The days leading up to the Third Task slipped through Aurelian's fingers at breakneck speed. Between meticulously distilling the Polyjuice Potion, finalizing the permits to patent the Arcane Patterns, and making final revisions to the map of the maze, time seemed to evaporate. He barely noticed when the calendar marked the day of the tournament final.
The morning of the trial dawned with a leaden sky, charged with static electricity that foreshadowed the coming storm, both literally and metaphorically speaking.
Aurelian, accompanied by Hestia and Flora, climbed the stairs quickly to the Astronomy Tower. The cold morning air hit their faces as they reached the top. The night before, Aurelian had approached Viktor Krum in the library and, with the excuse of discussing some suggestions for the Noxum, had asked him to meet there first thing in the morning.
As they crossed the threshold, they saw that Viktor was already waiting for them. The Bulgarian, dressed in his usual warm clothes perfect for the cold, stepped away from the railing when he saw them arrive. His brow was furrowed, but his posture was relaxed.
Viktor approached Aurelian and, with the respect he had for his Slytherin friend, held out his hand.
"Gaunt," Krum greeted him with his strong accent, taking Aurelian's hand. "You asked me to come early. What exactly did you want to discuss?"
Aurelian did not let go of his hand. In fact, he tightened his grip firmly, preventing the seeker from pulling away. He looked him straight in the eye with an impassive expression.
"I offer you my sincerest apologies, Viktor," Aurelian said quietly and calmly.
Krum blinked, his brow furrowing even further in pure confusion.
"Apologies? For wha...?"
"Desmaius!"
A stream of red light whizzed over Aurelian's shoulder and struck the Bulgarian squarely in the chest. Krum's eyes rolled back instantly and his heavy body slumped backward. Aurelian let go just in time to let him fall onto the cold stone tiles with a thud.
Behind Aurelian, Hestia lowered her wand with a satisfied smile.
Flora stepped forward, wrinkling her nose in obvious disgust. She hated physical contact with anyone other than her sister or Aurelian, and touching a sweaty Quidditch player was not on her list of favorite activities. With her index finger and thumb, as if holding a dead insect, Flora plucked a couple of dark, coarse hairs from Viktor's head.
Quickly, she dropped them into the metal jar that Aurelian was already holding in his other hand. The Multijuice Potion, which until then had looked like thick mud, bubbled furiously and turned a dark maroon color, almost like dried blood.
"Yuck," Flora muttered, wiping her fingers on her skirt before handing the stopper to Aurelian.
Aurelian shook the jar and smiled at them both.
"Thanks, girls. As always, impeccable work."
Hestia and Flora didn't smile back. They approached him and hugged him tightly, burying their faces in his chest for a few brief seconds.
"Be very careful in there," Hestia whispered.
"We'll make sure Krum sleeps peacefully until this is all over," added Flora, reluctantly pulling away.
Aurelian nodded and watched as Hestia and Flora pointed their wands at the unconscious Durmstrang champion, murmured the Mobilicorpus spell, and lifted him into the air. With one last look full of affection and concern for Aurelian, the girls went downstairs, carrying Viktor floating toward one of the rooms near the abandoned areas of the dungeons that they had specially prepared for this.
Once alone, Aurelian uncapped the bottle, looked at the bubbling liquid, and sighed.
"You owe me big time, Dad," he murmured.
He raised the bottle to his lips and drank the contents in one gulp. The taste was indescribably disgusting, like wet earth mixed with stale cabbage. Aurelian coughed, feeling his insides twist and burn as if he had swallowed hot coals.
He doubled over as the transformation began. He felt his bones widen and grow heavier, his pale skin become rougher and sallow, and his straight black hair shorten and thicken. His nose curved sharply and his shoulders hunched slightly.
When the pain subsided, Aurelian straightened up. He looked at his hands, now larger and calloused. He cleared his throat, noticing how his vocal cords had changed. The potion had worked perfectly.
With a gentle movement, he removed his Slytherin robe and put on the blood-red Durmstrang Institute tournament uniform he had brought in a magically expanded bag.
Once dressed as Viktor Krum, he began his descent to the Entrance Hall. He adopted the Bulgarian's characteristic posture: shoulders slightly hunched, heavy gait, and a permanently furrowed brow.
When he reached the hall, the place was bustling with students and Ministry officials preparing for the evening, moving back and forth nonstop. Among the crowd, Igor Karkaroff spotted him almost immediately.
The Durmstrang headmaster approached, rubbing his hands together, looking anxious.
"Viktor, my boy!" Karkaroff greeted him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "How are you feeling about tonight's match? Ready to crush that badger and that Potter boy?"
Aurelian, knowing that his Bulgarian accent might not be perfect if he spoke too much, simply nodded slowly, maintaining a hard, serious expression without uttering a single word.
Karkaroff raised an eyebrow, letting go of his "champion's" shoulder.
"Why so quiet, Viktor? Is something wrong?"
Aurelian simply shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of utter indifference and looked toward the doors of the Great Hall, as if bored with the conversation.
Karkaroff watched him for another second before letting out a raspy laugh, downplaying the matter.
"Ah, I see. It's the focus. The champion's concentration before battle. Very good, very good. Keep a cool head. See you on the field at dusk."
Karkaroff walked away to talk to Mr. Crouch. Aurelian watched him leave with a frown, but in his mind, he let out a sigh of relief.
"Everything is going well," Aurelian thought with satisfaction. "The maze awaits me."
Twilight fell over the grounds of Hogwarts, enveloping the castle in deep, long shadows as mist began to creep from the lake toward the historic Quidditch field. Where golden hoops once stood, now rose a wall of dark, twisted hedges over six meters high.
Aurelian, trapped in Viktor Krum's large, heavy body, waited near the entrance. Igor Karkaroff stood beside him, holding his shoulder with a firm, nervous grip, murmuring tactical advice in Bulgarian that Aurelian could barely understand.
A few feet away, the rest of the competitors gathered with their respective companions. Fleur Delacour looked pale but determined, receiving a few last words of encouragement from Madame Olympe Maxime.
On the other hand, the tension was evident among the British. Cedric Diggory was accompanied by his father, Amos Diggory. And Harry Potter, who looked like a bundle of nerves about to explode, had Sirius Black by his side.
"It's your night, my boy!" exclaimed Amos Diggory too loudly, puffing out his chest with pride. "The one and only true champion of Hogwarts! Show them all what a real Diggory is made of! That maze is nothing for you, my son!"
Cedric, his ears completely red with embarrassment, tried to silence his father with discreet gestures.
"Dad, please, that's enough," Cedric whispered, glancing sideways at the other champions. "Everyone here is very good, there's no need to..."
Harry, seeing the misery of the usually perfect Cedric, couldn't help but let out a mocking laugh. Sirius Black, always ready to fan the flames and support his godson, joined in immediately.
"Calm down, Amos," Sirius said with a sarcastic smile. "Don't burst with excitement before the boy even sets foot on the field. Let them save some energy for when they have to run away from the Snitches."
Amos turned, red with anger, ready to start a verbal fight with the ex-convict, but before he could utter a single insult, a loud, magically amplified voice cut through the air.
"Champions! Come closer, please!" called Albus Dumbledore from the stadium entrance.
The small group put their disputes behind them and moved forward. As they crossed the arches into the stadium, a wave of sound hit them with the force of a hurricane. The school band's music blared at full volume, mixed with the cheers, applause, and chants of hundreds of students and spectators filling the torch-lit stands.
Aurelian, walking with Krum's characteristic stride, scanned the main grandstand with his attentive gaze.
There, in the seats of honor, he quickly identified Cornelius Fudge. The British Minister of Magic wore his usual lime green bowler hat and smiled nervously, waving to the crowd. Next to him was Monsieur Delacour, who looked ahead with an expression of utter boredom, making a monumental and rather obvious effort to completely ignore Fudge's attempts at conversation.
Dumbledore raised his hands and the stadium gradually fell into expectant silence.
"Tonight," Dumbledore began, his deep voice echoing in every corner, "the fantastic Triwizard Tournament comes to an end. In the center of this maze lies the Cup. The first to touch it will be the winner. But listen to me carefully, champions... be very careful in there. In the maze, you will encounter not only physical obstacles and creatures, but also the echoes of your own fears. Keep your minds clear, and you will overcome them. Good luck to you all!"
The crowd burst into renewed applause as Bartemius Crouch Sr. stepped forward, a scroll in his hand.
"The order of entry has been determined as follows," Crouch announced in his usual bureaucratic tone, which was barely audible above the noise. "The first to enter the maze will be Mr. Cedric Diggory. Followed by Mr. Viktor Krum. Then, Miss Fleur Delacour. And finally, Mr. Harry Potter."
Hearing Ludo Bagman's starting whistle, Cedric Diggory took a deep breath. He gave a final nod to his father and Cho Chang, who was watching him from the front row of the stands, and trotted into the dark opening in the hedges. Within seconds, the shadows swallowed him up.
Aurelian flexed his thick fingers around Carpe's wand and Viktor's own Dragon Heartstring, hidden inside the sleeve of his red robe. The clock ticked away the penalty minutes.
Bagman blew his whistle again.
It was his turn.
Aurelian broke away from an anxious Karkaroff and walked toward the entrance to the maze. His steps were slow; he felt no need to run. As soon as the mist of the maze enveloped him and the tall walls of leaves closed behind him, blocking out the sound of the crowd, the mask of boredom disappeared from the face he had borrowed.
A cold, ruthless smile spread across his lips.
The day had come, and he would make sure everything went perfectly.
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