoned bathroom, the dim torches casting flickering shadows along the cracked walls. Just as he stepped inside, however—
"Oh my… well, well, well, who do we have here?"
Adrian froze mid-step.
The voice was high-pitched, airy, and unnervingly amused.
Slowly, he turned his head—only to come face to face with a floating, pale, bespectacled ghost hovering a few feet above the sinks.
Her bulging eyes peered at him curiously, and a mischievous grin spread across her translucent face.
"Haven't seen you in here before," she said, giggling. "Are you lost, handsome?"
Adrian blinked. What the hell?
"Uh… hey," he said, caught off guard. "Didn't think anyone actually haunted this place. I'm Adrian. Adrian Valor."
The ghost huffed dramatically, crossing her arms. "Haunted? HAUNTED? This is MY bathroom, you rude, naughty boy! I'm Myrtle and this is my bathroom. MINE!"
Adrian fought the urge to sigh. Of course. He had been sneaking in here for nearly a week and this was the first time he was meeting the resident ghost?
"Right… okay," he said carefully. "Well, I didn't mean to intrude—"
"Ohhh," Myrtle cut him off, swooping closer until she was inches from his face. "But you have been intruding, haven't you?"
Adrian instinctively leaned back. Too close. Way too close.
"I've been coming here for, what, a week?" he said, shifting slightly. "Haven't seen you once."
Myrtle gasped dramatically, covering her mouth with her hands.
"Oh my… so BAD!" she cooed, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Sneaking into a girls' bathroom… tell me, Adrian—"
Adrian tensed. He didn't like where this was going.
"Are you hoping to catch some poor, innocent girls when they're… indecent?"
Adrian choked on air.
"Wh—No! NoNoNo!" He gestured wildly, his face twitching with sheer disbelief. "That is NOT what's happening here!"
Myrtle just grinned, floating around him in lazy circles. "Mmmm, sure, sure. Then tell me, Valor, why DO you keep coming here?"
Adrian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Great. This is exactly what I needed.
"Oh, come on," Myrtle pouted, tilting her head playfully. "You can tell meeee."
Adrian inhaled sharply, composing himself.
"Just to study, Myrtle," he said firmly. "It's a nice, quiet spot."
Myrtle perked up, eyes twinkling. "Oh, you naughty boy! You know this bathroom is out of order, right?" She floated closer, whispering theatrically, "It's MY bathroom!"
Adrian gritted his teeth. He did not have time for this.
"Right, yeah. Look, Myrtle, I really need to—"
He suddenly flicked his wrist, sending his books levitating behind her.
Myrtle's eyes snapped toward them in curiosity.
"Ooooh, what's that?"
That was his chance.
With another flick of his his wrist he summoned his books back at himself catching them with ease.
Immediately after that Adrian whirled around, reached out, and tapped the glowing sink.
The world shifted.
And in the blink of an eye—
He was gone.
The familiar cold, damp air greeted him as he materialized inside the ancient underground chamber.
He took a deep breath, adjusting his grip on his books, before letting out a dry chuckle.
"Damn." He shook his head, rolling his shoulders. "Crazy bitch."
Time to train.
Adrian set his books down, stretching his arms as he took in the cavernous space of the Chamber of Secrets.
He cracked his knuckles.
"Alright."
His robes were already off, discarded to the side. He reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion before tossing it onto the pile.
The cool, damp air bit at his bare skin, but he didn't care. This was training, and he needed full mobility.
He rolled his shoulders and took a steadying breath.
"Let's get to work."
Adrian snapped his wand upwards in a blur, his mind already running through spells—not just the standard ones, but obscure and experimental magic.
"Ventus Exuro!"
A blistering wind, sharper than any blade, ripped across the Chamber, shearing layers off the already-cracked walls. This wasn't just air—it was a weaponized gale, designed to cut.
Adrian shifted his stance, twisting his body and flicking his wand again.
"Fractura!"
A tremor rippled through the floor, sending jagged cracks spreading outwards. The stone buckled and splintered, shards flying into the air—
Adrian moved.
He wasn't just practicing spellcasting—he was training his movement, forcing himself to be faster, sharper. No wasted steps. No hesitation.
With a burst of speed, he lunged forward, dodging imaginary attacks, his wand a blur in his hand.
"Bombarda Vortex!"
The spell exploded outward in a spiral, twisting debris into a storm of stone and dust. He immediately countered it—
"Aegis Protego!"
A shimmering golden barrier erupted around him, deflecting the flying shrapnel like it was nothing. The force of impact vibrated up his arms, but Adrian held firm.
The shield flickered—and then he dropped it, blasting forward.
"Sanguinem Sicco!"
A deep crimson glow flickered at the tip of his wand before fizzling out.
Adrian frowned, shaking his head.
No good. Too unstable.
That spell was a nasty one—a blood-draining curse that siphoned energy from enemies. But it was tricky. Dangerous. He wasn't about to test it on himself, so instead—
"Alacritas!"
A sudden burst of speed surged through his limbs, his body feeling lighter, faster, more responsive.
He spun on his heel, pivoting effortlessly before launching into another attack.
"Sagitta Magica!"
From his wand, ten glowing arrows of raw magic shot forward in rapid succession, each one seeking a different target. They struck the walls, leaving deep crater-like scorch marks in their wake.
Adrian was breathing hard now, sweat rolling down his skin.
His stamina was holding, but he could feel the burn creeping in.
Not done yet.
"Fulgar Tempestas!"
The Chamber lit up, bolts of crackling blue lightning arcing from his wand and slamming into the stone floor. The smell of scorched rock filled the air.
"Lacero Fluctus!"
A ripping wave of force exploded outward, sending debris flying like a tidal wave.
Adrian jumped, flipping mid-air as he twisted his body to face downward.
"Draco Incendia!"
A massive serpentine stream of fire erupted from his wand, coiling and twisting through the air before slamming into the stone with a deafening BOOM.
The heat was suffocating. The walls glowed red-hot where the flames had struck.
Adrian landed, his knees bending to absorb the impact.
"Magna Gravitas!"
The air thickened around him. His muscles screamed under the artificial gravity increase, his movements becoming sluggish. It was one of the newer spells he had picked up over the last few weeks. Very difficult to hold but it would make his muscles work that much harder. Right now? It would make things harder but in the long run it was to his advantage.
He pushed through it, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to move, each step feeling like he was wading through a swamp of pure magic.
Adrian planted his feet, raising his wand high.
"Seismicus Ruptura!"
The entire Chamber of Secrets shook.
A deafening CRACK split the air as a controlled earthquake rippled outward from Adrian's position, sending shockwaves into the walls and floor.
Dust and debris rained down from the ceiling.
Adrian stood in the middle of the destruction, panting, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.
He practiced like this for another half an hour just shooting spells from his wand and dodging imaginary enemies. When he finally stopped to wipe a bead of sweat of his brow, a slow clap echoed in the chamber.
Adrian glanced up as he saw Rem leaning casually against a column, arms crossed, an amused smirk on his face.
"Not bad, boy," Rem mused, his ethereal form flickering slightly in the dim light. "Not bad at all."
Adrian exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders.
"Oh hey, Rem. Didn't see you there."
Rem chuckled. "Yeah, you were a little busy blowing up the Chamber."
Adrian let out a breathless laugh. "Gotta be ready for the Tournament."
Rem strolled forward, his ghostly presence unnervingly calm amidst the destruction. "And what's the plan today?"
Adrian grabbed one of the books he brought, flipping it open.
"Beasts, my friend. We're talking monsters."
Rem's gaze drifted down to the book in Adrian's hands, amusement dancing in his eyes as he leaned lazily against the crumbling pillar. "Monsters, huh? Well, I suppose it's about time. What's your pick then, boy? What do you reckon they'll throw at you first?"
Adrian smirked, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand before thumbing through the worn pages. "Honestly? Could be anything. But logic says it's gotta be something flashy. Something that'll put on a show for the crowd. Dragons are the obvious choice. Everyone loves a bloody dragon."
Rem barked a short laugh. "Dragons. Of course. The crowd goes wild, champions burn to a crisp, and the Ministry pretends they thought it all through. I wouldn't be surprised if it's one of the big ones either. Hungarian Horntail maybe. Meanest of the lot."
Adrian nodded, eyes scanning the illustration of a Horntail in the book. "Wouldn't put it past them. Fire-breathing death machines with scales tougher than goblin-forged steel. Great. You reckon shield charms will hold up against dragon-fire?"
"Not for long," Rem shrugged. "Best bet's speed. Hit it fast, hit it smart. Eyes and underbelly—always the weak spots." His ghostly form flickered, turning thoughtful. "But dragons are obvious, yeah? What else?"
Adrian hummed, flipping a page. "Chimeras maybe. Nasty buggers. Lion head, goat head, snake tail, and they can breathe fire too. Less showy than a dragon but ten times more unpredictable."
Rem nodded slowly. "True. Chimera's got brains to match the brawn. Fire's one thing, but that venom in the tail… one scratch and you're done. No second chances."
"Exactly," Adrian muttered. "Plus, they're bloody fast. Wouldn't surprise me if they pull something like that just to screw us over. What else… Manticores?"
Rem's lip curled. "Hmm… venomous tail, human-like intelligence, and that grin—nasty bastards. But rare. Even the Ministry keeps them locked up. Still… perfect for a tournament like this."
Adrian snorted. "Yeah, nothing says 'good entertainment' like a creature that paralyzes you and eats you whole."
They both shared a grim chuckle, the sound echoing strangely in the chamber. Adrian leaned against a broken slab of stone, mind racing as he kept flipping through pages. "What about Sphinxes? Test both brawn and brains. Riddle masters. Could be a good twist."
Rem tilted his head, considering. "Possible. Forces the champions to think, not just blast their way through. Riddle's wrong though? You're dinner. Wouldn't be a bad guess."
Adrian's brow furrowed. "And Acromantulas?"
Rem grimaced. "More likely than you think. Big ugly bastards. Poisonous fangs, near-impossible to burn because of those damn hairy exoskeletons. Plus, they nest. Wouldn't just be fighting one."
"Yeah… fighting a swarm would be a nightmare," Adrian muttered, shutting the book with a soft thud. "What about Dementors?"
The air shifted.
Rem's expression darkened immediately, the easy smirk vanishing as he fixed Adrian with a sharp stare. "No."
Adrian blinked. "No?"
Rem's voice dropped, low and grave. "Dementors are Ministry-controlled. You unleash one of those things on kids—even champions—it's a death sentence. There's no fighting them, Adrian. You either cast a perfect Patronus or you die screaming, drowning in your own worst memory. No, they wouldn't risk it. Not even Crouch is that much of a bastard."
Adrian exhaled slowly, nodding. "Right. Just… had to ask. They scare the hell out of me, honestly."
Rem's expression softened slightly. "Good. That's smart. Fear keeps you alive."
The chamber fell silent for a moment, the only sound the distant drip of water from some unseen crack. Adrian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "Alright… so if we're narrowing it down—dragons, chimeras, manticores, maybe a sphinx. Those feel the most likely."
Rem nodded. "Agreed. Could be any of them. Or none of them. If it were me, I'd plan for the worst. Assume it's a bloody Death machine and work your way down from there."
Adrian chuckled darkly. "Sounds about right."
Rem gave him a long look, then sighed, glancing around at the destruction left in Adrian's wake. "You're getting better, you know. Fast, precise. I almost felt sorry for the walls."
Adrian grinned. "Almost?"
Rem snorted. "Don't get cocky." With a lazy wave of his spectral hand, the chamber began to groan and shift. Stones floated back into place, cracks sealed, scorch marks vanished as if they'd never been. "Can't have you blowing this place apart can I?"
Adrian watched, wide-eyed, as the Chamber of Secrets returned to its pristine—if still eerie—state.
"Sick." said Adrian with a grin.
"I am the manifestation of Ancient magic in this space boy." said Rem. "I can do much more than this."
"But can't hurt a wizard?" Adrian added with a smirk.
Rem gave him an angry look but before he could say anything Adrian turned around and touched the glowing blue symbol on the ground and vanished away, screaming "Bye Rem!"
The sudden brightness of the bathroom made him squint. For a moment, he stood still, glancing around warily—but there was no sign of Myrtle. Thank. Fucking. God. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. He could still feel the ache in his muscles, the drain of magic pulling at his core, but it wasn't a bad feeling. No—this kind of exhaustion felt earned. He'd pushed himself hard, and it showed.
Slipping out of the bathroom, he kept his pace steady as he made his way through the castle. He had a free period now, and his mind kept pulling him toward the thought of fresh air. The training had worked his body, but it wouldn't hurt to run—get the blood flowing, clear his head. Besides, being cooped up inside all day wasn't going to help his endurance.
Without wasting another second, he made his way outside. The grounds stretched out before him, bathed in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. The lake shimmered lazily in the distance, the Forbidden Forest looming like a dark shadow beyond it. It looked very peaceful. He took in a deep breath and started running.
The wind whipped against his face, carrying the crisp scent of autumn and freshly cut grass. His breaths came heavy but steady, and each stride ate up the distance as he made his way across the open grounds, circling the lake, darting past the greenhouses, and looping around Hagrid's hut. The giant pumpkin patch was starting to wither, but Adrian barely spared it a glance—he was too busy letting himself just exist for a moment, away from eyes, away from whispers, away from the weight of it all.
By the time he slowed, sweat was trailing down his back and his shirt clung to him like a second skin, but he felt good—alive. His heart pounded hard in his chest, not from fear or adrenaline, but from effort. The kind of burn that meant he was building himself up, brick by brick.
Eventually, he made his way back inside, still breathing heavily but feeling lighter somehow. The rest of the day passed by in a blur—he drifted through his remaining lessons, paying attention where he needed to but mostly lost in his own head, running through spells, scenarios, beast weaknesses—all of it looping in his mind like a mantra.
No one really bothered him, and for that, he was thankful. He wasn't in the mood for more questions or curious stares.
Dinner came and went. He ate heartily, not caring that some students kept sneaking glances his way. The food was good, filling, and by the time he pushed his plate away, the fatigue was settling in deep.
Adrian trudged back to the Ravenclaw common room, ignoring the way some of his housemates quieted as he walked past. He didn't care. Let them talk.
The moment he stepped inside, he dropped his bag by the fireplace, flopping down onto one of the armchairs. The warmth of the fire felt good against his still-cooling skin, and for the first time all day, he allowed himself to just… rest.
His eyes slipped shut, his body sinking into the chair as the noise of the common room dulled around him. Tomorrow, he'd worry about spells and beasts and the tournament. But for tonight?
Tonight, he'd earned his peace.
12th of November, 1994 Hogwarts Halls
The last ten days had passed in a blur of intensity, and Adrian felt it deep in his bones. Every spare moment had been spent in the Chamber, working relentlessly under Rem's watchful gaze. Ancient magic training had become routine now— the threads of it he felt around him helping him in many ways. Rem had been unrelenting, drilling it into him that before he learned anything else, he needed to master the Magic hands, swifting—control and precision first, power second. Adrian hated how right the old bastard was.
And when it wasn't ancient magic, it was spell-work—more aggressive, experimental, sometimes flat-out illegal curses that he found in his old books that his father had left him, or sometimes whispered to him by Rem. The old (man?) was a gold mine for weird and different spells, and over the last ten days Adrian had learned and practiced more than he ever did.
Adrian had also squeezed in another private session with Flitwick. The little man had been sceptical, brow raised so high it nearly vanished into his fringe when Adrian insisted he hadn't put his name in the Goblet. But Flitwick had only sighed, telling him the damage was done, and the publicity—whether good or bad—would only make his entrance in the Winter Invitational that much more talked about. Well, maybe his entrance to the tournament could work in his favour.
And it had, in the worst way possible. The Daily Prophet had gone feral the second his name had come out of that goblet. His face was everywhere. Some hailed him as a prodigy—a bold, reckless genius forcing his way into history. But just as many called him a fraud, a cheat, a disgrace. The most powerful names in the wizarding world weren't shy about it either. Letters. Editorials. Whispered conversations that weren't quiet enough. All tearing him down.
Then there was Rita Skeeter, the absolute vulture. Somehow, the bitch had gotten her hands on both Malfoy and Dimitri. The interview had dropped like a bombshell two days ago. Malfoy, of course, sneering about how Adrian was, "always a cheat and a potential dark wizard that needs to be put down to protect the safety of other students", and Dimitri saying "He was always dangerous and mad even in Durmstrang and that he should have been sent to Azkaban instead of getting into a new school and being allowed to participate in the prestigious tournament."
Had Adrian learned about these a few months ago he would have smashed his fist through a wall, but right now? He knew that angering here wouldn't have helped him. He would get his revenge on them. That was for sure. But He'd wait. Not right now. He had too many eyes on him right now.
He didn't have many people talking to him in the school. His old friends had Terry, Padma and Jess were not talking to him anymore. Good riddance. He had no room for baggage. They didn't matter. Not anymore.
Except Daphne. Daphne fucking Greengrass. She was still here. The only one who hadn't flinched away, who still sat next to him in class, who still talked like he wasn't some pariah.
And right now, she was walking beside him as they made their way through the corridors toward Arithmancy, her tone dry as she read from the crumpled piece of the Prophet she'd pulled from her bag.
"You hear this bit? 'Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, described Mr. Valor as 'a selfish brute' who had always sought power above friendship. A boy who would stab anyone in the back if it meant glory.'" Daphne snorted. "Real poetic, huh?"
Adrian's jaw clenched, but he forced a bitter smirk. "Sounds like he wrote that himself. Bet Rita just sat back and let him monologue."
Daphne folded the paper, tucking it away as she glanced up at him. "You gonna get him back for that?"
"Eventually." Adrian muttered, deadpan. "Gotta prioritize, I need to be at a level where I can defend myself against heavy backlash. Be it magical or political."
"Hmmmm." Daphne murmured. "They are all watching you right now."
"Yeah," Adrian breathed out, his eyes hard. "Let them. They'll see. When I walk out of that arena, breathing, having passed the task with flying colours. They'll all see."
Daphne gave him a sidelong glance, a faint smirk curling her lips. "You're insane, you know that?"
"Yeah," Adrian grinned back, the fire in his chest burning hotter than ever. "But at least I'm not boring."
They walked in to the Arithmancy classroom and took out their books from their bags. The lesson went on for twenty minutes Adrian and Daphne chatting along.
"You know Tracey said she wants you to win this tournament."
"Oh?"
Daphne nodded. "Yeah said something about wanting to see the look on Malfoy's face if you wiped the floor with everyone. Guess spite runs deep." She opened her mouth to say more when the door creaked open, and a timid-looking Ravenclaw second-year girl poked her head inside, glancing around nervously until her eyes landed on Adrian.
"What is it dear?" asked Professor Vector.
"Um… excuse me… Mr. Valor?" Her voice cracked halfway through his name, and Daphne's head snapped toward the girl, eyebrow raised.
Adrian turned slowly, sighing as he leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, that's me. What is it?"
The girl wrung her hands, glancing anxiously at Professor Vector, who waved her on. "I… I've been sent to get you. Mr. Bagman said you're needed upstairs. There's, um… a photoshoot."
Daphne snorted softly, leaning toward Adrian with a smirk. "More fanfare. You're really a bloody celebrity now."
"Indeed I am." he punched Daphne's shoulder playfully. Then he turned to the girl at the door. "Do I need to get all my stuff? Is it a quick thing or is it going to last a bit longer?"
"Uhm... Mr Bagman said that you need to grab your stuff, since it might take longer." she added meekly.
"Right I'll see later then yeah?" he told Daphne.
"You bet Valor." added Daphne with a smirk.
Adrian followed the second-year girl out, the door closing softly behind him. She kept glancing over her shoulder as they walked, her posture stiff, shoulders practically up to her ears. Adrian snorted under his breath.
"You look like you think I'm gonna hex you, kid. Relax. I'm not that much of a bastard… unless you're here to jinx me. Are you here to jinx me?"
The girl's eyes went wide as saucers. "N-No! I just… I mean—no! I was just told to come get you, sir!"
Adrian barked a short laugh, shaking his head. "Sir? Shit, don't call me that. Makes me feel old. Adrian's fine."
The girl blinked, cheeks going pink. "Okay… Adrian."
"Better." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, shooting her a sideways glance. "So, what's this about? Just more Daily Prophet bullshit? Gotta make sure everyone gets a good look at the 'cheating Durmstrang delinquent' or something?"
She bit her lip, nodding awkwardly. "Yeah… that. And… um… they're also doing this… thing. The… the wand weighing? I think? Something like that?"
Adrian stilled mid-step, then snorted. "Weighing the wands? Huh. So… what? Making sure our wands work?"
"Yeah something like that." mumbled the girl. They continued walking for a bit more.
Finally, they stopped outside a classroom door. Adrian could already hear voices beyond it—low, hushed, the sound of laughter mixed with tension. The girl looked up at him, giving a nervous little nod before scurrying off.
Adrian pushed the door open, stepping inside.
The classroom had been stripped down—most of the desks shoved off to the sides, leaving an open space in the middle. At the front, three desks had been placed end to end, covered in deep velvet. Behind them sat five chairs, only two of which were currently occupied—Ludo Bagman in bright robes, grinning like an idiot, and a sharp-looking witch in magenta robes Adrian didn't recognize.
In the corner, Viktor Krum stood as brooding as ever, arms crossed, glowering at no one in particular. Cedric and Fleur were talking quietly, Fleur tossing her silvery hair back every so often with a bright laugh. A paunchy man holding a smoking black camera kept glancing at her, looking far too interested.
Bagman spotted Adrian almost immediately and practically leapt to his feet. "Ah! There he is! Our fourth Champion— in the flesh!" He bounded forward, clapping a hand on Adrian's shoulder. "Come in, come in, my boy! Nothing to worry about, just the wand weighing ceremony, standard procedure! The rest of the judges will be here in a moment! The expert's upstairs with Dumbledore right now but he will be back in a moment. And then we will get on with the photoshoot. This is Rita Skeeter", he pointed to a blonde with in magenta robes, "She is doing a small piece on the tournament for the daily prophet."
Adrian knew exactly who this fucking vulture was. The same Rita Skeeter who dragged his name through the fucking mud just two days ago. And that motherfucker now has the audacity to show her face here talking about doing a small piece? Adrian wanted nothing more than to slam that bitches head on the table ahead so many times that her brain leaked out of her ears but... Have to be civil here no? Shouldn't really make more people believe that Adrian was a Dark Lord in the making.
"Maybe not that small Ludo..." said Skeeter, her eyes on Adrian.
Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jewelled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson. "I wonder if I could have a little word with Adrian before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Adrian. "The youngest champion, you know . . . to add a bit of colour?"
"I think not." said Adrian. "I think you added enough colour with your last interview with my supposed friends, you fucking vulture."
Right maybe he should have held onto his anger a bit better, you know with not making people believe that he was a dark lord but... The look on her face man, it was worth it.
Skeeter's painted lips curled into something resembling a smile, but there was no warmth in it—only sharp, predatory amusement. "My, my, temper temper… Such language from Hogwarts' newest little celebrity. I suppose Durmstrang didn't teach you much about manners, did they, dear?" She cocked her head, her acid-green Quick-Quotes Quill already floating lazily beside her, jotting away as if it had a mind of its own.
Adrian's eyes flicked to the quill, then back to her. "You really think that thing's going to catch me saying something stupid, huh? Sorry to disappoint, Skeeter. Not all of us are as desperate for attention as your last two interviewees."
Bagman laughed nervously, stepping between them like he could somehow block the sheer tension rolling off Adrian. "Ahaha, now, now—Rita's just here to… to make the tournament shine, eh? Bit of fun, really! Spotlight on our champions, that sort of thing!"
"Yeah, real fun," Adrian drawled, his grey eyes narrowing as they pinned Skeeter. "Slandering someone's name before doing anything resembling actual research. Real professional journalism that. "
Skeeter bared her teeth in something that might've passed for a grin. "Oh, sweet boy, I don't make the news. I just report it. Can't help it if certain… sources paint you as a rather volatile figure. Dangerous, even. But that's what sells, darling. People want to know what makes Adrian Valor tick."
Adrian clenched his jaw hard enough his teeth ached. "What makes me tick is parasites like you getting the hell out of my face."
Bagman's laugh grew higher, more strained. "Ho ho! Kids, eh? So spirited! Now, now, Rita, maybe… maybe we'll hold off on the personal interviews until… until after the ceremony, right? Plenty of time for that after!"
Skeeter shot Bagman a look but shrugged, lounging back in her chair. "Of course, Ludo. Wouldn't want to make our young champion cry before the Prophet's photographer gets his shot."
Adrian sneered, leaning down just slightly so only she could hear him. "I don't cry, Skeeter. But you? You'll be screaming if you keep writing bullshit about me like that. And that's a promise."
Her eyes widened—just a flicker—but before she could snarl something back, the door swung open, breaking the rising tension.
Dumbledore strode in first, his usual calm expression barely concealing the sharp glint in his eye as he took stock of the room. Madame Maxime followed, towering and regal, her gaze sweeping over everyone without pausing. Crouch was next, stiff-backed and proper, his moustache twitching as if the very air irritated him. And last, slinking in like a shadow, was Karkaroff, eyes sharp and gleaming as they immediately locked onto Adrian.
"Ah," Dumbledore said pleasantly, his gaze flicking briefly between Adrian and Skeeter before resting on Bagman. "I see everyone's gathered. Shall we begin, then?"
Bagman let out a wheezing laugh of relief. "Yes! Yes, let's! Just waiting on Mr. Ollivander now, then we'll get right to it—nothing to worry about! Perfectly routine!"
Ollivander walked in not a moment later.
"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges' table and talking to the champions. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."
Ollivander huh? Interesting. He is one of the best wand makers in Britain and his family has a very long and successful legacy. If Gregorovitch didn't exist I suppose he'd be the best wandmaker in Europe.
"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" said Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.
Fleur Delacour swept over to Ollivander and handed him her wand. "Hmmm..." he said. He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks.
Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully. "Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches... inflexible... rosewood... and containing... dear me..."
"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," said Fleur. "One of my grandmuzzer's."
Could veela hair be used in the core of a wand? I suppose any source that you can make your magic flow through is good enough.
"Yes," said Ollivander, "yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands... however, to each his own, and if this suits you..."
Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, "Orchideous!" and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand-tip. "Very well, very well, it's in fine working order," said Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand.
"Mr. Diggory, you next." Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her. "Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" said Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Cedric handed over his wand.
"Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn... must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches... ash... pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition... You treat it regularly?"
"Polished it last night," said Cedric, grinning.
Adrian's wand was also as clean as can be. Ever since he started training with Rem, he had drilled into his head that a clean wand was a working wand. So right now his wand looked in pristine condition.
Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric's wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, "Mr. Krum, if you please."
Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duck-footed, toward Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.
"Hmm," said Ollivander, "this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wandmaker, though the styling is never quite what I... however..."
He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes. "Yes... hornbeam and dragon heart-string?" he shot at Krum, who nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees... quite rigid... ten and a quarter inches... Avis!"
The hornbeam wand let off a blast like a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.
"Good," said Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. "Which leaves... Mr. Valor."
Adrian got to his feet and walked past Krum to hand his wand over to Ollivander.
"Hmm... Another Gregorovitch creation yes? Ebony... thirteen inches, dragon heart-string core... Unyielding.
Adrian looked over at his wand with pride. It was a perfect wand, It was his wand.
"Looks to be in very good condition, and its rigidity is very curious... I imagine no one else would be able to use this wand properly apart from you Mr. Valor. Its loyalty to you is without question."
Adrian smiled.
Ollivander finally stroked the wand in a very specific way and the wand let out some golden sparks. And he gave it back to Adrian saying that his wand was in perfect condition.
Adrian took his wand back, feeling the familiar hum of magic run through his fingers the moment it touched his skin. He gave Ollivander a respectful nod, murmuring, "Thank you," before turning on his heel and walking back toward the others.
Bagman clapped his hands together, beaming. "Brilliant! That's everyone, then! See? Painless, wasn't it?" He laughed a little too loudly, glancing around like he was hoping someone would agree with him. No one did.
Skeeter, however, was still watching Adrian with that infuriating smirk, her Quick-Quotes Quill scribbling furiously beside her. "Fascinating, isn't it?" she drawled, loud enough for everyone to hear. "A wand described as unyielding, loyal only to him... Some might say it reflects the nature of the wizard himself. Fiercely independent… hard to control… perhaps even… dangerous."
Adrian shot her a cold glare, but before he could open his mouth, Bagman leapt in with his nervous laugh. "Haha! Well, Rita, you always know how to turn a phrase! But enough of that, eh? We're here for photos! Let's—let's get everyone lined up, nice and proud, Champions together with the judges!"
Dumbledore's gaze flicked to Adrian—there was something unreadable in the old man's eyes, like he was measuring him… or maybe weighing how close Adrian had come to snapping just now.
Both Madame Maxime and Karkaroff looked bored but it was clear that they were both stealing glances at Adrian and looking at him like he was dirt beneath their shoes. Like he didn't matter.
When I beat both your stupid champions we'll see who truly is irrelevant motherfuckers.
The photographer stepped forward, instructing the heads of school to come together and Bagman ushered everyone into place. "Come on, side by side! Fleur, you there—yes, perfect. Cedric—stand tall, lad! Viktor—ah, never mind, brooding works for you. And Adrian—right here, by Miss Delacour."
The camera flashed once, twice—Bagman practically bouncing where he stood, trying to look like he was in charge of something that wasn't rapidly spiralling.
"Wonderful! Perfect!" the photographer called, lining up another shot. "Now—just the champions together. Tight, yes? Right, closer, please!"
Adrian exhaled sharply through his nose, stepping up between Cedric and Krum. Krum grunted low, barely sparing Adrian a glance before dipping his head in a nod—acknowledgment, but nothing more.
The photographer called them to shift slightly, moving Fleur beside Adrian. She shot him a frosty glare the second she took her spot.
Adrian felt the tension rise immediately but plastered on his most charming smirk, leaning just slightly toward her. "Relax, Delacour. It's just a photo. You'll look much worse when I fucking embarrass you in front of the entire school.
Fleur's jaw tensed as she flicked her silvery hair over her shoulder, refusing to look at him. "You 'ave a filthy mouth, leetle boy," she hissed in that clipped, accented English. "Still trying to be funny, non? Like last time?"
Adrian's smirk only widened. "What can I say? You're just... inspiring like that." He kept his voice low, tone dripping with mockery. "And for the record—I might be younger, but I'm no 'little boy,' sweetheart."
Fleur's eyes flashed with fury, her lips curling into a silent snarl—but the photographer called out again, forcing her to face forward.
"Perfect! Smile, everyone!" Another bright flash.
Adrian kept grinning—not at the camera, but just enough that Fleur could feel it.
Beside him, Krum snorted softly, shaking his head but saying nothing—clearly catching the exchange. Cedric, either oblivious or pointedly ignoring it, kept his easy, polite smile.
"Brilliant!" Bagman wheezed, clapping his hands. "Now that is the photo the Prophet's gonna love! Champions together, eh? A historic moment!"
After that Dumbledore told the students that they were now free to leave and wished them all good luck on the first task.
Adrian left without giving the others another glance. He wanted to get back to the Ravenclaw common room so that he could finish some of his transfiguration homework and maybe squeeze in another session with Rem.
But as he rounded the corner leading up to the stairs toward the dormitory, he came to a sudden stop.
Leaning casually against the stone wall, arms crossed and green eyes watching him carefully—stood Harry Potter.
Adrian's brow twitched as Harry started walking towards him. "Hey Valor, I wanted to talk to you for a bit. Its about the first task."
That… made Adrian pause. "Oh?" His voice dropped lower, sharp with sudden interest. "What about it, Potter?"
Harry swallowed, glancing once more over his shoulder.
"Its... Dragons. The first task is Dragons."
Sorry for the longer wait on this chapter. I tried to write it faster but since it was mostly an interlude/preparation in this chapter I didn't find myself enjoying it that much as I wrote it, which in turn made it slower. But! Now that this chapter is out of the way, we're finally on our way to the first task! That's what the next chapter is going to be! I have something wicked planned for it and I hope you enjoy it!
And see y'all next time!