The remaining summer days passed quietly for Harry. He spent time reconnecting with his friends, all the while careful not to disclose the true reason behind his trip abroad. Rather than discuss his two-month quest for an ancient artifact, he referred to it merely as a trip. Even if Neville or Hermione had their suspicions, they chose to remain silent. Harry also completed his shopping for the upcoming school year, notably searching for dress robes—likely a requirement due to the Triwizard Tournament. Finding something that resembled robes more than a dress proved to be quite a challenge.
~/ *** \~
On the morning of September first, Harry awoke early, as was his habit. After enjoying breakfast, he took his time to double-check his trunk, ensuring he had everything necessary for the new school year packed away before apparating to Platform 9¾. Arriving well before the throngs of Hogwarts students, he secured a spacious compartment for himself and his friends near the center of the train. With his belongings neatly placed on the luggage rack, he settled down with a magazine detailing the latest advancements in Muggle medicine, which he had picked up a few days earlier.
About fifteen minutes before the train's departure, Hermione joined him. Almost immediately, she inquired about his eye. Although Harry had already explained in his letters why he no longer wore an eye patch, she was clearly still curious. Once she was satisfied with his answer, Hermione shared stories from the last days of her holiday, expressing her hopes for what they might learn this year and speculating on the real reason for the dress robes. While Harry had his own theories about the tournament, he kept them to himself and instead concocted some rather far-fetched possibilities.
Their discussion about the potential of Hogwarts serving as a venue for a major political event—technically plausible—was interrupted when Neville finally joined them, contributing his own imaginative theories. Harry couldn't help but think that Neville, too, was likely concealing knowledge of the Triwizard Tournament taking place that year.
Eventually, their conversation shifted to less thrilling topics, such as who might be their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and which spells and potions they would be studying. At this point, Harry excused himself, feeling the urge to visit his Slytherin friends. It didn't take long for him to locate them; the four girls had settled into a compartment just a car down the train. With a polite knock, he entered.
"Good day, ladies," he greeted them.
"Harry!" Astoria exclaimed, nearly leaping from her seat with excitement at seeing her 'hero.' The other girls—Draconica, Daphne, and Tracey—were more restrained but still warmly welcomed him. Draconica shot a disapproving glare at her younger sister, reminding her to behave according to their family's standards.
"Harry, your eye! Did you get it back? Did they fix your sight?" Tracey asked as Astoria settled down. Harry sighed internally; he anticipated this question would arise many more times in the coming days, and he was already feeling a slight irritation building.
"It's an artificial eye I received while I was abroad," he explained, gently tapping the area below his new basilisk eye, now revealed since he no longer needed the eye patch. "As for my sight, no, it's still the same. I just wear contact lenses instead of glasses now." The girls nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer.
"Well, it looks fantastic on you, Harry," Astoria remarked, with the others agreeing that he certainly looked better without glasses.
Once that topic was closed, the Slytherin girls resumed their previous discussion about potential candidates for their new DADA professor, the prospects of how effective the new teacher would be, and why they were required to wear dress robes this year.
Time flew as they chatted, so much so that when a witch with a cart full of magical sweets knocked on the compartment door, Harry realized it might be wise to return to his Gryffindor friends. Yet before he left, he had one last thing he wanted to address.
"Draconica, could we speak in private for a moment?" For a fleeting second, Harry worried she might decline, but she nodded, signaling to her friends that she would be fine.
"Lead the way," the Malfoy heiress responded, taking his offered hand. However, she let it go once she stood, which left Harry slightly disappointed. They found an empty compartment, and after closing the door, Harry cast a strong locking charm and several privacy spells. Just as he finished, he felt himself guided to one of the benches. Draconica took her place beside him, their bodies brushing closely. "I missed you," she whispered, leaning into him. "What did you want to talk about?" Her demeanor shifted to one of seriousness.
"Well, I know we're still nearly two months away from that day…" Harry began, watching as the blonde witch leaned back a little, her curiosity piqued. "But I wanted to ask if you'll be all right. If it's something you desire, I can place a bid for your hand."
Draconica was silent for several seconds, clearly taken aback. When she finally regained her composure, she replied, "Thank you, Harry. It means a lot to me, but… I don't believe my father would wait more than a couple of years for my current contract to be fulfilled and my marriage to be formalized." She sighed softly. "And are you sure he'd even consider your bid? The Potters aren't exactly from a family he would agree to marry me into."
"You never know," Harry said enigmatically, pondering whether it was time to reveal his new status as the Lord of Slytherin to anyone outside his immediate circle. Draconica nodded, leaning in for a light kiss, closer to his lips this time, while softly placing her hand on his chest.
"I truly missed you this summer, Harry," she whispered in his ear. "You were so far away, even unreachable through owls… Don't you think you owe me something for that?" Harry met her gaze, silently inquiring about her intentions. Draconica made her desires clear as her free hand began to lift her skirt, ready to remove the clothing that stood in the way.
~/ *** \~
As the Sorting Ceremony unfolded, Harry paid little attention, as no one of particular interest was being sorted. He did, however, notice that the Sorting Hat had managed to weave some hints about the Triwizard Tournament into its song. Only those already aware of the event would be able to discern its meanings.
Another observation that piqued Harry's curiosity was the absence of their new DADA professor at the staff table, although a chair remained vacant, suggesting he would arrive later on. The number of first-year students also stood out; Harry corrected himself—the count was typical, it was just his year that was notably smaller due to the war with Voldemort.
Throughout the Sorting and the subsequent feast, nothing particularly significant occurred. After the meal, the headmaster rose from his imposing chair to deliver his customary welcome speech. He reminded the students of the list of banned items available in Filch's office, underscored that the Forbidden Forest was strictly off-limits, and reiterated that only students in their third year or above were permitted to visit Hogsmeade.
"And now, I would like you all to welcome back Ms. Ginerva Weasley!" Dumbledore announced, gesturing towards the Gryffindor table. Harry hadn't even noticed Ginny until now. She looked fragile, small, and pale, and was sitting quietly near the end of the table. Clearly, while her physical wounds had healed, the psychological scars from her possession ran deep. "Due to medical reasons, she will be retaking her first year, but may advance if she shows readiness." Mild applause erupted, primarily from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, but it seemed Ginny was oblivious to it.
Just as Dumbledore was about to continue his announcements, the Great Hall doors swung open, revealing a man clad in a black traveler's cloak, leaning heavily on a long staff. Those who recognized the retired Auror Captain Alastor Moody quietly informed those who didn't as he made his way to the professors' table, his wooden leg clattering against the stone floor.
"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Dumbledore said. "Professor Moody." The table responded with polite applause, but the severely scarred man paid little attention to the lukewarm welcome, immediately focusing on his meal. Observant students noted he was drinking from his hip flask, despite a golden goblet sitting in front of him. The headmaster paused, allowing the room to settle, before announcing, "Unfortunately, it is my sad duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year." Discontent rippled through the tables, protests erupting from students.
Clearing his throat, Dumbledore attempted to regain control. "As I was saying, this is due to an event starting in October, which will occupy much of the teachers' time and energy—but I assure you, it will be an experience you will all enjoy immensely. I'm pleased to announce that this year, Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament!"
"What?!" a chorus of incredulous voices perked up from those aware of the tournament's revival. "You're joking!" murmurs filled the hall as Dumbledore began what appeared to be an incongruous joke. However, he didn't get far before Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, reminding him of the information regarding the tournament.
"Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament…" Dumbledore continued, giving a brief, over ten-minute explanation of the tournament's history. He warned that only those over seventeen would be allowed to compete, stirring vocal discontent among the students, which Dumbledore ignored. As he concluded, he urged everyone to return to their common rooms for a night's rest.
Just as Harry prepared to rise and follow his housemates to the Gryffindor tower, he noticed a note resting on his plate. He hadn't seen when or how it had arrived. Picking up the parchment, he read the short message from Professor McGonagall, requesting a private word with him before curfew. Unfortunately, the note did not clarify the subject of their discussion. After informing Hermione and Neville of his whereabouts, Harry made his way to the Transfiguration professor's office.
"Good evening, Professor," Harry greeted as she appeared a few minutes later. Acknowledging that her responsibilities as deputy headmistress often consumed her time, he wasn't bothered by the wait. "May I ask what you wanted to discuss?"
"Of course, Mr. Potter," she replied, permitting him to enter her office. Once settled, she continued, "Everyone was under the impression you lost your right eye more than a year ago in the Chamber of Secrets. Did you receive an artificial one?"
Harry nodded. His head of house was perceptively aware, and he appreciated not having to field annoyance at explaining further.
"Yes, I received it while abroad this summer. It was quite expensive, and while it doesn't possess any 'cool' abilities like Professor Moody's, it resembles a real eye quite closely." Professor McGonagall accepted his explanation with a nod.
"Very well…" she paused. "Unfortunately, your artificial eye means that according to Hogwarts Quidditch rules, you will no longer be able to play on the team." Harry accepted this outcome with a nod.
"To be honest, I was planning to leave the team anyway," he admitted. Sensing a question forming in her mind, he continued, "Professor, I trust you remember that I'm also a lord of a noble house." She nodded. "Although I have excellent assistance, I cannot depend entirely on them forever. Eventually, I must manage my estate and the Wizengamot independently, so I plan to dedicate significant time to studying politics and economics. With all that and my regular schoolwork, I don't think I can continue playing Quidditch."
Professor McGonagall nodded, recognizing the gravity of his decision, despite her disappointment.
"Very well, Mr. Potter. If you have nothing else, you may go," she said, as curfew was approaching, and she didn't want any of her students to come into trouble.
"Actually…" Harry interjected. "Since we've broached the topic of Quidditch… I know there won't be a cup this year, but I am confident there will be one next year. Oliver Wood graduated this past spring, and the team will need a new captain. I understand the most senior players are typically chosen, but I request you consider Katie Bell for the position instead."
"May I ask why?" Professor McGonagall asked.
"Well, aside from me, everyone else will be graduating next year. Ms. Bell will be a year behind them. Do you honestly believe it would be beneficial for the team to experience three captains in as many years?" He posed the question, prompting the head of Gryffindor house to contemplate the implications.
"I see." She nodded, recognizing his reasoning. "You certainly make a valid point, Mr. Potter, and I will consider your suggestion."
"On that note, we'll likely want to reserve the pitch to hold trials for the keeper position, seeker, and possibly even the chasers and beaters to integrate new players into the team," Harry added.
"Although the staff will be preoccupied with ensuring the tournament runs smoothly, I see no reason to deny you pitch access until the spring, as it won't be in use for the tournament. I agree that giving new players an extended period to prepare is a wise idea." Harry mentally noted the pitch would be prioritized for the tournament. He nodded appreciatively.
"Great! I'll coordinate with the rest of the team, and we'll update you with our decisions." The deputy headmistress nodded in understanding, and Harry took a moment before continuing.
"Goodnight, Professor," he said.
"Goodnight, Mr. Potter," McGonagall replied, turning back to her pile of documents. Quietly, Harry exited her office and glanced at his watch. He had nearly ten minutes before curfew. Feeling fatigued from the day's events, he decided to head back to the Gryffindor common room and forgo his discussions with teammates until morning.