Overachiever

The next morning, the Daily Prophet owls swooped into the Great Hall en masse, each carrying a copy of the latest edition. Before breakfast had truly begun, papers were being eagerly snapped open across every table, and the whispering started almost instantly.

Sal, who had just taken his seat between Tonks and Tulip, didn't even need to look at the paper to know what was on the front page.

"You might want to brace yourself," Tonks warned, sliding a copy toward him with a grin. "You've officially broken the Prophet."

Sal unfolded the front page. There, in massive enchanted lettering, was the headline:

"THE DRAGON WHISPERER: HOGWARTS CHAMPION SPEAKS PARSELTONGUE, CALMS BEAST, CLAIMS RECORD VICTORY!"

A breathtaking display during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament as Salazar Cross, heir to all four Hogwarts houses, tamed a Swedish Short-Snout through the ancient and mysterious language of Parseltongue. Experts are calling it an unprecedented moment in magical history, and speculation is already swirling about his connection to Salazar Slytherin himself…

There were moving pictures of Sal bowing before the dragon, speaking calmly, and the crowd's awed reaction as he walked away unharmed, the golden egg safely in hand.

"Well… that's subtle," Tulip muttered sarcastically, scanning the article.

Across the hall, copies were being passed around, and people were openly pointing at Sal, some whispering excitedly, others looking mildly unnerved.

"Of course they focused on the Parseltongue part," Sal sighed, setting the paper down. "Not the teamwork. Not the planning. Just the talking to snakes."

"Dragons, technically," Tonks corrected playfully. "And to be fair, it was ridiculously cool."

Sal noticed Hermione looking over from the Gryffindor table, lifting her own copy of the Prophet with a supportive smile. Harry, sitting next to her, looked torn between amazement and relief that, for once, the headlines weren't just about him.

"You've officially outdone me," Harry said as Sal passed by their table. "I don't know if I should be grateful or worried."

"I'll take the heat for a while. You deserve the break," Sal replied.

But the headlines were only the beginning. As breakfast continued, more owls arrived bearing special editions from international publications. Tulip unrolled a copy of The French Enchanter, which was practically swooning over Sal's performance, with one article titled:

"The Charm of a Champion: Salazar Cross Steals the Show!"

"This one's fawning over you like you're some kind of celebrity heartthrob," Tulip teased.

"Wonderful. Exactly what I needed," Sal muttered.

"Careful," Tonks said with a smirk. "Fleur might get jealous."

Sal rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the amused grin tugging at his lips. "The sooner everyone finds something new to gossip about, the better."

But even as he joked, Sal knew this attention wasn't going away anytime soon. Between the rare display of Parseltongue, the cleanest victory of the first task, and his title as heir to the Hogwarts founders, the Wizarding World had just found its new favorite story.

Lindsey Cross sat at her desk in the Ministry, rubbing her temples after yet another tiresome meeting regarding international security. Just as she thought she might finally have a quiet moment, her personal owl swooped in, dropping the Daily Prophet onto her desk with a soft thump.

With a sigh, she unfolded the paper, expecting a headline about the first task, maybe a line or two praising Sal's performance.

But instead, in bold, shimmering ink, the headline screamed at her:

"THE DRAGON WHISPERER: HOGWARTS CHAMPION CALMS BEAST WITH PARSELTONGUE!"

Lindsey froze, eyes narrowing as she slowly read the article.

"…In a stunning display of ancient magic, Salazar Cross not only faced down a fully grown Swedish Short-Snout but reportedly spoke to the creature, calming it enough to retrieve the golden egg without harm…"

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling.

"Really, Sal… a dragon? You couldn't have just cast a few clever spells like everyone else? No, you had to talk to it."

Setting the paper down, Lindsey sighed and massaged her temples.

"I can already feel the avalanche of letters, the political inquiries, the 'concerned parties' from the International Confederation… Merlin help me."

Meanwhile, in his office at Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore sat quietly by the fire, his half-moon spectacles perched on his nose as he read the same article.

A small chuckle escaped him as he folded the paper and set it aside.

"Salazar Cross… You never cease to surprise me," Albus mused, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the arm of his chair.

"The boy may have just altered the magical world's perception of Parseltongue forever. And he did it during a sporting event."

Albus sipped his tea with a smile.

In a cozy sitting room, Sirius Black paced as Remus Lupin lounged in an armchair, both of them having just finished reading the Prophet.

Sirius was ranting, gesturing wildly at the paper.

"Moony, I… I mean, how?! Not only did the kid tame a bloody basilisk last year, now he's got dragons listening to him? This is absurd!"

Remus smirked, clearly less shocked than Sirius.

"Well, you did tell him to keep Harry safe. I think it's safe to say Harry's out of the spotlight for now."

Sirius groaned dramatically.

"Right. Because who cares about a fourth-year's life being endangered when Sal's casually whispering sweet nothings to dragons."

Remus chuckled.

"Face it, Padfoot. The world has a new favorite legend. And his name's Salazar Cross."

Across the castle, Fleur Delacour sat on her bed, the Daily Prophet and the French Enchanter both spread out before her.

Unlike the Prophet's bold sensationalism, the French Enchanter had taken a much more refined, reverent tone.

"The Heir of Hogwarts: Salazar Cross' Masterful First Task Performance Marks the Arrival of a New Icon of Magical Talent."

Fleur traced a finger over the elegant script of the headline, shaking her head in disbelief.

"They only reserve features like this for celebrities… ministers… Quidditch champions… And now him."

She glanced toward the window, where the castle glowed under the moonlight.

"Mon dieu… Sal, what exactly are you?"

Even with her competitive nature, Fleur couldn't help but feel a growing admiration… and curiosity.

Sal had barely made it five steps into the Great Hall the next morning when the first student stopped him.

"Sal, is it true you spoke Parseltongue to the dragon? What did it say?"

Before he could answer, someone else chimed in from the Ravenclaw table.

"Can you teach us? Imagine the tactical advantage!"

By the time he made it to his seat at the Hufflepuff table, half the school was openly staring at him, whispering behind hands and goblets. Even the professors gave him subtle glances, like they too were trying to wrap their heads around what they had witnessed.

Sal groaned under his breath and dropped his forehead to the table with a soft thud.

"And just like that, peace and quiet are officially dead," he muttered.

Tonks plopped down across from him, barely holding back a grin.

"Aw, come on, Dragon Whisperer. You've got to admit, you've outdone yourself this time."

Sal shot her a glare.

"Tonks, I swear if I hear that nickname one more time, I'm locking myself in the Chamber for the rest of the year."

Tulip slid into the seat beside him, holding up a copy of The French Enchanter and waving it dramatically.

"You realize you made the cover of this. The French Enchanter. You don't just get in there unless you're a veela or royalty. So, congrats, Your Highness."

Sal groaned again, dragging his hands down his face.

"Fantastic. International fame. Exactly what I needed. I'll never hear the end of it from my mother."

Tonks smirked.

"Oh, she already sent you a letter. I saw your owl flying in with it."

Sal reached for the letter reluctantly as it landed beside his plate. He opened it, expecting the usual maternal concern. Instead, in his mother's elegant handwriting, it read:

"Sal, a dragon? Really? I'm so proud. Try not to tame any other ancient creatures this year. Love, Mom."

Sal set the letter down and stared at it in disbelief.

"She's enjoying this far too much."

Tulip nudged him playfully.

"You know what they say… you either become the hero, or you become a legend. Looks like you went for both."

"Brilliant," Sal muttered.

At that moment, Fleur walked by their table.

"Bonjour, Sal," she said smoothly, her smile lingering just a second longer than usual.

Sal blinked after her.

Tulip arched an eyebrow.

Tonks smirked.

Sal groaned again.

"It's going to be a long year."

While the rest of the wizarding world sang praises of Salazar Cross and his unprecedented triumph over a dragon, far from Hogwarts, in a damp, forgotten manor cloaked in perpetual shadow, someone else was reading the very same article.

Long, thin fingers traced the headline with eerie calm.

"So… you've been busy, Salazar. How interesting."

The article crinkled under his grip as red eyes narrowed in thought.

From the corner of the room, Wormtail scuttled forward, bowing low.

"Master, you called?"

The figure didn't look up from the article.

"How are the preparations coming, Wormtail?"

"Everything is going as planned, my Lord. The portkey is nearly ready… the boy will be delivered to you as you asked."

A snake hissed lazily at the foot of the chair, curling tighter around the legs as the figure gave a slow, satisfied nod.

"Excellent. We mustn't delay. The Triwizard Tournament presents… opportunities."

The air turned cold as a faint noise beyond the door caught their attention.

The figure's lips curled into a sneer.

"It seems we have an uninvited guest. Wormtail… be a dear and open the door."

Peter scrambled to obey, throwing the door wide. A cloaked figure barely had time to gasp before Voldemort's wand was already raised.

"Avada Kedavra."

A flash of sickly green light, and then—nothing but silence.

Harry woke with a start, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding wildly against his ribs. His hands gripped the bedsheets as though he were still trying to shield himself from that terrible green glow.

Ron stirred from across the room.

"Harry? Mate, you alright?"

Harry blinked rapidly, still half in the dream.

"It was him… Voldemort. I saw him. He's planning something. He said the Tournament is part of it."

Ron sat up, now wide awake.

"Blimey… you sure it wasn't just a nightmare?"

Harry shook his head.

"No… it was real. He's getting stronger."

And as the moonlight filtered through the window, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming, and this time… it wasn't going to be Sal who stole the spotlight.