Stalker

Harry drummed his fingers lightly against the worn surface of the Gryffindor table, the low hum of the Great Hall a comforting backdrop to the morning.

At his side, Fleur quietly sipped her pumpkin juice, while Neville and Hermione engaged in hushed conversation, leaning in towards one another with warmth evident in their eyes.

Ash lay coiled around Harry's neck, glancing around and making nearby students flinch.

As a faint clink of cutlery echoed from down the table, Harry caught Ash's mischievous voice hissing near his ear. "Do you think they serve mice for breakfast here?"

Harry couldn't stifle a small smile as he translated for the others, prompting a laugh from Neville and a long-suffering eye-roll from Hermione.

"Honestly," Hermione murmured, shaking her head in mild exasperation. "If anyone else heard you casually discussing rodents at breakfast…" She trailed off, a half-smile quirking at her lips. Neville chuckled, reaching over to gently squeeze her hand, as Fleur arched a graceful eyebrow.

"So, is Ash feeling particularly hungry today?" Fleur teased.

She leaned forward, gaze flitting between Harry and the snake. "Perhaps we should take him to the duelling competition so he can test his strike on unsuspecting students?"

"Better not," Harry said, holding back a grin.

Ash's prideful hiss filled Harry's ear, forcing him to stifle another laugh. "He says he'd be happy to defend my honour… and his own," Harry translated, noting Hermione's wry shake of the head.

Before long, talk of the competition reached a crescendo around them.

The Great Hall gradually emptied as witches and wizards, all brimming with anticipation, made their way to the arena.

Harry finished off his toast, wiped a few stray crumbs from his robes, and rose with the others.

"Shall we?" Neville asked, offering Hermione his arm. She linked hers through it, looking bright-eyed and eager for the day's events.

Fleur tilted her head, her silvery hair catching the morning light. "Are you coming, Harry?"

"In a moment," he replied. He lightly tapped Ash's scaled coils. "I want to take Ash to the Chamber first. I doubt the professors would be pleased with a duelling snake."

Hermione and Neville nodded, barely holding their laughs in, and Fleur gave Harry a bright smile.

"Just don't be late," she said and stopped, smirking mischievously as she added. "Otherwise, you may lose your chance to compete and people might think that you got cold feet."

Harry simply raised his eyebrows challengingly as Fleur and the other two joined the flow of students heading out.

Lingering only long enough to watch them disappear in the jostling crowd, Harry set off at a leisurely pace towards the second-floor girls' lavatory.

Normally, he would have just flashed there, but something in him longed for a quiet walk.

The corridors seemed to stretch out before him, and each step felt easy and almost calming.

Halfway down a wide corridor, Harry felt a subtle tingle in his awareness.

His magical senses tingled as something entered his zone—the minimum range where he allowed his senses to extend.

Instinctively, he slowed his pace.

Someone was following him, their magical signature faint yet unmistakable.

'I know this person.'

A flicker of tension tightened in his chest, though curiosity soon overshadowed it. Fumbling briefly in the depths of his enchanted pouch, he withdrew the Invisibility Cloak, its silvery folds shimmering under the torchlight.

Moving with quiet efficiency, Harry slipped the Cloak over himself and his snake familiar.

"What isss happening?" Ash asked with a low hiss.

"We're expecting trouble," Harry whispered back, his voice barely audible even to himself.

He could sense the magical presence drawing closer, though its identity remained frustratingly unclear.

Keeping perfectly still, he pressed himself against the cool stone wall, grateful for the Cloak's additional auditory concealment.

Beneath the hidden folds, Harry held his breath, waiting.

Footsteps, measured and cautious, echoed off the stone floor.

Slowly, a figure came into view.

Τall, robed in black, with greasy hair pulled taut around sharp features.

Severus Snape.

Harry felt a pang of surprise, layered with the memory of cold sneers and snide remarks from Potions lessons.

After his ritual transformations and changed timetable, he hadn't attended any of Snape's classes, and he didn't immediately recognise the man's magical signature.

'Snape always struck me as the skulking sort, but this is just odd,' Harry thought, watching the professor's dark robes billow around the corner.

And yet, here he was, seemingly determined to track Harry's movements.

Ash's hushed hiss rose again. "I'll strangle him. Let's give him a taste of his own medicine."

"Don't move Ash," Harry murmured, stifling a wry smile.

They let Snape stride past them unimpeded, footsteps receding into the distance until silence reclaimed the corridor.

Once sure the man had gone, Harry emerged from beneath the Cloak, smoothing its soft fabric before placing it back into his pouch. "Well, that's interesting," he said quietly.

Ash's tongue flickered against Harry's neck. "Ah, master… You humans are too kind."

Harry shook his head slightly.

The thought of Snape following him stirred uneasy questions, some even pertaining to Dumbledore, but Harry tamped them down—there would be time to confront whatever had just happened later.

Turning on his heel, Harry slipped into a small, dusty classroom nearby.

The desks within were lined in neat rows, chairs stacked at the back.

Stepping into an open space at the front, he felt the familiar crackle of phoenix fire flow through his veins, and in the blink of an eye, the room dissolved around him in a burst of brilliance.

Cool, damp air greeted him.

The Chamber's ancient stones glistened beneath the faint luminescence of the artificial light coming from somewhere above.

Harry gently lifted Ash from his shoulders, placing the snake on the floor.

"Behave yourself," Harry said softly, ruffling the top of Ash's head with an affectionate hand.

Ash gave a languid swish of the tail in return, "It all depends on the chicken."

Harry couldn't help but shake his head exasperatedly.

With one final glance to make sure all was well, Harry summoned the phoenix fire once more.

He expected to materialise in the midst of a bustling crowd, but, when he stepped into the massive arena, he found it surprisingly empty.

The massive stands and bright banners, each representing a school, loomed around him

'Huh. No one's here yet,' Harry thought with a frown, scanning the empty arena.

He cast a tempus—still twenty minutes before the competition was set to begin.

With a small shrug, he paced towards the closest duelling circle, letting his mind wander back to Snape's peculiar behaviour earlier.

'I wonder if Dumbledore put him up for it,' he thought dryly, picturing the man's scowl as he realised that he lost track of Harry.

Time slipped by in gentle increments until, at last, the distant clatter of footfalls broke the silence.

A few older students appeared at the main gates, pausing when they spotted Harry.

They offered befuddled greetings, which he returned with an easy nod, then slowly dispersed to claim seats in the stands.

Soon, clusters of students arrived in animated groups, laughter and hushed excitement bouncing across the arena as they took their places.

Professors made their entrance next.

Flitwick walked along the field's edge, casting the occasional wand movement to adjust wards or check the boundary lines.

Makarov's stern countenance loomed behind him, while Faure glided across the pitch.

Harry found himself drifting to the side, stepping behind a tall, conjured bracket board that someone had set up against the stands.

He took a moment to study the swirling text that organised the names of participants into neat columns and lines.

He spotted his own neatly etched near the top—H. Potter (Hogwarts)—paired with the name of an unfamiliar opponent from Beauxbatons.

Harry focused on his senses, trying to find Fleur's magical signature in the growing crowd.

Her presence felt like a warm glow amidst the jumble of magical signatures, distinct and familiar.

Just as he turned to her location, a voice called out.

"Harry! Over here!"

Harry caught sight of Neville and Hermione waving him over. Fleur stood just behind them, her hair glinting in the sunlight.

"You're early!" Neville observed with a grin, looking Harry up and down. "Didn't expect to find you in the arena all by yourself."

Harry shrugged, attempting a nonchalant expression. "Yup." He paused, locking eyes with them.

"I noticed that Snape was following me and I flashed into the chamber," he remarked.

Hermione and Neville exchanged worried glances at this revelation. "That's rather concerning," Hermione whispered, her brow furrowing.

"Indeed," Fleur agreed, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

"Don't worry too much about it, I'm sure it's nothing," Harry said dismissively and looked at his oldest friend. "How are your preparations coming up?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly. "I've been practising all week. Nonverbal casting still trips me up sometimes, but I'm determined to manage at least a couple spells that way."

Neville's grin broadened as he fiddled with his wand. "We'll see how it goes. If I lose quickly, I will probably still learn something from it."

Fleur rested a hand on Harry's arm, her gaze skimming across the stands. "Did you check the brackets?"

He nodded, remembering the unfamiliar name beside his own. "I'm up against someone called Renée Rousseau."

Fleur's eyes lit with recognition. "Oh—Renée's talented, rather swift with Charms. She's also quite tall, so watch out for wide spells that catch you unawares." There was a hint of pride in her voice. "Still, you'll be fine, I'm sure."

"Attention, students!" Professor Flitwick's amplified voice rang out across the stands, drawing all eyes to the centre. "If you're competing, please gather near the bracket board for an explanation of the competition's rounds!"

Neville gave Hermione a quick, encouraging squeeze. "Ready?"

She took a long breath, shoulders stiffening with anticipation. "Yes. Let's do this."

As the four of them moved towards the bracket board, the rest of the arena seemed to rally behind them.

Durmstrang students huddled around Makarov, casting glances at their rivals; Beauxbatons students formed tidy groups around Faure, muttering in rapid French; and a small flock of Hogwarts participants waited, eyes shining with excitement.

Once everyone formed a loose semicircle, Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. "Your brackets are posted here. The rounds will be single-elimination, a single duel determining who moves on," the diminutive professor explained, his tone growing more serious.

"Remember, this is a friendly competition—no dangerously offensive spells, and no seriously harming your opponent!"

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Chapter 89: Neville Longbottom

Chapter 90: Two Malfoys in one day—definitely more than enough

...

Chapter 97: Friends