Chapter 215
"He cooperated with the Ministry of Magic," Sirius Black said coldly. "Claimed he'd repented. Then he named names—sent plenty of others to Azkaban in his place. He's quite 'popular' there, from what I hear."
There was a trace of undisguised disgust in his voice.
"As far as I know, after getting out, he even taught Dark Arts openly at his school. So you'd better be careful of Durmstrang's champion as well."
He paused, then added with emphasis,
"If he's still loyal to his master… then Harry, you're in danger too."
Harry felt as if something heavy had sunk into his chest.
It was already difficult enough to face a ferocious fire dragon—now he might also have to guard against hidden schemes?
"Oh—don't overthink it," Sirius said quickly, noticing Harry's expression. He placed a hand on his shoulder. "Albus Dumbledore won't tolerate anything like that. And Alastor Moody is watching him closely."
At the mention of Moody, Harry stiffened slightly.
Then, suddenly, he asked, "Did Professor Moody know my parents?"
Sirius looked surprised.
"Why ask that now?" He frowned, thinking. "I'm not entirely sure… but most likely, yes."
He nodded to himself as he continued.
"We all worked under Dumbledore back then—fighting Lord Voldemort. James, Lily, Moody—we were all part of the same group."
He sounded more certain the more he spoke.
"We didn't operate alone. Otherwise, there'd be no point in forming the Order."
At the mention of Voldemort's name, Ron visibly shuddered.
"I was part of it too," Sirius added. "Though I spent most of my time out gathering information. Being an Animagus helps—no one pays attention to a stray black dog."
Harry nodded slowly.
His doubts faded.
If Moody had truly wanted to harm him, why would he go out of his way to help—why hint at the first task?
There was only one conclusion.
Moody genuinely wanted to help him.
---
That day, classes passed in a blur.
It was Tuesday, November 24th, 1994—the day of the first task of the Triwizard Tournament.
Even normally captivating lessons failed to hold anyone's attention.
Minerva McGonagall's precise Transfiguration,
Filius Flitwick's elegant spellwork—
even the droning lectures of a certain ghost professor—
none of it mattered.
The morning seemed to end in the blink of an eye.
"Come with me, Draco."
After lunch in the Great Hall, Severus Snape approached Malfoy's table, robes billowing, expression unreadable.
"Understood, Professor Snape," Draco Malfoy replied, standing.
"The task is starting, isn't it?" Pansy whispered.
"Yes, Miss Parkinson," Snape said coolly. "And I suggest you remain with your house and watch quietly—rather than interfere with the performance of the champions."
His tone carried unmistakable mockery.
"Don't worry," Malfoy said, giving Pansy a reassuring look.
Something in his confidence—perhaps what he had told her earlier—steadied her.
"Good luck," she said softly.
Then, lowering her head slightly, she added in a shy voice,
"If you come back safely… I'll give you a reward…"
Her foot traced small circles against the floor, betraying her nervousness.
"In that case," Malfoy said lightly, "I might have to consider how to fail gracefully."
Pansy froze. Her brows shot up.
Seeing her about to flare up, Malfoy smiled and added,
"I'm joking. If we don't leave now, I might actually fail—from being late. I'll be expecting that reward."
Without a trace of tension, he turned and followed Snape out.
---
Outside, the cold wind cut through the afternoon air, tugging at Snape's black robes.
Malfoy wore a dark navy jacket suited for movement—clean, composed, almost casual. Without the wand in his hand, he hardly looked like a wizard about to face a dragon.
"Severus, we must hurry."
An elderly but firm voice called from behind.
Professor McGonagall approached with Harry at her side.
The moment Snape saw Harry, his face twisted with undisguised disdain. His thin lips pressed tighter in the cold.
"Stay calm," McGonagall told Harry, gripping his shoulder as they walked. Her voice trembled slightly despite her composure. "We have wizards stationed nearby. If anything goes wrong, they'll intervene. Just do your best—no one will think less of you. Are you all right?"
"Yes," Harry replied, though his voice sounded distant.
They circled the edge of the Forbidden Forest and approached the enclosure where the dragons were kept.
A large tent had been erected to conceal them.
"You'll go inside with the other champions," McGonagall said, her voice tight. "Wait for your turn. Mr. Bagman is there—he'll explain everything. Good luck, Potter."
"Thank you," Harry said faintly.
"And you as well, Mr. Malfoy," she added.
"Thank you, Professor," Malfoy replied with a small nod.
"It would be more practical to worry about Potter," Snape said coldly.
His dark eyes held undisguised malice.
Harry could almost feel it—
as though Snape would not mind in the slightest if he were torn apart by claws… or reduced to ashes by dragonfire.