So sorry for the longer wait. Enjoy the chapter!
22nd of November 1994, Chamber of Secrets
"Come on you can do better than that!" Rem's voice echoed through the chamber.
Adrian gritted his teeth, sweat pouring down his back as he moved. Fast. Faster than he ever had. The air around him shimmered with raw magic as he forced the threads of Ancient Magic to obey, swifting through the chamber in rapid bursts — one second on the ground, the next skidding sideways through the air, reappearing meters away mid-spin.
"Again!" Rem barked.
Adrian snarled and snapped his hand out — magic hands flaring to life. With a yank, the boulder he'd conjured earlier tore free of the ground, hurtling toward him like a charging beast.
With a twist, he vanished — reappearing behind it — his body turning faster than the eye could track. "Fractura!" A focused blast of energy slammed into the rock, splitting it in half mid-air.
He didn't stop. Couldn't.
The imaginary dragon was there — always there — massive, wings spanning the chamber, maw open wide. He saw it, even if Rem didn't.
"Speed is your only chance. You're dead the second you try to tank a hit." Rem's voice was low now, watching him carefully.
Adrian darted left — swifting mid-run — then shot skyward, twisting his body like a damn arrow. "Ignis Searum!" Twin streams of concentrated flame erupted from his wand, spiralling down like drills toward where the dragon's eyes would be.
"Distract. Blind it." Adrian muttered under his breath, his mind racing. "You aim for the head or nothing."
Rem gave a sharp nod. "Good. But what happens when it flies?"
Adrian didn't hesitate — he spun mid-air, swifting again, pulling the golden threads tighter as he dropped toward the ground. "Gravitus Vinctum!"
A pulse of gravitational magic exploded outward from his wand — invisible but heavy, crashing down like a wave. The chamber itself groaned.
"You fly? I drag you down." Adrian hissed through clenched teeth. "You breathe fire? I freeze your throat."
"Do it."
Adrian raised his wand, eyes wild, storm-grey and burning. "Glacio Pulsum!"
A lance of ice shot forward, straight at the dragon's throat, freezing the air in its path. He chained it instantly — "Tensura!" —the invisible cords blasted out of his wand and snapped taut at a pillar, slingshotting him sideways in a blur.
He was moving faster than he could think, instincts taking over.
"Wrap the wings. Lock the jaw. Kill the breath. You don't fight a dragon head-on. You clip it until it's crawling."
Rem smirked. "And when it charges?"
Adrian's lips curled into something feral. "I bury it."
"Show me."
Adrian landed hard, his body folding into a crouch, magic already rippling off him. "Seismicus Ruptura!"
The ground erupted — the floor cracking, buckling — like the earth itself wanted to swallow his imaginary target whole.
Rem watched, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "You're getting there."
Adrian spat blood — he hadn't even noticed biting his cheek — and stood. Breathing hard. Burning.
"Fuck getting past it. I'll kill the damn dragon — Fireball, Short-Snout, Horntail. Doesn't matter."
Adrian stayed in the Chamber until his arms shook and his legs ached. Until the only thing keeping him upright was sheer spite and the fire in his chest.
Finally, Rem raised a hand. "Enough. You're done. Any more and you'll crawl out of here."
Adrian exhaled hard, sweat dripping from his chin. "Yeah… fuck." He grabbed his shirt off the ground, tugged it on with shaky hands, and grabbed his bag.
Rem's voice was quieter now. "You've done good, kid. You're ready."
"Thanks Rem. I think I'm just gonna rest tomorrow. I'll tell you how everything went after the task alright?" Adrian said with a tired smile.
"Yeah, yeah go rest kid. And show them what you're made of." Rem said proudly.
Without another word, he pressed his palm against the glowing symbol on the floor. The Chamber shimmered—and then spat him back out into the abandoned bathroom.
It was dark now. Hogwarts slept.
Adrian dragged himself through the castle, steps slow, muscles screaming with every movement. By the time he made it to the Ravenclaw common room, his head felt heavy, his body buzzing with exhausted magic.
The room was quiet. A few students glanced up, but no one said anything. They were used to it by now—the late returns, the dark circles under his eyes. Some called him mad behind his back.
Fine. Let them.
Adrian dropped his bag and collapsed into his bed his eyes shutting off immediately. He didn't dream.
23rd of November 1994, Ravenclaw Dorms
Morning sunlight cut through the curtains, dragging Adrian out of sleep. His body protested as he sat up, every muscle sore. But for the first time in weeks… there was no rush. No pressure to train.
Today was rest.
Adrian exhaled as he pulled on a clean shirt, ignoring the stiffness in his arms and the dull ache in his legs. He didn't bother with the mirror—he knew what he looked like. Tired. Gaunt. But beneath that? Steel. The kind that had been sharpened, day after day, night after night, in the bowels of a hidden chamber deep beneath the school.
He grabbed his wand and slid it into the holster on his forearm before heading out, his steps slow but deliberate as he made his way toward the Great Hall. No spellbooks today. No detours to hidden corners. No extra laps around the lake. Rest, he reminded himself.
But even as he repeated that word in his head, his thoughts refused to be still.
The plan was already burning behind his eyes.
He'd decided last night—he wouldn't use swifting during the task. Not directly. Not in the way anyone would recognize. Not in the way that would scream this boy commands magic older than any of you have ever seen.
No.
Instead, he'd push the technique into something subtler. Smarter. He'd spent the last week shaping the raw burst of movement swifting gave him, molding it—compressing it—into explosive speed without full teleportation. A blur of motion. Untraceable. Unnatural. But not impossible. Not inexplicable.
If he pulled it off right, it would look like he was just faster. Like he'd mastered some advanced acceleration charm no one else had thought to try. The whispers would still come—how is he moving like that? what is he using? is that legal?—but no one would be able to prove a damn thing.
And if anyone asked?
He'd just smile and say: I trained harder than you.
He stepped into the Great Hall, the scent of toast and eggs hitting him like a warm punch to the face. Students were already gathered, chatting, laughing, chewing. Ravenclaws. Gryffindors. Even a few Durmstrang robes at the far end. He caught a few eyes turning toward him—some curious, some hostile, most wary.
He made his way to the Ravenclaw table, dropping down into an open seat without a word. He poured himself a cup of pumpkin juice, but didn't touch it. Instead, he stared at the table, eyes distant, thoughts churning.
He wasn't just going to survive the first task.
He was going to make them choke on their words.
All of them—the judges, the Ministry, the Prophet, Skeeter and her rat-faced photographer, Draco fucking Malfoy, Karkaroff, Dimitri, and every other piece of shit who had whispered behind his back that he was a fraud. That he didn't deserve to be here. That he was nothing.
This wasn't about the Tournament anymore.
This was a message.
I'm still here. And I'm better than all of you.
His fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table.
He thought of the spells he'd practiced, each one honed, layered, chained together like links in a weaponized rhythm.
And then, of course, the magic hands. A spectacle all on their own. But that was fine. Wandless magic was rare, not unheard of. Let them think he was just freakishly talented. Let them believe he was some kind of combat prodigy. He'd rather be seen as dangerous than as a liar.
He'd learned how to use them fluidly—pulling stone debris mid-fight, flinging himself through the air, ripping terrain from the ground and launching it like shrapnel. All of it fast, brutal, calculated.
Then there was Harry.
Adrian leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly as he thought of the Boy Who Lived.
He'd asked Harry directly, after that little conversation.
"How do you know it is dragons?"
Harry had hesitated. Then shrugged. "Hagrid showed me. Didn't really mean to, I think. But it happened."
"Why are you telling me this?" Adrian had asked him then.
And Harry had just looked at him—quiet, steady, no theatrics.
"Because it's the right thing to do."
Adrian still didn't know what to make of that.
He didn't trust people who acted out of "goodness." There was always an angle. Always some long con waiting to drop. But Harry had said it so simply. Like it wasn't about pity or strategy. Just… doing the right thing.
You're a weird fuck, Potter, Adrian had thought then. But I respect it.
That conversation hadn't stopped him, of course. The moment Adrian was sure the coast was clear, he'd slipped under a disillusionment charm and swifted silently across the Hogwarts grounds. Completely invisible. Completely silent.
It hadn't taken him long.
The dragons were massive. He'd spotted them from a hill overlooking the clearing by the Forbidden Forest. Four of them—each chained, sedated but restless. Great spined tails, wings the size of rooftops, exhaling clouds of smoke in to the cold evening air. A Welsh Green. A Swedish Short-snout. A Hungarian Horntail and a Chinese Fireball.
So Harry had told the truth.
And Adrian had seen it with his own eyes.
And if Harry had told him about this, chances were very strong that he had also told Cedric. Harry was noble like that. What about Krum and Fleur? Did they know about the Dragons?
Probably. If Harry as a student, even if he is decent friends with Hagrid, found out about it than chances are that Karkaroff and Maxime had found out about them as well. They had to. It would be foolish to assume otherwise. So that meant that everyone knew.
Good. He preferred it that way.
That meant when he eventually won—when he stood over the remains of a shattered arena with a bloody dragon bested behind him—no one could say he didn't earn it. No whispers of unfair advantages. No muttered accusations of cheating.
He took a sip of the now-cold pumpkin juice, then set the cup down and dragged a hand through his hair.
His body still hurt. Not the sharp pain of injury—but the deep, grinding ache of effort. He welcomed it. It was a reminder. He hadn't just stumbled into this position. He clawed his way here. Alone.
Well… mostly.
"Brooding again, Valor?"
He didn't need to look up to recognize that voice.
Daphne slid into the seat next to him with her usual casual elegance, eyes sharp and amused. She wasn't smiling—not fully—but her tone was light enough to pass for one.
"I call it 'strategic reflection,'" Adrian replied, voice rough from sleep and silence.
"Hmm. Looks like 'angry sulking' from here." She picked up a slice of toast and began buttering it with slow, deliberate movements. "You didn't show up to Arithmancy yesterday."
"I had... things to do."
"Let me guess," she said dryly. "Blowing up more furniture in empty classrooms?"
Adrian gave a low chuckle. "That obvious?"
She glanced at him sideways. "So, Are you ready?"
He didn't answer right away.
Daphne didn't push.
Finally, he exhaled, steady and slow. "Yeah. I am."
She gave a small nod, like she believed him. Like that was enough.
Then, after a beat, she added, "Good. Because I've got ten Galleons on you making it out in one piece."
That made him snort. "Only ten galleons?"
"Well, let's not get greedy." She bit into her toast and chewed thoughtfully. "Besides. I figured you'd appreciate the realism."
"You wound me."
"No, that'll be the dragon."
They sat in silence for a moment, the buzz of the hall humming around them. Adrian let himself relax, just a little. It was strange, how quickly things could feel... normal when Daphne was around. She never looked at him like a project. Or a threat. Or a headline. Just… Adrian.
Not that he'd ever say that out loud.
Daphne reached for her goblet, took a sip, and set it down. But instead of going back to her plate, she turned toward him—just slightly—and then, without a word, her hand found his under the table.
Adrian blinked.
Her fingers were cool, calm, like she'd done this a hundred times before. Like it was nothing. Like it was normal.
But it wasn't. Not for him.
He didn't move for a second, caught off guard. His mind briefly froze—then something in his chest unclenched. Carefully, he shifted his hand and placed it over hers.
Daphne didn't say anything. Neither did he.
They just… sat there.
In the middle of the noise, the clatter of cutlery and laughter of students, there was a strange sort of quiet between them. A stillness that didn't demand words.
Daphne glanced sideways at him. Her expression wasn't teasing now. It was soft. Intent. Like maybe she was about to say something—really say something.
But then—
"Adrian..."
The voice was quiet. Familiar. Hesitant.
He looked up, slowly, jaw already tensing.
Jess stood behind him.
His eyes narrowed just a fraction. Daphne's hand slipped away from his like a ghost.
He turned in his seat. "What?"
Jess glanced between the two of them, her face carefully blank, but her eyes lingered on Daphne before flicking back to Adrian. "Can I… talk to you? Just for a bit?"
"I'm a bit busy."
Daphne leaned forward slightly, smiling with just enough sharpness. "Yeah. Run along now, Jess."
Jess flinched, just a little. "Please. Can we just… talk for a bit? Come on…"
Adrian looked at her for a long second. Something flickered in his chest—an old ache, a weight he thought he'd discarded. She looked smaller than he remembered. Quieter. Like she didn't know how to be here anymore.
His heart twitched.
Then he remembered.
He remembered the look on her face when she accused him. When she doubted him. When she believed the rumours.
And just like that, the softness vanished.
"Alright," he said, standing. "Talk."
"Um… not here. Can we—go to an empty classroom or something?"
Adrian sighed. "Fine."
He turned to Daphne.
She didn't look annoyed. Just… thoughtful.
"I'll be in the library," she said, standing too. "Find me when you're done."
Adrian gave her a nod. "I will."
Then he followed Jess out, saying nothing.
They walked in silence down the corridor, until she pushed open the door to an unused Charms classroom. The desks were scattered, unused, dust collecting in corners. It smelled faintly of ink and stale parchment.
Jess turned to him, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes already shimmering with things she hadn't said yet.
"I'm sorry."
Adrian didn't move. He just stared.
"I mean it," she continued, voice trembling. "About everything. I believe you now—I know you didn't put your name in the Goblet. And I know you didn't use dark magic back in Durmstrang to get expelled."
Adrian tilted his head, tone cold. "Took you long enough."
Jess winced. "I know. I know, okay? I was scared. Confused. But Terry and Padma—they're sorry too. They just… didn't know what to say to you. None of us did."
Adrian scoffed. "That never stopped you before."
"We miss you." Jess took a step forward, voice cracking. "You were our friend. You are our friend. I don't care what the Prophet says, or Malfoy, or anyone. We were wrong. And I'm sorry, Adrian. We really are."
He looked at her.
She wasn't lying. He could see it—every inch of her was tense, vulnerable, clinging to something frayed and fading.
But all he could remember was being alone. All he could remember was that first week after his name came out. When people whispered. When people turned away. When Jess, Terry, and Padma had looked at him like he was someone else entirely.
Adrian exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. "Ahhh… alright. Whatever. I guess we can try."
Jess's face lit up in relief. "Really?"
"But I don't forgive," he said flatly. "And I don't forget. Not easily."
Jess nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Of course. I understand."
He looked away.
"So… we good?"
"I guess so," he echoed, the words dry.
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then Adrian turned for the door. "I've got a free period."
Jess nodded again. "Right. Thanks for… listening."
"Yeah."
He didn't look back as he walked out.
He was already heading toward the library. Where someone else would be waiting.
Someone who hadn't flinched.
Adrian stepped out into the courtyard, letting the cold air hit his face. The chill felt good—biting, real. He closed his eyes for a moment and let the wind thread through his hair, exhaling a breath.
That conversation with Jess had cracked something loose in his chest. Not enough to break it. Just enough to remind him of how much he'd buried.
He stood there for a while, silent, letting the cold burn through the static behind his eyes. Then, when the sting started to fade, he turned back toward the castle, boots crunching softly on the stone as he made his way up the steps to the entrance hall.
He was just about to push open the door when—
"Well, well… look who it is."
Adrian stopped mid-step.
The voice was unmistakable. All drawl and smug venom.
He turned slowly, eyes narrowing.
Malfoy and Dimitri were standing a few feet behind him, both wearing the same nauseating expressions—smug, self-satisfied, shit-eating grins. And pinned to their robes, like badges of honour, were glowing buttons flashing in bold enchanted lettering:
"Cedric Diggory – True Hogwarts Champion!"
Adrian stared at the badges. Then at them.
Why the fuck was Dimitri wearing a Hogwarts supporting badge?
"Subtle."
Malfoy grinned wider. "We figured you'd appreciate it. Thought we'd show a little Hogwarts pride. Something you wouldn't understand."
Dimitri chuckled darkly beside him. "You look tense, Valor. Not nervous about tomorrow, are you?"
Adrian didn't respond, just tilted his head.
Malfoy stepped closer, voice dropping into a mocking whisper. "You know Valor I'd be surprised if you survive for more than five minutes in the task. My father and I have a bet you see. I said five minutes. He said you wouldn't even survive one minute. Hopefully you at least can survive that much so I can win that bet."
Dimitri added, "You're going to be humiliated out there. Krum will wipe the floor with you. You'll embarrass yourself in front of everyone. The whole school. The judges. Your own house."
Malfoy leaned in just a touch closer. "You should show a little respect to your betters, Valor. Before you choke out there."
Adrian arched a brow. "You done?"
"Not quite," Malfoy said, his grin sharpening. "One more thing. Stay away from Daphne. She's not your level. Never was. Don't get confused just because she pitied you."
Adrian's face didn't change.
But something behind his eyes did.
He took a step forward, calm as ever, until he was standing just in front of them.
"You really haven't learned a fucking thing, have you Malfoy?" he said, voice low and even. "We wiped the floor with you. You remember that? Because I do. I remember the look on your face when you slammed on the ground ass first."
Malfoy's smirk faltered.
"Pure amateur's luck that was..."
Adrian turned to Dimitri. "And you—you're just a bootlicker in a fancy cloak. You want to talk about disgrace? You spend more time sniffing Krum's robes than casting actual spells. You're not even a tenth of the wizard I am. Guess what fuckhead, the Goblet chose me not you. What do you think about that?"
"You little—" Dimitri's hand flew to his wand.
Malfoy followed suit, his face red. "I'll show you what your betters can do Valor."
"Ohhh... I'm so scared... You feel confident now do you Malfoy? When you got a Durmstrang boy next to you? Your Slytherin buddies didn't help you. And this little dickhead wont either."
He snapped his hand out, magic hands roaring to life as both of their wands were yanked violently from their grips through the air and into Adrian's waiting palm.
Adrian stood there, holding both their wands.
Malfoy's eyes widened in disbelief. "What the—wandless—"
"Holy shit," Dimitri breathed, stumbling back a step.
Adrian slowly lowered the wands, spinning them between his fingers before tossing them—hard—onto the ground at their feet.
And then, with another flick of his hand, the air exploded outward.
The invisible force slammed into both of them, sending them crashing backward a few feet, nearly knocking them off the steps and onto the cobblestone.
They scrambled to their feet, stunned, shaken.
Adrian took a step forward, eyes burning.
"Stay the fuck away from me," he growled. "And stay the fuck away from Daphne."
He glared at them, voice ice and venom.
"Fucking cock-suckers."
He didn't wait for a response. He turned, shoved open the castle doors, and walked back inside—shoulders high, boots steady, leaving the silence and their stunned faces behind him.
There was still time before the task.
And he had someone to meet in the library.
Someone who didn't need him to prove a damn thing.
24th of November 1994, Great Hall
It was time.
The champions had gathered in the Great Hall, where their Head of House or Headmaster was waiting for them. The atmosphere buzzed with an unnatural electricity. Most of the school didn't know what lay ahead—not really. Just that something dangerous waited on the other end of the cold November air.
Adrian sat at the Ravenclaw table, his back straight, hands calm in his lap. He wasn't fidgeting. He wasn't pacing. He'd already played this out in his head a hundred times.
Krum was hunched at the Slytherin table, eyes half-lidded, brooding like he was born doing it. Fleur sat with her head held high and her jaw set, looking more brittle than poised. Cedric was flanked by half of Hufflepuff, all trying to feed him last-minute advice, most of which he was clearly tuning out.
Adrian barely heard any of it. His heartbeat was steady. No adrenaline. No fear.
He was ready.
He'd bled for this in secret chambers. He'd built spells from raw instinct. He'd faced worse than dragons in the dark—alone.
He stood up as Flitwick approached. The little Charms Master looked even more serious than usual, his robes surprisingly crisp, wand tucked away. He was nervous. That much was clear.
"Adrian," Flitwick said gently, looking up at him. "It's time. They're waiting on the grounds."
Adrian nodded once, silent.
"Good luck," someone whispered.
He turned slightly.
Daphne.
She'd stood from her place at the Slytherin table and was already stepping toward him. The noise of the hall seemed to fade away just slightly as she reached him.
She didn't say anything right away. Just looked at him for a moment like she was trying to memorize his face.
"You're going to be brilliant," she said.
He smirked, a half-tilt of his lips. "Obviously."
Daphne rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. Then, before he could say anything else, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around him.
He froze—for a second. Then, slowly, his arms came up and he returned the hug.
It didn't last long. It didn't need to.
When she pulled back, her hands slid from his arms slowly. "Come back in one piece, alright?"
He gave a low chuckle. "I'll try not to get flambéed."
Then he turned and followed Flitwick out of the hall, boots echoing across stone.
Students were already whispering behind cupped hands. Some watched him walk with wide eyes. Others with narrowed ones. He didn't care. Let them talk. Let them bet against him.
He wasn't the underdog.
He was the storm no one saw coming.
Flitwick didn't say much as they walked through the castle and down the long stone steps into the freezing November afternoon. Just a few murmured words of encouragement. But the way his hand landed briefly on Adrian's shoulder before they reached the trees—that said more than enough.
Adrian dipped his head once, and stepped forward.
They approached the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Trees loomed overhead, skeletal and dark. But even from here, Adrian could feel it—the tension in the air. The way the ground vibrated faintly underfoot. Something massive was close. Breathing. Waiting.
But it was all hidden behind a large tent pitched just beyond the tree line.
The dragons were just out of sight.
"Inside, please," Flitwick said quietly. "You'll wait with the others. Mr. Bagman will explain the task."
Adrian didn't hesitate. He squared his shoulders and stepped through the tent flap.
Inside, the light was dim and the air heavy.
Fleur sat on a low wooden stool, fingers knotted tightly in her lap. Her skin was pale and her usual composure had cracked slightly around the edges.
Krum was leaning against a support pole, arms crossed, his scowl even deeper than usual. Adrian wasn't sure the guy had another facial expression.
Cedric was pacing, brow furrowed, jaw tight. He looked up as Adrian entered, and gave a small nod.
Adrian returned it coolly, then moved to an empty corner and sat down, stretching out one leg. He didn't speak.
Let them have their nerves.
He was here to win.
He let his breathing settle. Closed his eyes. Focused on the magic running through his veins, the feeling of raw energy just beneath the surface.
The dragons were out there.
So was the spotlight.
And he was ready for both.
The flap rustled again.
"Ah Adrian! Good-o!"
Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, standing amid all the pale-faced champions. He was wearing his old Wasp robes again.
"Well, now we're all here — time to fill you in!" said Bagman brightly. "When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag" — he held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them — "from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different — er — varieties, you see.
And I have to tell you something else too... ah, yes... your task is to collect the golden egg!"
Adrian didn't move. Didn't twitch. His face was unreadable, eyes cool and focused. But inside, something coiled with purpose. The dragons, the audience, the egg — all of it was noise. The real fight was already happening in his head, rehearsed over and over again.
Cedric gave a stiff nod, pale as parchment, then resumed pacing the tent like a man on the edge of vomiting. Fleur sat stone-faced, legs crossed, hands clenched tight in her lap. Krum had slumped back into his chair with a grunt, brow furrowed deep enough to plant seeds in.
Adrian leaned casually against the support post in the centre of the tent, arms folded, tapping one boot rhythmically against the canvas floor. He looked like he was waiting for a delayed train.
The air outside changed.
Hundreds of footsteps. Murmurs. Excited shouts. The crowd was arriving.
The real show was beginning.
Bagman bustled forward, opening the sack with a flourish. "Ladies first!" he chirped, offering it to Fleur.
She reached in with a shaking hand and pulled out a perfect little model of a Welsh Green. A tiny number two was tied around its neck. Fleur's expression didn't flicker. Of course she wasn't surprised. Maxime had definitely prepped her.
Bagman turned next to Krum, who reached in without ceremony and drew out a scarlet Chinese Fireball, number three. He gave it a single glance, then sat back again, saying nothing.
"Mr. Diggory."
Cedric took a deep breath, then reached into the bag. Out came a silvery-blue Swedish Short-Snout, glinting faintly in the dim light of the tent. Number one.
All eyes turned to Adrian.
He pushed off the post and stepped forward, slow and deliberate.
Bagman held out the bag with a grin. "All yours, Mr. Valor."
Adrian dipped his hand into the silk. The moment his fingers brushed the model, he felt it — hot, sharp-edged, aggressive. He pulled it out.
The Hungarian Horntail.
It flared its tiny wings, bared its tiny fangs, and looked like it wanted to incinerate the entire tent.
Adrian stared at it for a second, then arched a brow.
"Can I keep this?"
Bagman blinked. "Erm... I don't see why not?"
Adrian nodded and slipped the tiny Horntail into his pocket like it was a toy he'd won at a fair.
Krum shot him a brief glance. Fleur looked like she didn't know whether to scoff or stare. Cedric had stopped pacing entirely.
Bagman clapped his hands. "Right! You've all got your dragon — and the number refers to the order you'll be going out. Mr. Diggory, you're up first — you'll hear the whistle, just walk straight into the enclosure."
Bagman turned, and then paused, eyes flicking back toward Adrian.
"Mr. Valor, a quick word, if you don't mind?"
Adrian gave him a tight smile. "Sure. Let's talk."
He followed Bagman out of the tent, down a short stretch toward the trees, away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.
Bagman leaned in slightly, voice lowering. "You feeling all right, Adrian? Bit of pre-task nerves, maybe? Anything I can get you?"
Adrian tilted his head, amused. "You offering to fetch me a sandwich or something?"
Bagman chuckled. "No, no, nothing like that. Just... look, I know you're a bit of an unknown quantity. Bit of controversy around your name coming out, that whole Durmstrang expulsion business—"
Adrian's smile dropped.
"—but I'm just saying, I'm here to help if you need a tip. I mean, you're the underdog, right? And underdogs could always use a friendly push."
"That so?" Adrian said, eyes sharp now.
Bagman's voice dropped further. "No one has to know. I could give you a little nudge. You've got a plan, right?"
Adrian stepped in just slightly. The casual edge in his voice turned into something colder.
"Yeah, I've got a plan. One I didn't need to cheat for. So thanks, but no thanks."
Bagman looked momentarily flustered. "Of course, of course! Just offering. Nothing wrong with being prepared."
Adrian glanced back toward the tent. "Oh, I'm prepared. Trust me."
A whistle rang out, sharp and high.
Bagman jumped. "Ah! That's Diggory's cue — I've got to run!"
He turned and bolted toward the arena, already shouting something cheerful as he went.
Adrian stood there for a second longer, alone in the trees, listening to the distant roar of the crowd as the first champion stepped into the arena.
Then he turned, and walked calmly back toward the tent, the tiny Horntail still warm in his pocket.
He was ready.
Adrian stepped back into the tent, quiet and composed, as the roar of the crowd rose to a near-deafening pitch in the distance. Cedric had entered the enclosure.
The tent felt emptier now—just Fleur and Krum left, seated across from each other, both immersed in their own tension. Fleur was lightly tapping her wand against her knee, lips pressed into a thin line. Krum sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on a knot in the wooden floor like it held the secrets of the universe.
Adrian stood near the entrance, arms crossed, and waited.
Outside, the commentary had begun.
"And there he is! Cedric Diggory, Hogwarts' own!" Bagman's magically amplified voice rang out across the stadium. "Facing the Swedish Short-Snout today! A fine beast, this one—sleek, fast, and just a touch temperamental!"
Adrian tilted his head slightly.
"Diggory's going for it now—looks like he's trying to conjure a distraction—oh, a smokescreen! Clever tactic, classic manoeuvre!"
There was a pause. Then—
"Er… wait. Oh. Oh dear."
The crowd gasped as one.
"That... well, that didn't go quite to plan, did it? The wind's caught the smoke and—yep, there it goes—completely cleared! And the dragon is not pleased!"
A low rumble followed. Adrian could picture it clearly: the Short-Snout roaring, eyes locked on Cedric.
"Diggory's running now—he's circling wide—trying to reposition—OH! That was close! Very close! Bit of a tail swipe there—he'll be feeling that one in the morning!"
Adrian exchanged a glance with Fleur, who now looked properly worried, eyes flicking toward the tent flap. Krum didn't move.
Bagman kept going, voice struggling to stay cheerful.
"He's going for the egg! Can he—NO! Flame! Direct hit—he's down! Cedric Diggory is down!"
Adrian's eyes narrowed slightly.
A beat of stunned silence.
Then Bagman again, this time with less bluster.
"Medics! We need mediwizards! Get those handlers in there—NOW!"
There was a thud outside, the unmistakable sound of dragon handlers rushing in.
"Don't panic, folks! Cedric's going to be alright—he's conscious, just took a nasty burn—he's being lifted out now. Yes—yes, there he goes! Let's give him a round of applause!"
A smattering of forced cheers followed.
Adrian frowned, processing.
Huh. Did Potter… not tell Cedric?
He remembered the quiet conversation. The way Harry had said it was the right thing to do. He'd assumed Cedric knew. That the other Hogwarts champion had been warned just like him.
Guess not.
That was… interesting.
But he didn't have time to unravel it. Not now.
The whistle blew again.
Bagman's voice lifted. "Miss Delacour, if you please!"
Fleur stood slowly, her wand already clenched tightly in her fingers. Her pale face was set in determined lines, the weight of nerves hidden behind pride.
She walked out without a word.
Adrian remained still.
Bagman's voice erupted seconds later.
"And now it's Fleur Delacour, representing Beauxbatons, facing off against the Welsh Green! A notoriously unpredictable dragon, this one—let's see how she handles it!"
There was a moment of silence.
Then the crowd gasped as one.
"Oh—lovely bit of transfiguration there! Fleur's conjured a dazzling illusion—looks like a flock of phoenixes! Beautiful work!"
The crowd erupted into applause.
"The Welsh Green's snapping at the air—completely distracted! It's lunging toward the wrong direction—oh, and there she goes! Smart footwork, smooth casting—very graceful! Fleur is weaving around the edge of the enclosure, wand steady—watch that tail!"
A thunderous crash echoed through the stadium.
"Close call! Tail swipe just missed her by inches—but she's not flinching! Calm under pressure—this is what you want to see in a champion!"
Adrian could hear the tension in the audience, the kind of electric silence only fear and awe could bring.
"Now she's—oh! She's using controlled fire magic! She's not aiming at the dragon—she's heating the air around it—clever girl! Thinning the oxygen near its face—blurring its senses!"
Another boom from the arena.
"And—SHE'S DONE IT! Fleur Delacour has the egg!"
The crowd exploded with cheers.
"An absolutely elegant run from Beauxbatons' champion—textbook control, clever misdirection, perfect use of elemental magic. Brilliant showing!"
Adrian couldn't help but nod once. Not bad at all.
Then the whistle blew again.
"Mr. Krum, if you please!"
Krum rose with a grunt and stalked out of the tent, jaw clenched, shoulders squared. Not a word to anyone.
Seconds later—
"And now Viktor Krum enters the arena, Durmstrang's pride and joy, facing off against the Chinese Fireball! A fierce opponent—fast, aggressive, and always ready to scorch first and ask questions later!"
Adrian waited.
The silence lasted longer this time.
Then—
"Oho! That's a bold move—Krum is going on the offensive straight away! None of this dancing around business—he's launching rapid-fire hexes at the dragon's legs and wings! Not enough to hurt it—but enough to keep it from settling!"
Another pause.
"The Fireball's turning—oof, that's a blast of flame—missed him by inches! Krum just rolled under it! That's Quidditch reflexes for you, folks!"
Adrian closed his eyes, picturing it. Krum ducking, rolling, moving with sharp, brutal intent. All power. No elegance. But it was working.
"And now he's—blimey, that's a binding hex straight to the wing joint! Dragon's off balance! Look at that control—he's targeting movement, not just offense. He's playing it like a duel, not a hunt!"
Another gasp from the crowd.
"The Fireball's charging—Krum's not backing down! He's sprinting—YES! He's leapt onto a rock and—HE'S GOT IT! Viktor Krum has the egg!"
Cheers erupted again, louder than before.
"Ladies and gentlemen, that was raw, calculated aggression from Durmstrang's champion—he didn't waste a second, didn't blink. Straight in, straight out—brilliant showing!"
Inside the tent, Adrian exhaled through his nose and stood slowly.
The whistle blew.
Bagman's voice rang out across the arena, rich with tension and excitement.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen—our fourth and final champion of the day!"
There was a sudden stillness, a hush rippling through the crowd.
"He's the surprise of the Tournament, the wildcard, the name pulled from the Goblet in what some called a scandal and others called fate! He's been doubted, questioned, written off—and yet, here he stands!"
Adrian stepped out of the tent into blinding daylight.
"Representing Hogwarts… Adrian Valor!"
The crowd exploded.
Cheers. Boos. Confused murmurs. Flashes of camera light.
Adrian didn't flinch.
He walked forward, eyes already locked on the beast ahead.
The Hungarian Horntail was a nightmare made flesh—black scales glinting like armor, wings coiled tightly, claws dug deep into the earth around the clutch of golden egg and the other ones. The monster's yellow eyes snapped toward him, reptilian and full of death.
But Adrian didn't stop.
Every inch of him thrummed with calm.
He had trained for this. He had bled for this. This was his moment.
And he was going to burn it into the bones of everyone watching.
The crowd was a blur now. He could barely hear them. He tuned them out completely.
Adrian raised his head, stared down the dragon, and moved.
A flash of blue light burst from beneath his boots.
The stands gasped—Bagman's voice cracked with excitement.
"Merlin's beard—what was THAT?!"
Adrian accelerated like a missile, raw speed snapping the air around him. He wasn't apparating—but it sure as hell looked like he was. The shimmer of magic trailed behind him in a streak of sapphire light as he closed the distance in seconds, boots skimming stone.
"Unbelievable acceleration from Valor—he's not Apparating, folks, but he's moving faster than I've seen any wizard move on foot—what is this magic?!"
The dragon reared, startled.
Adrian launched himself into the air—a leap so high it drew screams from the stands.
From mid-air "Fractura!"
A shockwave of raw force shattered the rocks at the dragon's feet. Shards exploded upward. The dragon instinctively lifted one leg, stumbled back.
"Clever opening! He's not aiming at the dragon—he's aiming at the ground to throw it off balance!" Bagman shouted, almost giddy.
Adrian landed, spun, and—
"Depulso!"
A blast of focused energy surged from his wand, striking the Horntail square in the chest. The dragon snarled and tumbled back, wings flailing, dragged just far enough from the nest.
It snapped its jaws and let loose a howling torrent of fire.
Adrian raised his wand, already in motion, "Glacio Pulsum!"
The fire turned to steam.
A pillar of ice erupted midair, freezing the dragon's breath in its throat. The beast choked and thrashed, smoke hissing from its mouth.
"Did he—did he just FREEZE DRAGON FIRE?!" Bagman nearly screamed. "That's Glacio Pulsum, but I've never seen it with that kind of force!"
Adrian didn't wait.
He charged forward, casting spell after spell—blinding flashes, small detonations, harassment magic that kept the Horntail stumbling, inching farther from the eggs.
"He's not going for the egg!" Bagman shouted. "He's driving the dragon away from it—brilliant!"
The Horntail roared in frustration, spun, and lashed out with its tail.
Adrian barely slowed. The moment the tail whipped around—
He vanished in a blur.
"WHAT—what did he just do—?"
Adrian swift-jumped, a streak of motion that slid him above the tail, legs tucking as he twisted midair. From the apex of his leap—
"Bombarda Maxima!"
BOOM.
The spell detonated at the dragon's eye, blinding white and concussive. The Horntail shrieked, one eye clamped shut.
Then:
"Tensura!"
Golden cords shot from his wand, binding around the dragon's wings, pulling taut as the creature thrashed.
With his other hand—empty—Adrian reached towards a boulder nearby.
And the crowd gasped.
Magic hands.
The stone rose from the ground, golden energy crackling like lightning around his fingertips. He hurled it at the Horntail's head.
CRACK.
The dragon reeled.
"Wandless magic! I don't believe it—Valor just threw a boulder without touching it! Are we sure this kid's not a Auror in disguise?!"
The dragon shook, stunned—rage replacing pain. It lunged again.
Adrian's spell cords held firm, and as he was yanked forward, he let it carry him—slingshotting himself through the air, his wand spinning in his hand.
Mid-flight, he cast:
"Infractus! Expulso! Glacius! Fulmen!"
Spell after spell bombarded the Horntail's body—fire, ice, force, electricity. The arena shook.
Adrian landed in a crouch, slid backward, breath heaving—but he was not done.
One more push.
He raised both arms.
Two massive boulders lifted into the air, suspended like feathers by the power of Magic Hands.
And with a snarl—
He slammed them together.
Right on the Horntail's skull.
BOOM.
Dust. Silence.
The dragon groaned, stumbled, and—collapsed.
Knocked out cold.
The crowd was silent for two seconds.
And then—
They exploded.
Cheers. Roars. Stomping feet. Screaming students. Disbelieving gasps.
Adrian exhaled, walking through the wreckage like he was strolling through a garden. Calm. Quiet. Untouchable.
He reached the eggs. All intact. Untouched.
He bent down and picked up the golden egg, the shimmer of victory running through his fingers.
In his mind, only one thought:
Dad… if you're out there somewhere... And I think you are… take a fucking look at me now.
And in the stands, the world screamed his name.
24th of November 1994, The Stands
Daphne Greengrass hadn't blinked in a full minute.
The noise of the crowd was deafening—stomping feet, roaring cheers, voices pitched high with disbelief—but all of it blurred into the background as she stared down into the arena.
Beside her, Tracey Davis was gripping the railing with white-knuckled fingers. "Holy shit," she breathed. "He's not just fighting the dragon. He's—he's styling on it."
Daphne didn't answer. Couldn't. Her eyes tracked Adrian's every movement, her heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of his assault. She watched as he weaved between blasts of fire, shattered boulders with a flick, and danced through the chaos like he belonged to it. Like it bent around him.
The blue shimmer of his acceleration magic streaked across the field, fast enough to make the crowd gasp, but Daphne just inhaled—slow and steady—eyes fixed on the blur that was Adrian Valor.
Tracey let out another shocked laugh as Adrian slammed two massive boulders into the Horntail's head, dropping the dragon like a sack of rocks. "That's it. I take back every single thing I've said about him being a lunatic."
"You said he was a lunatic yesterday," Daphne murmured.
"Exactly. And I take it all back. That shit was... more than impressive. He made the Horntail his bitch!"
Daphne shook her head faintly but didn't smile. Her gaze was locked on Adrian as he stood over the fallen dragon, framed by dust and golden light. He looked like something pulled straight out of a prophecy. Or a war.
And then, as he picked up the golden egg and turned, the entire arena losing its mind behind him, Daphne saw the flicker of something else in his eyes. Not arrogance. Not pride.
Something deeper. Personal.
She didn't know what it was.
But she knew what it meant.
He hadn't done this for the crowd. Or the judges. Or even the school.
He'd done it for himself.
And maybe—just maybe—for someone watching.
Daphne exhaled, her chest tight, her fingers slowly unclenching.
Tracey nudged her. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she said quietly. "Just… proud."
Tracey arched a brow. "Of him?"
Daphne smiled then.
24th of November 1994, The Arena
Bagman's voice boomed across the stadium, near incoherent with excitement. "UNBELIEVABLE! THAT WAS… I DON'T EVEN HAVE A WORD FOR IT! I mean—look at that! Precision. Power. Control. Ladies and gentlemen, we just witnessed magic that doesn't show up in textbooks!"
Adrian barely heard it. The adrenaline still pulsed in his blood, slower now. Duller. Like the last drumbeat after a war march.
He turned and made his way back across the field, dragging behind him the silence that only awe could command. The crowd still roared, but around him? It was like wading through water. His breath was steady. His grip on the golden egg sure.
At the entrance to the enclosure, Professor Flitwick was practically jumping in place—his tiny frame bouncing with joy.
"Adrian!" he squeaked, voice tight with emotion. "My boy, that was—MERLIN'S HAT—you were spectacular!"
Adrian just smiled. Not cocky. Not smug. Just… fulfilled.
Flitwick wiped at his eye with a tiny sleeve. "Truly magnificent…"
Hagrid was there too, grinning from ear to ear, and even Snape was there too, who gave a rare impressed grunt.
"Mr. Valor, that was certainly impressive... I wonder where did you learn to use wandless magic so efficiently at the age of fifteen regardless?"
Adrian smirked. "Oh, here and there Professor."
Snape hummed once more and left the tent congratulating him on the way out.
Inside, Madam Pomfrey was already fluttering around Cedric, who lay on a stretcher, half his face wrapped and one leg clearly splinted.
"Dragons," she muttered with disdain. "Every damn year it's something new—"
She turned as Adrian entered. "You too, Mister Valor. Sit. Let me see."
"I've got no injuries," Adrian said calmly, tucking the egg under his arm.
She scowled at him. "I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much."
With a flick of her wand, diagnostic charms floated around him like golden wisps. They spun. Swirled. Then vanished.
Her brow furrowed. "Well, I'll be…"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You actually have no injuries. Not a single damn scratch. Hmph. Well. Congratulations, Mr. Valor. You did splendidly."
"Thank you, ma'am."
The tent flap burst open.
"ADRIAN!" Daphne's voice rang out a second before she barrelled into him.
He caught her just in time as she threw her arms around him, hugging him tight, burying her face in his shoulder.
"That was amazing—you were incredible—I thought I was going to pass out just watching you—Merlin, Adrian, that was INSANE!"
He laughed softly, caught between breathlessness and warmth. "I told you I'd put on a show."
Behind her, Tracey smirked but didn't interrupt.
Then came the others.
Jess. Terry. Padma.
Adrian met their eyes over Daphne's shoulder. The hesitation in their steps, the awkward tension—it melted the second Terry stepped forward.
"What the fuck was that magic?" Terry blurted out, eyes wide. "Are you secretly Merlin's child or something? Wandless magic?! You threw a boulder at a dragon with your bare hand!"
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Trade secret, boot."
Jess grinned and wrapped him in a quick hug before he could protest.
"You were insane out there," she said into his ear. "I'm so sorry."
Padma followed, embracing him too. "You were brilliant. And… yeah. I'm sorry, too."
Adrian glanced between the three of them, still half-hugging Daphne, who refused to move from his side.
He sighed. "Ahh, whatever. It's cool."
He missed them. More than he'd admitted.
"C'mon," Daphne said, slipping her hand into his. "Let's check your points."
As they walked toward the edge of the tent, Terry called after them, "Valor! Party in the common room tonight! Hope you can… y'know. Join."
Adrian glanced back over his shoulder. "Wouldn't miss it."
They stepped out together into the crisp afternoon air, cheers still echoing from the stands.
Daphne looked up at him, smile teasing. "You have to tell me how you did all of that."
He gave her a sideways glance. "Maybe."
The judges raised their wands.
Madame Maxime's score came first: a proud 9.
Barty Crouch Sr. followed. Another 9.
Daphne groaned. "That was a ten! Come on, you dickheads!"
Dumbledore lifted his wand: 10.
Bagman was next, grinning like a fool. His wand raised: 10.
"Now that's more like it," Daphne whispered, gripping Adrian's arm tighter.
And then… Karkaroff.
He raised his wand.
7.
Daphne's voice cut through the stands. "THAT WAS NOT A SEVEN, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"
Adrian just smiled, locking eyes with Karkaroff, who looked ready to explode.
He gave him a lazy, satisfied smirk.
Unbothered. Untouchable.
A ginger wizard made his way over, clapping Adrian on the back. "Hey—Valor, right? Bloody hell, mate. That was mental. You're six points ahead of Krum right now. First place."
"Thanks," Adrian said simply.
Bagman bounced back up to the centre platform. "Well done! All of you! Even young Mr. Diggory, who's being seen to and will still receive his egg—since we don't want him disqualified. Tough luck, but that's dragons for you!"
He gestured grandly. "Now! That golden egg you're all holding—look closely. It opens. Inside is your clue for the second task. Study it well—it'll give you everything you need to prepare."
The champions nodded, most still dazed. Adrian just clutched the egg and glanced at Daphne beside him.
"Congratulations again," Bagman called. "You're free to go!"
They made their way down the steps, Adrian's fingers intertwined with Daphne's.
And waiting for them—of course—was Rita Skeeter, her quill floating, already scribbling.
"Well done, Adrian!" she cooed. "You were very impressive in there! Very impressive indeed! Can you give us a few words about the experience?"
Adrian didn't slow down.
"Yeah, I can give you a few words," he said as he passed.
"Go fuck yourself."
The look on her face was worth more than the score.
And with Daphne laughing beside him, arm wrapped around his, Adrian made his way back to the castle.
A champion.
Undeniable.
24th Of November 1994, The Small Village Of Little Hangelton, The Riddle House 11.30PM
"Crucio!"
The scream that followed was wet and raw—less a cry of pain and more a gurgle, like something burning from the inside out.
Barty Crouch Jr. convulsed violently on the floor, his limbs thrashing as though trying to break free of his own skin. His face twisted in agony, teeth clenched so tight it seemed they might shatter.
When the curse lifted, he collapsed into a heap, gasping for air, his body twitching involuntarily.
A shrivelled figure sat in the high-backed armchair before him, the firelight casting grotesque shadows on the walls behind. His skin was pale and translucent, stretched over bones too tight, and his crimson eyes burned like twin embers.
Lord Voldemort.
Still weak. Still tethered to a cursed, spectral existence—but no less terrifying for it.
"My most loyal servant…" Voldemort's voice slithered through the room like smoke. "How spectacularly you've failed me."
Crouch Jr. coughed violently, blood on his lips. "M-My Lord… I… I did what you asked me to—"
"Silence!"
Wormtail, trembling in the corner near the hearth, flinched like he'd been struck.
Voldemort turned his gaze on Crouch again, tilting his malformed head slightly. "You had one task. Infiltrate the school. Guide the boy... and get him to touch the cup first. And yet...
He leaned forward, claw-like fingers twitching around his wand. "That boy—Valor—he has disrupted everything. His presence was not accounted for. And that, Crouch, is your failure."
"My Lord, I swear—I had no way of knowing—"
"Crucio."
Crouch's scream echoed through the room once more, bouncing off rotting walls and floorboards.
Wormtail whimpered again. "Please… my Lord…"
The curse lifted. Crouch lay in a quivering mass on the stone floor.
"I am disappointed, Crouch," Voldemort said, voice cold as death. "Very… disappointed indeed. You have hindered my efforts greatly with this setback.
He paused, his breathing shallow but steady. Measured.
"But… no matter."
Crouch stirred weakly. "My Lord… I-I'll help. In any way I can. Just give me a chance."
"You will," Voldemort said with eerie calm. "But first… your memory. I will see it for myself. Every second of the task."
Crouch blinked. "Y-Yes, my Lord."
Voldemort's wand rose slowly.
"Legilimens."
Crouch stiffened. His eyes went glassy, body locked in place as Voldemort probed his mind, peeling back the layers of memory, emotion, and thought.
The task unfolded before him—the roar of the crowd, the dragons, the spells. And then Adrian Valor. Blazing across the arena like a force of nature. Power that felt… wrong.
Voldemort's mouth curled downward. His crimson eyes narrowed.
Crouch gave a choked gasp and collapsed, unconscious, at Voldemort's feet.
"Return to the school," Voldemort said coolly. "You are no use to me here. Keep your cover. Await my instructions."
Without a word, Crouch vanished—CRACK—into the night.
Voldemort turned his head, ever so slightly.
"Wormtail."
Wormtail flinched. "Y-Yes, my Lord?"
"I want you to find out everything you can about this… Adrian Valor. Every secret, every whisper, every trace. Bring me his history, his allies, his magic. Everything."
Wormtail trembled. "O-Of course, my Lord. Right away."
"Fail me," Voldemort whispered, "and your punishment will make what you've just witnessed look like affection."
Wormtail's breath hitched, and with a fearful nod, he disapparated.
CRACK.
Silence settled again in the Riddle House.
Nagini slithered from the shadows, her body winding lazily around the legs of the chair. Voldemort's skeletal hand reached down, stroking her scales absently.
He stared into the fire, the flicker of flames dancing in his red eyes.
"Interesting…" he murmured. "Very interesting indeed. Who… are you, Adrian Valor?"
The fire crackled louder, like it too demanded an answer.
But no one spoke.
Only The Dark Lord's whisper remained, hanging in the air like poison.
There you go! My longest chapter to date! I'm very sorry for the much longer wait. Just a lot of stuff has been happening in my life lately that I will not bore you with.
What did you think of the task? About everything? If you could just leave a comment or a review that would be so appreciated! I realized myself that they really help me out so... you know... ask away! Or you can also not, just by reading it you're making me happy as well!
I hope that I could deliver some good story in this chapter! Next chapters will follow with the Yule Ball and the Winter Invitational Junior Duelling Circuit Arc!
Hope that you liked it!
And see y'all next time!
