Chapter 27
The Great Hall buzzed with its usual morning energy as students filled their plates and caught up on gossip. At the Ravenclaw table, Harry sat with Daphne, surrounded by Tracey, Susan, and Hannah. The morning light streaming through the enchanted ceiling cast a warm glow over their breakfast spread.
"I still can't believe you two are the youngest Duke and Duchess in Hogwarts Dueling Club history," Susan said, buttering her toast with enthusiasm. "First years achieving the highest rank possible. That's absolutely unprecedented."
Hannah nodded vigorously, nearly spilling her pumpkin juice. "The look on a few of the idiots' faces when it was announced was priceless. Senior years being outranked by first years? I thought a few were going to challenge you both on the spot."
Daphne smiled as she reached for the marmalade, but Harry was already sliding it toward her before she'd fully extended her arm.
"There's no lack of people with an inflated opinion of their abilities," Daphne said, spreading marmalade on her and Harry's toasts delicately, sliding his plate towards him. "Being outranked by younger students was bound to happen eventually. We just happened to be the ones to do it."
"And just in time for the qualifiers too," Susan added. "The timing couldn't be more perfect."
"We've been working toward this all year," Harry said, refilling Daphne's goblet of juice. "The European Championship has been our goal since we first walked into the Dueling Club in September."
"The training schedule you two maintain would kill most people," Tracey added, looking up briefly from the Daily Prophet she'd been scanning. "When do you actually rest?"
Harry chuckled, cutting his bacon while simultaneously nudging the jam pot closer to Daphne as she reached for her second piece of toast. "Rest is for people without ambition."
"Says the boy who fell asleep during Professor Binns' lecture on goblin banking systems yesterday," Daphne teased, straightening his collar where it had gotten twisted.
"That's different. Binns could put a hyperactive pixie to sleep. I'm convinced the man's voice has actual sleep-inducing properties."
The table erupted in laughter, and Susan wiped tears from her eyes. "You're terrible, Harry. But speaking of the Championship, I assume you're both planning to compete in the individual categories?"
Harry and Daphne exchanged a look. A slight raise of Daphne's eyebrow, a small nod from Harry, and they'd reached an understanding.
"We've discussed this extensively," Daphne said, her tone becoming more thoughtful. "The individual championship allows for both gendered and open categories. We'll be competing in the gendered divisions."
"Smart choice," Hannah said, spreading honey on her toast. "You're both incredible duelists, but facing each other in a championship final would be..."
"Awful," Harry finished firmly. "I have no interest in hexing Daphne in front of hundreds of spectators, regardless of the prize money or prestige involved."
"The thought of dueling Harry seriously makes my stomach turn," Daphne agreed, reaching over to squeeze his free hand. "We're partners in everything. Competition dueling should be no different."
"Besides," Harry added, "the European Championship has always featured separate men's and women's divisions alongside the open category. It gives us both legitimate shots at individual titles."
Susan's face lit up with understanding. "And that leaves you free to focus on another category you seem to excel at. Tag-team competition."
"Exactly," Daphne said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "The synchronization we've developed over the past year translates perfectly to partner dueling. Individual competition is about personal skill, but tag-team is about unity, strategy, and trust."
"Your match against Thornfield and Blackwood was incredible to watch," Hannah said admiringly. "The way you two moved together, the timing of your combination attacks, the way you covered each other's vulnerabilities. It was like watching a master class in cooperative combat."
"That match convinced us that tag-team is where we belong," Harry said, warming to the subject. "Individual dueling is about proving personal superiority, but partner dueling is about creating something greater than the sum of its parts."
"Plus the prize structure for tag-team championships is better," Tracey observed from behind her newspaper. "Individual winners split their earnings with no one. Tag-team winners split with their partner, but the total prize pool is larger."
"It's not about the money," Daphne said with a chuckle. "But we won't say no to a few extra galleons. Would come handy in the future."
"Speaking of the future," Susan said, "have you decided if you want to continue here after NEWTs?"
"It's still a bit early for that, isn't it?" Harry asked, chuckling.
"Not really," Susan replied. "Most of the students decide in the first year itself if they're happy with the usual OWLs and NEWTs or they want a Mastery too. Proper career planning, as they say."
"We've not really considered this so far," Daphne replied thoughtfully. "But I did have a talk about this with my father. He told me to consider foreign schools as well."
"My Aunt Amelia said the same," Susan nodded. "That there are some very sound options overseas. Very prestigious."
"Prestige matters less than program quality and research opportunities," Daphne said practically. "We want to study somewhere that will challenge us intellectually and prepare us for whatever careers we choose afterward."
"Any thoughts on careers?" Susan asked curiously.
Harry and Daphne looked at each other again, another of their silent communications passing between them.
"We're considering several options," Harry said diplomatically. "The Department of Mysteries seems interesting, as does the DMLE. There are also opportunities in private magical research."
"Or professional dueling," Daphne added. "The European circuit has grown significantly in recent years. There's real career opportunities for skilled competitors."
"That sounds exciting but dangerous," Hannah observed. "Professional dueling is much more intense than school competition."
"Everything worthwhile involves some degree of risk," Harry replied. "The question is whether the potential rewards justify the dangers."
"Very philosophical for a Tuesday morning," Tracey said dryly, turning another page of her newspaper.
"We've had a lot of time to think about the future during our training sessions," Daphne explained. "Long conversations about goals, priorities, what we want to accomplish together."
"Together being the operative word," Susan noted with a smile. "You two really have planned out your entire lives, haven't you?"
"Is that so unusual?" Harry asked, unconsciously adjusting his position so Daphne could more easily reach the fruit bowl.
"For first years? Absolutely," Hannah laughed. "Most people our age can barely decide what to have for breakfast, let alone plan their entire futures."
"We're not most people," Daphne said simply.
"No, you certainly aren't," Susan agreed. "Which brings us back to the Championships. When are the qualifiers again? Heard they were pushed back a bit."
"Two and a half weeks," Harry answered immediately. "April fifteenth and sixteenth. Preliminaries on Saturday, finals on Sunday. The top three individual competitors in each category advance, along with the top five tag-teams."
"Are you nervous?" Hannah asked.
"Nervous isn't the right word," Daphne said thoughtfully. "Excited, maybe. Eager. We've been preparing for this for months, but there's always an element of uncertainty in competition."
"But you're ready," Susan said confidently. "You've beaten older, more experienced duelists consistently."
"We've beaten the older students here at Hogwarts," Daphne corrected. "We're confident about the qualifiers. But the tournament will feature competitors from all over Europe with very different fighting styles and techniques."
"Durmstrang duelists are notoriously aggressive," Hannah observed. "All offense, minimal defense, very direct approaches."
"While Beauxbatons favors subtlety and misdirection," Harry agreed. "They'll use charm work and environmental manipulation in ways we rarely see here."
"We've planned to study international dueling styles with Professor Flitwick," Daphne said. "To prepare for different approaches and unexpected techniques."
"Getting exposure to different fighting philosophies and tactical approaches."
"That's smart preparation," Susan said admiringly. "Most competitors probably assume that their home school's methods are universally applicable."
"Assumptions like that lose championships," Daphne replied. "We're not taking anything for granted."
The conversation continued as they finished their breakfast, discussing training techniques, competition strategies, and the various magical schools they might encounter.
"Your interaction with each other really is impressive," Hannah said, watching them while Daphne was mid-sentence about defensive spell chains. "Do you even realize you're doing half of these things?"
"Doing what?" Daphne asked, genuinely confused.
"Never mind," Hannah said with a knowing smile. "It's just nice to see a couple that actually functions as a team."
"We've always worked well together," Harry said, as if this explained everything.
"Some people are naturally compatible," Susan observed. "You can see it in how they move around each other, how they communicate, how they solve problems together."
"It helps that we share similar goals and values," Daphne added. "We want the same things from life, generally speaking."
"Excellence, recognition, and enough money to live comfortably," Harry summarized with a grin.
"You make us sound mercenary," Daphne protested, though she was smiling.
"We're practical," Harry corrected. "There's nothing wrong with wanting financial security along with personal achievement."
"Spoken like true Ravenclaws," Tracey said from behind her paper. "Always calculating the optimal path to success."
"Is there a better approach?" Daphne asked.
"Gryffindors charge ahead on principle and hope everything works out," Susan said. "Hufflepuffs focus on helping others and trust that good things will follow. Slytherins pursue power and influence above all else."
"And Ravenclaws analyze every variable and plan accordingly," Hannah finished. "Each approach has its merits."
"Our approach has gotten us this far," Harry said pragmatically.
"And it will get you much farther," Susan predicted confidently. "You two have something special. Everyone can see it."
The conversation was interrupted by Tracey's sharp intake of breath. She'd gone very still, her eyes fixed on something in the middle pages of the Daily Prophet. Her knuckles had gone white where she gripped the newspaper.
"Tracey?" Daphne asked, noting her sudden tension. "What is it?"
Tracey looked up, her face pale and drawn. "You need to see this. All of you." She turned the newspaper around so they could read it, her hands trembling slightly.
The headline blazed across the page in bold, capital letters.
BLOOD AND HORROR IN THE CARPATHIANS: GREYBACK'S MASSACRE LEAVES MAGICAL VILLAGE DESTROYED
Exclusive Report by Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Dear readers, I write to you today with trembling hands and a heavy heart, having just received the most horrific news from our contacts in Eastern Europe. The peaceful wizarding village of Borskóv, nestled deep in the remote Carpathian Mountains, has been utterly destroyed in what can only be described as a massacre of unprecedented brutality and calculated savagery.
According to the handful of survivors who managed to escape the carnage (and I do mean handful, dear readers – the casualty count is simply staggering), the attack came without warning on what should have been a pleasant spring evening. The villagers, simple folk who had lived in harmony and isolation for generations, were going about their normal evening routines when the very air itself seemed to turn malevolent.
What makes this tragedy particularly shocking is not merely the scale of the violence, but its deeply personal nature. Leading this assault was none other than Fenrir Greyback, the most feared and vicious werewolf in all of Europe. But this was no random attack of opportunity, dear readers. Oh no, this was calculated vengeance of the most brutal sort.
This correspondent has learned, through sources who must remain unnamed for their own protection, that Greyback was driven to this horrific act of revenge by the death of his brother, Elstan Greyback, who met his mysterious end within the supposedly secure walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on Halloween night just months ago.
The circumstances surrounding Elstan's death remain shrouded in mystery and official silence. Hogwarts administrators, led by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, have maintained their characteristic wall of secrecy regarding the incident. What is known is that Elstan Greyback, himself a dangerous dark creature with a history of violence, somehow met his end within Britain's most prestigious magical institution. Was it an accident? A duel gone wrong? Or something far more sinister?
This correspondent has repeatedly requested comment from Hogwarts officials, only to be met with terse statements about "student privacy" and "ongoing investigations." The public deserves answers! When dangerous creatures are dying within our most important educational institution, transparency is not just preferred – it is essential for public safety.
But I digress from the immediate horror at hand. The massacre that befell the innocent villagers of Borskóv defies adequate description, though I shall attempt it for the sake of historical record and public awareness. Witnesses who managed to escape speak of werewolves tearing through the village's magical defenses as if they were made of parchment. Ancient protective enchantments that had safeguarded the community for centuries were simply brushed aside by the sheer savagery of the assault.
The brave Elder Pyotr Markov, a respected leader who had guided his people through decades of peace and prosperity, made a valiant last stand in the village square. According to the traumatized survivors who witnessed his final moments, the elderly wizard managed to fell no fewer than five of the attacking beasts with his magic before Greyback himself put an end to the elder's heroic resistance.
The fate that befell Elder Markov, as described by those who witnessed it, is too gruesome and disturbing to print in detail in a family newspaper. Suffice it to say that Greyback's reputation for sadistic brutality is, if anything, woefully understated. The manner of the elder's death serves as a chilling reminder of the monster we are dealing with.
But perhaps most disturbing of all is what occurred after the initial massacre. Sources indicate that Greyback did not simply kill indiscriminately and move on, as might be expected from a mindless beast driven by rage. No, this creature displayed a calculating intelligence and strategic thinking that makes him far more dangerous than previously understood.
He deliberately spared certain villagers – specifically, the strongest fighters, the bravest defenders, those who had shown the most courage and skill in resisting his pack. These unfortunate souls were not shown mercy in any conventional sense, but rather selected for a fate that may well be worse than death: forced recruitment into Greyback's growing army of darkness.
The transformation process employed by Greyback, according to those few individuals who have escaped such situations in the past, involves the systematic breaking of the human spirit through torture, starvation, isolation, and psychological manipulation of the most sophisticated sort. This is not mere animal cruelty, but calculated psychological warfare designed to completely destroy a person's sense of self and humanity.
Greyback apparently takes particular pleasure in targeting those who once opposed him most fiercely, finding special satisfaction in turning his greatest enemies into his most devoted followers. The process can take weeks or months, but by all accounts, his methods are devastatingly effective.
As this correspondent writes these words, intelligence suggests that Greyback's pack has grown by an estimated fifty new werewolves, all of whom were once peaceful villagers with families, dreams, hopes, and bright futures ahead of them. They now serve the very monster who destroyed their lives, completely broken and reshaped into instruments of his will.
The implications for magical security across Europe cannot be overstated. We are not dealing with a simple criminal or even a traditional dark wizard. This is organized warfare on a scale not seen since the darkest days of Grindelwald's reign of terror.
Ministry officials from several countries have thus far declined to provide meaningful comments on this developing crisis, offering only the usual platitudes about "monitoring the situation" and "coordinating international responses." Meanwhile, sources within the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures suggest that emergency protocols are being quietly activated across multiple governments.
The question on everyone's mind – the question that keeps parents awake at night – is devastatingly simple: where will Greyback strike next? Which peaceful community will be the next to face his wrath?
Even more troubling is the question of his ultimate destination and final goal. With his brother's death at Hogwarts clearly serving as the catalyst for his current rampage of vengeance, one cannot help but wonder if Britain itself is his ultimate target. If the death of one Greyback has provoked this level of retaliation, what will satisfy his thirst for revenge?
Are our children safe in their schools? Are any of us truly safe in our homes? These are not idle questions born of paranoia, but legitimate concerns that demand immediate attention from our elected leaders.
This correspondent calls upon Minister Fudge and his counterparts across Europe to take immediate and decisive action. The time for half-measures, bureaucratic delays, and political posturing has passed. Greyback represents a clear and present danger to magical society as a whole, and he must be stopped before more innocent blood is spilled on the altar of his revenge.
We will continue to monitor this developing story and bring you updates as they become available. In the meantime, readers are strongly advised to remain vigilant, avoid unnecessary travel to remote areas, and report any suspicious werewolf activity to their local authorities immediately.
Do not assume that distance provides safety. Do not assume that this is someone else's problem. Greyback's reach is long, his methods are sophisticated, and his hunger for vengeance appears to be insatiable.
Additional coverage of this story can be found on Page 12, including expert analysis of werewolf pack tactics and Ministry response capabilities.
The Great Hall seemed to grow quieter around them as they finished reading, though the change might have been more in their perception than reality. Harry and Daphne had gone very still, their hands finding each other under the table with desperate urgency. Their fingers intertwined tightly, their knuckles white with barely controlled tension.
"Merlin's beard," Hannah breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "An entire village. Just... gone."
"Fifty new werewolves," Susan said, her face pale as she reread certain sections. "Fifty people who were just living their lives, and now they're..." She couldn't finish the sentence.
"Greyback," Tracey said quietly, carefully refolding the newspaper with hands that weren't entirely steady. "I've heard stories about him for years, whispered conversations between my parents and their friends, but this level of organization and calculated brutality..."
Harry's jaw had clenched so tightly that a muscle jumped visibly in his cheek. Daphne's free hand had curled into a white-knuckled fist on the table, her usual composure showing significant cracks after what they'd just read.
"His brother died at Hogwarts," Hannah said, her voice hollow as she reread that particular section. "On Halloween night. That was only a few months ago. I don't remember hearing about any deaths that night."
"The school keeps many things quiet," Susan observed, glancing around the table. "Not everything that happens within these walls makes it into the Prophet or even the school gossip network."
Tracey's eyes flicked briefly to Harry and Daphne, noting their extreme tension and carefully controlled reactions. She kept her own expression neutral, but there was understanding in her gaze. "Some events are considered too sensitive for general knowledge," she said carefully. "Particularly when they involve dangerous individuals or circumstances that might cause unnecessary panic."
"But this..." Hannah gestured helplessly at the newspaper. "This is the direct result of whatever happened here on Halloween. All those innocent people are dead because of something that occurred within Hogwarts itself. How can that not be public knowledge?"
Daphne's hand trembled almost imperceptibly as she reached for her goblet. Harry immediately moved his own cup closer to her, the gesture automatic and protective. Neither seemed fully aware they'd done it.
"The connection might not be as direct as Skeeter implies," Susan said, though she didn't sound particularly convinced. "She has a reputation for sensationalism and speculation. I won't be surprised if she used this attack to go after some news she couldn't get here at Hogwarts. Link two unrelated events, and let the people create chaos. She loves stirring up drama if it gets her something she wants."
"The basic facts seem solid enough," Tracey replied, her voice carefully measured. "A werewolf named Elstan Greyback died at Hogwarts on Halloween night. His brother Fenrir has now massacred an entire village in apparent retaliation. The causal relationship is fairly obvious."
"I've heard how dangerous Greyback is," Hannah said quietly, her voice rough with barely controlled emotion. "But this level of systematic planning, this strategic approach to building an army... it's terrifying."
"The article mentioned psychological manipulation and breaking people's spirits," Daphne added, her words coming out slightly strained. "That's not animalistic behavior. That's sophisticated psychological warfare."
"Which makes him infinitely more dangerous than a simple monster," Harry observed grimly. "Monsters can be predicted, contained, eventually stopped. This sounds more like organized military action."
"An army of werewolves led by someone with strategic intelligence and personal motivation for revenge," Hannah summarized, her voice getting smaller with each word. "And if the article is correct about his ultimate target being Britain..."
"He's coming here," Tracey finished quietly. "Eventually, inevitably, he's coming to Hogwarts."
The cheerful breakfast atmosphere had completely evaporated, replaced by a tension so thick it was almost suffocating.
"What could we possibly do against something like that?" Hannah asked, her voice barely audible.
"The school has defenses," Susan said, though she sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as anyone else. "Ancient protections, trained professors, capable students, and established protocols for dealing with threats."
"Did those defenses prevent Elstan Greyback from getting in here in the first place?" Daphne asked sharply. "If dangerous creatures can infiltrate Hogwarts, how strong are the defenses really?"
The question was met with uncomfortable silence. None of them had a good answer, and they all knew it.
"Maybe the Ministry will intervene," Hannah suggested weakly. "Send aurors, coordinate with other governments, take decisive action before Greyback can organize a proper assault."
"The Ministry's response to dangerous situations has historically been... inadequate," Harry said. "Their priority is usually avoiding panic rather than preventing disasters."
"That's a very cynical perspective," Susan protested, though her tone lacked real conviction.
"It's a realistic perspective based on observable patterns," Daphne replied. "The Ministry's institutional responses to crisis situations consistently prioritize political considerations over practical effectiveness."
The conversation was interrupted by heavy footsteps approaching their table. Professor Alastor Moody's distinctive wooden leg announced his presence long before his scarred face came into view. His magical eye spun wildly as he surveyed the Great Hall, taking in every detail with his usual paranoia.
"Potter. Greengrass," he growled as he reached their section of the table. "Need to have a word with you two. Now."
"Of course, Professor," Daphne said, her voice carefully controlled and neutral.
Harry and Daphne rose together. As they prepared to follow Moody, Harry's hand came to rest on the small of Daphne's back in a gesture of reassurance and support.
"We'll catch up with you later," Harry told their friends, nodding.
Hannah, Susan, and Tracey watched with obvious concern as Harry and Daphne followed Moody out of the Great Hall. The couple walked close together, Harry's hand on the small of Daphne's back.
"What do you think Moody wants from those two?" Hannah asked once they were out of earshot.
"No clue," Tracey replied, her eyes still fixed on the newspaper.
XXXXX
Moody led them through a maze of corridors, his magical eye rotating constantly to check for potential eavesdroppers or surveillance. He maintained complete silence until they reached a small, rarely-used classroom on the fourth floor. With several complex wand movements, he cast multiple layers of privacy charms, detection spells, and anti-eavesdropping protections.
"Right then," he said, turning to face them with his characteristic directness. "I'm assuming you've read Skeeter's article about the Carpathian massacre."
"About Greyback?" Harry asked, his voice steady despite the tension radiating from every line of his body. "Yes, we saw it."
"Nasty business," Moody grunted, his magical eye focusing on each of them in turn. "But not entirely unexpected, given the individuals involved."
Daphne's hand found Harry's again, their fingers intertwining with desperate intensity. "You believe he'll come here eventually."
"I believe Greyback's not the type to let his brother's death go unavenged," Moody said with brutal honesty. "I don't buy Skeeter's speculation for even a second. Greyback's been on a massacre in that region for a while now. This is nothing new. This is Skeeter's way of digging into something she's not getting easily."
"But?" Harry prompted with a raised eyebrow.
"But I believe you two would be extremely wise to assume he'll eventually discover who was responsible for Elstan's demise."
Harry's shoulders straightened slightly, but his voice remained steady when he spoke.
"We're not afraid of him."
"Then you're bloody fools," Moody snapped, his scarred face twisting into a fierce scowl. "Greyback's been killing witches and wizards since before either of you were born. He's cunning, he's utterly ruthless, and once he discovers who killed his brother, he will have a deeply personal motivation to see you both dead in the most painful way possible. A healthy dose of fear might just keep you breathing."
"We're not saying we'll be reckless about this," Daphne said carefully. "But we won't allow terror to paralyze us or compromise our goals either."
Moody studied them both intently, his natural eye following the magical one's path of constant surveillance. After a long, uncomfortable moment, he nodded with something approaching approval.
"Good. Paralyzing terror makes people stupid and gets them killed quickly. But overconfidence and arrogance are just as dangerous. You need to find the precise balance between caution and courage."
"What do you recommend we do?" Harry asked directly.
"Keep training. Keep pushing yourselves to get stronger, faster, more skilled. Don't go anywhere alone, ever, and don't trust anyone you don't absolutely have to." Moody's scarred face was grim with all his hard-earned experience. "And understand clearly that this threat isn't going away. Greyback won't forget, and he sure as hell won't forgive. This will follow you until one side or the other is permanently dead."
The casual, matter-of-fact way he delivered that pronouncement somehow made it more chilling than any dramatic declaration could have been.
"Are you trying to frighten us?" Daphne asked, though her tone suggested genuine curiosity rather than accusation.
"I'm trying to keep you alive," Moody replied bluntly. "There's a significant difference between appropriate concern and counterproductive fear."
Harry squeezed Daphne's hand tighter, drawing strength from the contact. "What about Hogwarts itself? Will Dumbledore increase security measures around the school?"
"Dumbledore's already implemented several additional protective measures," Moody confirmed. "But Hogwarts can't become a prison. Students need to travel home for holidays, owl post must be delivered, supplies have to be brought in, and normal educational activities must continue. That necessarily means there will always be potential vulnerabilities."
"So ultimately, we're responsible for our own survival," Daphne said. It wasn't really a question.
"You're never completely alone while you're within these walls," Moody corrected. "The staff is aware of the situation and prepared to respond to threats. But when it comes down to the critical moments? Yes. Your continued breathing depends primarily on your own skills, preparation, and judgment."
"Then we'd better ensure our skills are adequate to the challenge," Harry said with quiet determination.
Moody's scarred face twisted into what might generously be called a smile. "That's exactly the attitude I want to hear. Your training schedule continues as planned, and if anything, we'll be increasing both the intensity and frequency of sessions."
"We can handle whatever you think we need," Daphne said firmly.
"I believe you can," Moody agreed, genuine respect creeping into his voice. "You've both demonstrated remarkable progress over the past months, and more importantly, you've consistently shown the right instincts under pressure. Trust those instincts."
"Is there anything else we should know?" Harry asked. "About Greyback specifically, about the broader situation, about what we might expect?"
"Just this," Moody said, his voice growing even more serious if such a thing were possible. "Greyback isn't building this army solely for personal revenge, though that's certainly a major motivation now. He's preparing for something much larger. What happened to that village in the Carpathians was just another move in a much bigger game."
The implications of that statement were more disturbing than many would have assumed. A werewolf army led by someone with personal reasons to hate them specifically, rampaging across Europe and potentially preparing for some kind of coordinated assault.
"How much larger?" Daphne asked quietly.
"Larger than anything either of you have seen or experienced so far," Moody replied grimly. "Larger than most people can adequately imagine or prepare for. But that's not your immediate concern. Your focus needs to be on being ready when he inevitably comes for you personally."
"And you're certain he will come for us," Harry said. "This isn't just a possibility we're preparing for."
"I'd stake my remaining natural eye on it," Moody confirmed without hesitation. "The only questions are when, where, and under what circumstances. Not if."
They stood in contemplative silence for several minutes, each absorbing the full weight of their situation. The threat was real and personal.
Eventually, Harry broke the silence.
"Thank you for being completely honest with us. Many adults would try to shield us from this reality."
"Comfortable ignorance gets people killed," Moody said bluntly. "Accurate information gives you a fighting chance, however slim that chance might be."
"We genuinely appreciate both your honesty and your continued training," Daphne added. "Your guidance has been invaluable."
"Don't thank me yet," Moody said with dark humor. "Wait until after tomorrow morning's training session. I'm planning to make it particularly educational and memorable."
Despite everything they'd just discussed, Harry found himself smiling slightly. "We're looking forward to it."
"No, you won't be," Moody assured him grimly. "But you'll be significantly better for having survived it."
With that ominous promise hanging in the air, he dismissed them. Harry and Daphne left the classroom together, walking slowly and quietly back toward the main areas of the castle. Neither spoke for several long minutes, each lost in private thoughts about what they'd learned and what it meant for their future.
Finally, as they reached a secluded alcove near the library where they could speak privately, Daphne stopped walking and turned to face Harry directly.
"We're going to get through this," she said quietly, her voice carrying absolute conviction despite the circumstances.
Harry wrapped his arms around her without hesitation, and they held each other tightly, drawing mutual strength and comfort from the physical contact. In the safety of each other's embrace, some of the tension they'd been carrying since reading the article began to ease, replaced by shared determination.
"Together," Harry murmured into her hair, breathing in her familiar scent.
"Always together," Daphne agreed, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
They leaned back, gazing at each other with determination before they leaned in as one, their lips meeting in a kiss that was soft and brief but full of promise. When they separated, they were both smiling.
Hand in hand, they walked back toward their friends, ready to face whatever came next. The threat of Greyback loomed large, but it wouldn't define how they lived their lives.
It was another challenge, and they would face it together, as they always did.
Chapter 28
The morning of April fifteenth dawned crisp and clear, with not a cloud in sight over the Cambridges. The qualifying tournament grounds had been established on the vast expanse of lawn between Hogwarts and the Whomping Willow, with temporary stands erected to accommodate the hundreds of spectators who had gathered to witness the selection of competitors who would represent Wizarding Britain at the European Dueling Championship.
Harry adjusted his combat robes one final time as he surveyed the elaborate setup. Multiple dueling platforms had been constructed, each surrounded by powerful protective barriers that shimmered with contained magic. Officials from the British Ministry's Department of Magical Games and Sports moved between the platforms, conducting final inspections of the safety enchantments.
"Impressive turnout," Daphne observed, stepping up beside him. Like always, she attracted the appreciative gazes of numerous males around them, a hint of cleavage prominently on show as her curves fit her attire perfectly, the blue fabric complementing the golden trim and the badge that marked her rank as Duchess within the Hogwarts Dueling Club.
"More than I expected," Harry agreed, noting the packed stands filled with students, faculty, and visiting Ministry officials. "Almost the entire school must be here to watch."
"The other magical schools in Britain sent representatives too," Daphne noted, nodding toward a section where visitors in different colored robes sat with obvious interest. "That's the headmaster from the Welsh Academy of Magical Arts, and I think those are observers from the Cambridge Institute of Magic."
Professor Flitwick approached them, his diminutive stature making him nearly lost among the taller students and officials. His usual cheerful expression was replaced by intense focus and determination.
"Duke Potter, Duchess Greengrass," he squeaked, his voice carrying clearly despite the ambient noise. "Final preparations complete?"
"As ready as we'll ever be, Professor," Harry replied, flexing his fingers one more time.
"Excellent. The individual qualifying rounds begin in thirty minutes. The tag-team preliminaries follow immediately after lunch." Flitwick consulted his pocket watch. "Remember, this is about selecting the strongest representatives for Britain. The circuit will bring different challenges, but today is about proving you deserve to face them."
"We've prepared extensively," Daphne said confidently. "The question is whether the other duelists have prepared for our style."
"Indeed," Flitwick agreed, a hint of his usual excitement creeping back into his voice. "Your combination of precision spell work with adaptive tactics should provide several advantages against more traditional approaches. Just remember to stay flexible and trust your instincts."
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Marcus Ashworth and Isabella Fairfax, the current Grand Duke and Grand Duchess of the Hogwarts Dueling Club. Both carried themselves with the confidence that came from years of competition and consistent success.
"Duke Potter, Duchess Greengrass," Ashworth nodded, using their formal club titles. It was apparent that he was accustomed to the hierarchy. "Looking forward to seeing how you handle tournament-level competition."
"Should be interesting," Isabella added, her smile sharp and cutting. "We've seen impressive things from the two of you this year, but real tournament pressure is quite different from club matches."
Harry exchanged a quick glance with Daphne before responding. "We're eager for the challenge. Competition has a way of bringing out everyone's best."
"Or exposing their limitations," Ashworth observed with mild amusement. "The jump from casual dueling to tournament-level competition can be... humbling for younger students."
"Experience certainly matters," Daphne replied diplomatically. "But sometimes fresh perspectives can be equally valuable."
"We'll see soon enough," Isabella said, though her tone suggested she had little doubt about the likely outcome.
As the older students moved away to conduct their own final preparations, Susan approached from the spectator stands where she'd been saving seats for their friends.
"Some of the non-club competitors seem less than impressed with the formal titles," she observed quietly, nodding toward a group of students from various schools who had been watching the exchange with obvious skepticism.
"Let them think what they want," Harry replied calmly. "The ranks reflect achievement and capability."
"Just saying, not everyone appreciates the formality," Susan continued. "I overheard a few comments about 'pretentious first years' and 'made-up nobility.'"
Daphne chuckled in derision, glancing at the group out of the corner of her eye.
"Nervous?" Susan asked, studying their faces intently.
"Excited," Harry corrected. "This is what we've been working toward all year."
"The individual qualifiers should be straightforward enough," Daphne added.
"Don't underestimate the competition from the other schools," Susan warned. "I heard some students from the Cambridge Institute have been training specifically for these qualifiers. And from what I've seen, they're not particularly impressed by the Hogwarts Dueling Club hierarchies."
"Confidence is good," Harry said. "Overconfidence can be problematic."
The tournament organizers began calling competitors to their assigned platforms. Harry found himself on Platform Three for the men's division, while Daphne was directed to Platform Seven for the women's qualifying rounds.
"See you after," Harry said, squeezing Daphne's hand briefly.
"Remember what Moody taught us about adapting to unfamiliar opponents," Daphne advised quietly.
"You know me," Harry smirked, leaning down to kiss her lovingly.
As they separated, Harry caught several disparaging looks from competitors who clearly viewed the formal address and club rankings with disdain. A stocky student from one of the schools made a point of shoulder-checking him as they passed.
"Watch it, 'Your Grace,'" the boy sneered quietly. "Wouldn't want to damage that precious dignity."
Harry ignored the provocation, but filed away the information about hostile attitudes among non-club competitors.
Harry's first opponent was an older student from the Welsh Academy whose defensive style proved quite formidable. More importantly, the boy made his contempt for Harry's club rank abundantly clear from the opening exchange.
"Let's see if that fancy title means anything real, Duke," he called out mockingly as they took their positions.
The tall, red-haired wizard favored strong shield work and counter-attacks, trying to frustrate opponents into making tactical mistakes. His technique was solid, but his obvious anger at Harry's perceived arrogance created openings that a more disciplined fighter wouldn't have allowed.
Harry simply adapted his approach, using precise curse-breaking techniques and patient spell combinations that gradually wore down his opponent's defenses before finishing with a perfectly timed stunning hex. Nothing fancy or complex, just simple spellwork to take his opponent down.
"Winner, Potter of Hogwarts," the referee announced to enthusiastic applause from the school supporters.
As Harry stepped down from the platform, he caught his defeated opponent muttering something about "lucky first years" and "undeserved titles" to his friends. The resentment was becoming a clear pattern.
The second round brought him face-to-face with a fifth-year from Hogwarts who attempted to use superior experience and raw magical power to overwhelm him. Unlike the Welsh student, this opponent seemed more focused on professional respect than personal animosity, though he clearly viewed Harry's rapid advancement through club ranks with skepticism.
"Nothing personal, Duke Potter," the older student said as they prepared to duel. "But first years shouldn't hold titles above their actual capabilities."
The match proved that point debatable. The fifth-year was skilled and aggressive, opening with a barrage of advanced hexes that demonstrated years of serious training. Harry found himself genuinely tested with the handicap he had imposed on himself as he deflected the assault, but his recent intensive training with Moody showed clearly. Where the fifth-year relied on power and conventional techniques, Harry used precision and tactical innovation to turn his opponent's aggression against him.
"Impressive adaptation under pressure," Professor Flitwick observed as Harry stepped down from the platform. "Many competitors would have been overwhelmed by that level of sustained assault."
"Experience helps," Harry replied diplomatically. "But so does good training."
His semifinal opponent was Marcus Ashworth, creating the exact matchup many spectators had been anticipating. The Grand Duke's experience and technical skill were immediately apparent as he opened with a series of complex spell combinations that demonstrated years of advanced training.
Harry found himself genuinely challenged for the first time that day. Ashworth's spell work was precise and powerful, his tactical understanding was sophisticated, and his defensive techniques were nearly flawless. The duel stretched on for several minutes, with neither competitor able to gain a decisive advantage.
"Solid technique, Duke Potter," Ashworth called out during a brief pause as they both recharged their magical reserves. "Your advancement to Duke rank appears justified."
"Thank you, Grand Duke," Harry replied formally, analyzing his opponent's fighting patterns. "You've certainly pushed me to raise my game."
The decisive moment came when Ashworth attempted an advanced combination spell that required perfect timing and coordination. Harry recognized the opening sequence and responded with a carefully timed disruption charm that caused the Grand Duke's own magic to rebound harmlessly.
"Winner, Potter of Hogwarts."
The men's final was against a seventh-year from the Cambridge Institute who had impressed everyone with his creative spell combinations and tactical awareness. More importantly, he had made his opinion of the Hogwarts Dueling Club's hierarchy abundantly clear during his earlier matches.
"So you're the famous Duke Potter," he said as they took their positions, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Let's see if you can duel as well as you can collect fancy titles."
The match proved to be Harry's most challenging of the day, requiring him to draw on everything he'd learned in his intensive training sessions. His opponent fought with skill and determination, clearly motivated by a desire to humble what he saw as an arrogant first-year with delusions of grandeur. Alas, that wasn't enough.
"Men's Division Champion, Potter of Hogwarts," the referee announced to enthusiastic cheers from the British supporters.
Harry stepped down from the platform to find Daphne waiting for him, her own winner's medal gleaming on her robes.
"How did your matches go?" he asked, noting the satisfied expression on her face despite what looked like recent irritation.
"The competition was solid," Daphne replied diplomatically. "Though several opponents seemed more interested in making points about club rankings than focusing on their dueling."
"I noticed the same thing," Harry agreed. "Apparently our titles rub some people the wrong way."
"Isabella proved more challenging than expected," Daphne continued. "Her spell work and tactical awareness both are exceptional. But the girl from the Cambridge Institute in the final was exceptional. Very solid fundamentals and excellent tactical thinking. Also very vocal about her opinions regarding 'pretentious first years.'"
"But you won."
"Of course I won," Daphne said with a grin. "Though I suspect both Isabella and I learned quite a bit about international competition standards."
They rejoined their friends in the stands for a quick lunch break before the tag-team preliminaries began. The atmosphere among the spectators had grown more intense as the morning's individual results became clear.
"You two made it look almost easy," Hannah observed as they settled into their seats. "The way you handled those older, more experienced competitors was impressive."
"They're skilled duelists," Harry said diplomatically. "We just happened to have trained for the right challenges."
"Though several seemed more interested in making political points than winning matches," Daphne added dryly.
"Don't be modest," Susan protested. "That semifinal against Ashworth was the best dueling I've ever seen at the school level. The precision, the strategic thinking, the magical control—it was like watching a professional match."
"Speaking of professional matches," Tracey observed, "some of the adult spectators were taking very detailed notes during your duels. I suspect word about your capabilities is going to spread quickly through certain circles."
The tag-team preliminaries began with considerably more pomp and ceremony than the individual qualifiers. The partnership format created opportunities for more spectacular magical displays, as teams could coordinate their spell work and create combinations impossible for individual duelists.
Harry and Daphne's first opponents were a pair of sixth-years from the Welsh Academy whose strategy relied heavily on synchronized shield work and patient counter-attacks. They were well-coordinated and disciplined, clearly having trained together extensively.
More problematically, they made their disdain for the Hogwarts club system clear from the opening moments.
"Ready to lose those fancy titles, Duke and Duchess?" one called out mockingly as the match began. "I mean, we should get those when we beat you. Right of Conquest and all."
"Let's show these pretentious first years what real team dueling looks like," his partner added.
The strategy might have worked against less prepared competitors, but their obvious anger and desire to humiliate their opponents created tactical vulnerabilities. Harry and Daphne simply adapted their approach, using combination spells that created multiple angles of attack simultaneously, making the Welsh team's defensive synchronization work against them.
When the Welsh team tried to adjust their tactics, Harry and Daphne struck with ruthless efficiency. Their counter-attack was a masterpiece of cooperative spell work—binding charms and stunning hexes that seemed to come from multiple directions simultaneously, making effective defense nearly impossible.
"Winners, Potter and Greengrass of Hogwarts."
Their semifinal brought them against Ashworth and Fairfax, the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess fighting as a partnership for the first time in an official tournament. The older students' experience and individual skill translated well to cooperative tactics, and they presented a significantly greater challenge than any opponents Harry and Daphne had faced that day.
"This should be interesting," Daphne murmured as they took their positions on the platform.
"At least they're not making speeches about our titles," Harry agreed quietly.
"Duke Potter, Duchess Greengrass," Ashworth nodded formally as they prepared for the match.
"May the best team advance," Fairfax nodded right after.
The match began with careful probing attacks from both teams, each trying to assess their opponents' defensive capabilities and identify potential weaknesses. Ashworth and Fairfax moved with practiced coordination, their spells complementing each other naturally and creating openings for increasingly complex attacks.
Harry and Daphne responded with fluid adaptation, their defensive techniques shifting and evolving to counter each new assault. Their offensive combinations demonstrated months of intensive training and tactical development.
"Impressive tactical coordination," Professor Flitwick observed to his colleagues. "Their training has clearly progressed beyond basic partnership techniques."
The decisive moment came when Ashworth attempted to separate them by forcing Harry to choose between defending himself and protecting Daphne. It was a sophisticated tactical maneuver that would have succeeded against most partnerships.
Harry and Daphne simply switched positions with fluid grace, their magic flowing seamlessly between offense and defense as they countered the attempted separation while launching their own coordinated response. The exchange lasted less than ten seconds, but it demonstrated tactical flexibility and technical skill that impressed the observing officials.
"Winners, Potter and Greengrass of Hogwarts."
Ashworth and Fairfax accepted their defeat with good grace, shaking hands with genuine respect for their younger opponents' capabilities.
"Exceptional work," Ashworth said sincerely. "Your tactical development has progressed impressively since you achieved Duke rank."
"We've had excellent instruction," Daphne replied diplomatically. "And considerable motivation to improve quickly."
The tag-team final proved less challenging than the semifinal, as their opponents—a talented pair from the Cambridge Institute—relied too heavily on individual skill rather than true cooperative magic. They also spent considerable energy making disparaging comments about their opponents' club ranks, which created tactical distractions on their end throughout the duel. Harry and Daphne's superior synchronization and tactical coordination allowed them to control the pace and flow of the match from the opening exchange, and in the end, the final was rather anti-climactic.
"Tag-Team Division Champions, Potter and Greengrass of Hogwarts."
The closing ceremonies were brief but satisfying, with the qualified competitors receiving their official invitations to represent Wizarding Britain at the Continental Championships, along with detailed information about the tournament structure and schedule. Harry and Daphne found themselves surrounded by congratulatory friends and impressed spectators from across British magical education.
"Completely dominant performance," Susan said enthusiastically as they walked back toward the castle. "You didn't just win. You made it look effortless."
"It wasn't effortless," Harry corrected. "Ashworth pushed us harder than we've been tested in a while."
"But you rose to meet every challenge," Hannah replied. "That's what was so impressive. Every time an opponent raised their level, you found another gear."
The celebration dinner in the Great Hall that evening was boisterous and cheerful, with students from all houses acknowledging their success and offering congratulations. Even some of the visiting competitors and officials made points of approaching their table to express respect for their dueling capabilities.
"Word travels fast in tournament circles," one of the Cambridge girls observed as she stopped by their table. "Your performance today will definitely be noted when the European Championships begin."
"That could be advantageous or problematic," Daphne noted once the girl had moved on. "Depending on how our future opponents choose to prepare."
"Let them prepare," Harry said confidently. "We'll continue improving and adapting regardless of their expectations."
As the evening wound down and students began making their ways back to their dormitories, Harry and Daphne found themselves walking slowly through the corridors, still energized by the day's success and reluctant to end the celebrations.
"Private room?" Daphne suggested quietly as they reached a secluded intersection near the library.
"Good idea," Harry agreed, his pulse quickening at the suggestion.
They made their way to one of their favorite hidden spaces in this part of the castle—one of the many small, unused classrooms that they'd discovered months earlier and occasionally had for their private use. Harry cast the usual privacy and security charms while Daphne lit the candles with a casual flick of her wand.
The soft candlelight transformed the spare room into something intimate and welcoming, shadows dancing across the walls as they finally allowed themselves to truly relax for the first time since morning.
"We did it," Daphne said softly, settling onto the sofa Harry transfigured for their intimate moment together.
"We did," Harry agreed, joining her and pulling her close against his side. "European Championships. Everything we've worked toward since September."
"I'm proud of us," Daphne murmured, her fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest through his robes. "Not just for winning, but for how we won. The teamwork, the trust, the way we supported each other through every challenge."
Harry tilted her chin up so he could meet her eyes directly. "I couldn't have done any of it without you. You make me better at everything—dueling, magic, life in general."
"We make each other better," Daphne corrected softly. "That's what partnerships are supposed to do."
Her fingers lingered on his chest, tracing the edge of his robes, her touch light. Meanwhile, his hand rested on her thigh, his thumb brushing the fabric of her skirt.
"You know," she murmured, voice low, "we've earned this moment."
Her breath was warm against his skin, and Harry's pulse quickened.
"Yeah," he said, voice rough.
He turned, catching her lips in a slow kiss. It started gentle, lips moving together, but the heat built fast. Her hand slid up to his neck, fingers curling into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into her mouth. He deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against hers, tasting the faint sweetness of the butterbeer they'd shared earlier.
"I love you," Harry whispered against her lips, his hands tangling in her hair.
"I love you too," Daphne breathed, her own hands beginning to work at the fastenings of his tournament robes.
The fabric parted, and she pushed it off his shoulders, her palms gliding over his chest, warm through his shirt. Harry's hands found her waist, pulling her closer until she straddled his lap. The shift brought her flush against him, her skirt riding up, and he felt the heat of her thighs through his trousers.
"Merlin, you're beautiful," he said, his voice thick, his hands sliding under her blouse, fingers grazing the soft skin of her back. She arched into his touch, her head tipping back as his lips found her throat. He kissed along her pulse, slow and firm, feeling it race under his mouth. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in as she pressed herself closer.
"Harry," she whispered pleadingly. Her fingers worked at his shirt buttons, fumbling in her haste. He helped her out, tugging the shirt off and tossing it aside. Her hands roamed his bare chest, exploring the lines of muscle, and she he leaned in, her lips brushing his collarbone before dipping lower, kissing a path down his sternum. His breath hitched, hands tightening on her hips.
He tugged her blouse up, and she raised her arms to let him pull it off. The candlelight glowed on her skin, highlighting the curve of her shoulders and the dip of her collarbone.
His fingers traced the edge of her bra, teasing the lace before unhooking it with a flick. It fell away, and he cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. She gasped, her head falling forward, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders.
She undid his trousers, her eyes locked on his. The intensity in her gaze made his heart pound. He lifted his hips, letting her push the fabric down, and then her hand was on his manhood, stroking with a confidence that made him grit his teeth.
"Daph," he managed, his voice strained. She smiled wickedly, and leaned in to kiss him, her hand moving rhythmically in a way that had him groaning.
He needed to touch her, to feel her. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher until it bunched around her waist. His fingers brushed the edge of her knickers, and she shivered, pressing closer.
He slipped a hand beneath the fabric, finding her already wet, and she moaned softly against his lips. He moved slowly at first, exploring, teasing her in a way that made her breath catch and her hips rock against his hand.
"Harry," she said urgently. She tugged at his shoulders, pulling him down until they were both lying back on the sofa, her body stretched out beneath him. He kissed her deeply, one hand still between her thighs, the other braced beside her head. Her legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer, and he could feel her heat through the thin barrier of her knickers.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes dark with need.
She reached up to pull him into another kiss, her hands tugging at his hair. He slid her underwear down, tossing it aside, and positioned himself between her thighs. She arched up to meet him, and he entered her slowly, both of them gasping at the sensation.
They moved together, finding a rhythm that now felt natural and instinctive. Her hands gripped his back, nails leaving faint marks as she pulled him closer. He buried his face in her neck, kissing the sensitive spot below her ear, feeling her shudder beneath him. The world narrowed to the heat of her skin, the sound of her breaths, and the way her body moved with his.
She whispered his name, a soft chant that drove him wild. He thrust harder, deeper, and she met him with every movement, her hips rising to match his pace. The tension built, coiling tight, and he could feel her tightening around him, her breaths coming faster. He slid a hand between them, his fingers finding the spot that made her moan, and worked it in time with his thrusts.
Her release hit first, a quiet cry escaping her lips as her body tensed, then melted beneath him. The sight of her, the feel of her, pushed him over the edge. He followed, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he came, the pleasure washing over him in waves.
Afterward, they lay entwined on the soft cushions, their breathing slowly returning to normal as they basked in the afterglow of both their tournament success and their physical expression of love.
"Anything you would've done differently today?" Harry asked softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple.
"None whatsoever," Daphne replied, snuggling closer against his warmth.
XXXXX
Far from the celebrations at Hogwarts, a very different kind of meeting was taking place in a shadowy tavern in Knockturn Alley. The Three Broomsticks' disreputable cousin, the Coffin Club, catered to clientele who preferred anonymity and asked few questions about their patrons' business.
Antonius Rookwood sat in a corner booth, his dark robes blending seamlessly with the tavern's grim atmosphere. The former Unspeakable had lost none of his skill for gathering intelligence, despite his current fugitive status. His contacts throughout the magical underworld remained extensive and reliable.
The person he was waiting for arrived precisely on time—a thin, nervous-looking wizard who looked like someone permanently on edge given how his eyes darted around and his movements looked twitchy. Caractacus Burke of Borgin and Burke's had built a career on information brokerage and black market goods, making him exactly the sort of contact Rookwood needed.
"You're taking considerable risks meeting with me," Rookwood observed as Burke slid into the opposite seat.
"Your new employer pays well enough to justify considerable risks," Burke replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Besides, this particular information should be worth every galleon he's offering."
"Go on."
Burke glanced around nervously before leaning forward. "Halloween night at Hogwarts. Official story is that nothing significant happened, but my sources inside the castle tell a different tale entirely."
"What kind of tale?"
"Student altercation that got out of hand. Way out of hand. One of the participants ended up permanently dead, and it wasn't from a simple hexing gone wrong."
Rookwood's interest sharpened immediately. "Continue."
"Elstan Greyback. Nasty piece of work even by Knockturn Alley standards. Word is he tried to assault a female student, picked the wrong target, and ended up on the receiving end of some very nasty magic courtesy of her friends."
"Names?"
Burke's grin was unpleasant and knowing. "Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass. First years, both of them, but apparently far more capable than their age would suggest."
Rookwood sat back in his chair, processing this information carefully. The second name was inconsequential, but it was Potter's involvement that shocked him. He took a moment to compose himself, taking a long swig of his ale.
"Two first years killed Greyback?"
"Messily, according to my sources. Left enough of a mess that the school spent considerable effort covering it up and keeping the details quiet. Amelia Bones also took part covering it all up. Seems not all of her employees liked that."
Well, that spoke enough for who the source of information was. This wouldn't be the first time someone from the DMLE would leak information for some spare change.
"How reliable is this information?"
"Three separate sources, all independent, all consistent in their details." Burke's confidence was evident. "This isn't rumors or speculation. This is what actually happened."
Rookwood nodded slowly, already calculating how this intelligence would be received by his new employer. "Anything else?"
"The Potter boy and the Greengrass girl. They're not your typical first-year students. Advanced magical training, sophisticated spell work, combat capabilities that impressed even the DMLE investigators who looked into the Halloween incident."
"Investigators?"
"Unofficial inquiry. As I said, Bones herself was involved, along with several other senior aurors. They concluded the killing was justified self-defense, but they were apparently very impressed by the magical techniques involved."
Burke slid a sealed envelope across the table. "Full details are in there, including physical descriptions, known associates, daily routines, and security arrangements. Everything your employer requested."
Rookwood pocketed the envelope without opening it. "Payment will be transferred to your usual account within twenty-four hours."
"Pleasure doing business," Burke said, rising to leave. "Though I'd suggest your employer exercise considerable caution if he's planning any direct action against these particular students."
"Why?"
"Because if first-years with just two months of magical training can kill Elstan Greyback in self-defense, they're probably capable of much worse now and especially when they have time to prepare and plan."
Burke disappeared into the tavern's shadows, leaving Rookwood alone with his thoughts and the intelligence he'd been hired to gather. After finishing his drink, he too departed, already composing the message he would send to Fenrir Greyback.
The werewolf would finally have the names and faces of those responsible for his brother's death. He was truly not looking forward to what he'd do to this upstart pair of witch and wizard. But then, that was not his problem.
XXXXX
The weeks following the qualifying tournament passed with surprising normalcy at Hogwarts. Spring had arrived in earnest, transforming the grounds into a showcase of flowering trees and green lawns that provided welcome relief after the long Scottish winter.
Harry and Daphne maintained their intensive training schedule with Professor Moody, but they also found time to enjoy the improved weather and the satisfaction of their tournament success. Their friends seemed to take particular pleasure in their achievements, treating them as local celebrities whose success reflected well on the entire group.
"It's strange how different everything feels now," Hannah observed as they sat by the lake one warm afternoon in early May. "Like we're all part of something larger and more important than just school."
"Success has a way of changing perspectives," Susan agreed. "Not just for you two, but for everyone around you. We're friends with European Championship competitors now."
"We're still the same people we were before the qualifiers," Daphne protested mildly. "Nothing fundamental has changed about who we are or what we want."
"Maybe not," Tracey said from behind her Transfiguration textbook. "But your reputations have certainly expanded beyond Hogwarts. I've been hearing your names mentioned in conversations throughout the castle."
"What kinds of conversations?" Harry asked curiously.
"Speculation about your chances at the Championships. Discussion of your magical capabilities. Questions about your training methods and tactical approaches." Tracey turned a page casually. "The usual sorts of things people discuss when they encounter something unusual and impressive."
"Is that problematic?" Daphne inquired, noting something in Tracey's tone.
"Not necessarily," Tracey replied carefully. "But increased attention inevitably brings increased scrutiny. People become curious about details they might have ignored when you were less noteworthy… well, less than now."
The observation proved prophetic in ways none of them could have anticipated. Over the following days, several students made points of approaching Harry and Daphne with questions that seemed casual but probed into areas that raised subtle concerns.
"Random curiosity or something more systematic?" Harry wondered aloud after a particularly persistent third-year had questioned them extensively about their training schedules and weekend activities.
"Hard to tell," Daphne admitted. "Could be innocent interest from students impressed by our success. Could be something else entirely."
They brought their concerns to Moody during their next training session, describing the pattern of questions and inquiries they'd been receiving.
"Probably nothing to worry about immediately," Moody assessed after hearing their report. "But worth monitoring carefully. Increased visibility inevitably attracts attention from various quarters, not all of it benign."
"What would you recommend we do?" Daphne asked.
"Continue your normal routines, but vary them enough to avoid complete predictability. Be polite to curious students, but don't provide detailed information about your personal lives or activities." Moody's scarred face was thoughtful. "And trust your instincts if something feels wrong."
May melted into June as the school year drew toward its close. Final examinations approached with their usual combination of academic pressure and student anxiety, though Harry and Daphne found their magical studies significantly easier after months of advanced combat training.
"It's remarkable how much clearer everything becomes once you understand the underlying principles," Harry observed as they completed their Transfiguration practical examination. "McGonagall's expressions clearly said she's impressed with our progress."
"Combat magic requires understanding theory at a much deeper level than most school subjects," Daphne replied as they left the examination room. "You can't rely on memorized spell movements when you're adapting to rapidly changing tactical situations."
Their final examination results, when posted several days later, reflected their improved understanding and capabilities. Both had achieved marks that placed them at the top in their year across all subjects, with particularly outstanding scores in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Charms.
"Excellent work, both of you," Professor Flitwick squeaked as he encountered them reviewing the posted results. "Your magical development this year has been quite extraordinary, even by Ravenclaw standards."
"Thank you, Professor," Daphne replied. "Your instruction in advanced charm work has been invaluable."
"Indeed. Though I suspect much of your improvement stems from sources beyond normal classroom instruction," Flitwick observed with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. "Advanced practical application has a way of clarifying theoretical concepts."
The final week of term brought the usual mixture of nostalgia and excitement as students prepared to return home for the summer holidays. For Harry and Daphne, however, this summer would be different from any they'd previously experienced.
After all, they would spend the first three weeks of July with the Flamels in France, then return to London for final preparations before the European Championships.
"Sometimes, I still can't believe we're going to study with Nicolas Flamel himself," Daphne said as she folded her robes. "The greatest alchemist in history, and we're going to be his house guests."
"I can imagine," Harry replied with a laugh. "The chance to learn from someone with six centuries of magical experience isn't common."
Their final evening at Hogwarts was bittersweet, filled with promises to write regularly and excitement about their upcoming summer adventures. As they walked hand-in-hand around the lake one last time, Harry and Daphne reflected on everything that had changed since September.
"Remarkable year," Harry said softly, his arm around Daphne's shoulders as they watched the setting sun paint the water in shades of gold and crimson.
"The first of many remarkable years, I hope," Daphne replied, leaning into his warmth. "We've accomplished so much, but it feels like we're just getting started."
"European Championships, advanced magical study, whatever comes after that." Harry pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "As long as we face it together, I'm ready for anything."
"Together," Daphne agreed, tilting her face up to meet his lips in a gentle kiss. "Always together."
The next morning brought the usual chaos of students loading their belongings onto the Hogwarts Express, but also the excitement of summer plans and future adventures. As the scarlet locomotive pulled away from Hogsmeade Station, Harry and Daphne sat together in their compartment, watching the Scottish Highlands scroll past the windows.
"Ready for whatever comes next?" Harry asked, his fingers interlaced with hers.
"With you? Always."