The next day another Daily Prophet edition featured Hogwarts:
WEASLEY WROUGHT: HERO'S FRIEND TURNS ASSAILANT IN MIDDAY MELTDOWN
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
In an incident that has left the entire Hogwarts student body aghast, Ronald Bilius Weasley, long celebrated as Harry Potter's loyal companion, descended into unbridled aggression last Tuesday at lunchtime. The scene saw Mr. Weasley level wild accusations at Hufflepuff's Susan Bones, culminating in a drawn wand and threats so brazen that bystanders froze in terror.
"He loomed over her, red-faced and yelling," one third-year Ravenclaw witness confided. "Then he raised his wand as if he planned to curse her on the spot."
FROM FRIEND TO FOE
Weasley's sudden outburst comes amid swirling rumors about his famed bravery. Yet onlookers say this was no moment of battlefield valor—it was a desperate spectacle. Miss Bones, who calmly defended her own honor, refused to raise her wand in reply, standing firm while the Gryffindor's wrath escalated beyond reason.
ENTER LUCAS FOSTER
Into this chaos strode Lucas Foster—the controversial fifth champion—who intervened with icy composure. According to witnesses, Foster's arrival defused the crisis in seconds, his calm command compelling Mr. Weasley to lower his wand and retreat.
"He simply stood between them and told Ron to apologize," a startled Slytherin fourth-year reported. "You could hear a pin drop."
FOSTER'S FLAWLESS FINISH
While some may recall Foster's own checkered past—including an infamous Ministry break-in—few dispute that his intervention prevented a far greater calamity. And yet, one cannot help but question the characters of these two Hogwart's students: a boy once branded a dark prodigy, most likely exaggerated, or a red-faced Gryffindor whose fury erupts at the slightest provocation?
"Lucas Foster may be the unlikely hero here," commented a retired Auror. "And judging by recent events, perhaps Potter should reconsider which people he considers friends."
----
The sky above the Black Lake was steel grey, heavy with the promise of more snow. Wind rolled in bitter gusts across the water. Hundreds of students lined the wooden scaffold floating on the water, bundled in cloaks and scarves, their excited chatter forming white clouds in the air. Flags fluttered in the breeze.
The platform was slick with frost, the judges seated behind a long table enchanted to ward off the cold. Bagman's voice boomed, narrating with far more energy than the grey sky deserved. The champions stood at the edge of the water, waiting.
Lucas stood slightly apart from the others.
And Harry was staring at him.
Lucas didn't have to look to know. The emotion burning a hole through the air was unmistakable.
But he looked anyway. Just once.
It got stronger.
Hatred.
Not the raw, clumsy fury he normally got. Not confusion or wounded pride. No. This was cold now. Forged and tempered. As if it had been honed in silence. Lucas didn't even need Legilimency to feel it. But with it, he tasted the emotion like blood in your mouth.
Harry had broken free of the mind magic. Snape's doing.
Lucas saw the sharpness in his thoughts. Better now. Far from perfect, but no longer the open wound it had once been. And beneath it, a white-hot core of revulsion.
The moment in the Great Hall had reached him, then. He'd heard what Lucas had done to Ron.
Good.
Lucas gave him a slight smirk, one he made sure Harry saw, before turning his head away. He had moved on as if it didn't matter.
Because it didn't, not yet.
This was just another step. Another chisel blow to shape what had to be.
He let Harry stew in it.
Bagman's voice rang out: "Champions, prepare yourselves! At the sound of the cannon, you will have precisely one hour to retrieve what has been taken from you!"
Lucas adjusted his robe, fingers flexing once. He had gotten strange looks, as to why he was wearing his wizard robes and not swimming trunks when they were at the lake, but what's the point of them if he never intended to get wet.
The moment the cannon thundered through the sky, the champions dove.
Fleur vanished in a graceful arc, her form cutting through the surface like a silver fish. Viktor barrelled in next with brute strength. Harry followed moments after, gillyweed already taking effect, gills blooming at his neck and webs forming between his fingers.
Lucas walked forward.
And fell.
The water parting around him like he was its antithesis. The lake opened up like the maw of a sea monster as he fell into its depths. He slowed down and the sand hardened under his feet, as he landed on the lake's floor.
Harry swam forward, fast and sure. The gillyweed gave him speed and strength. His thoughts pulsed with the beat of his heart, Ron, Hermione, someone was down here, waiting. Someone he had to save.
He cut through the water like a determined blur.
Not far behind, Viktor Krum's shark-head transformation thrashed violently through the reeds, scattering silt into murky clouds. Fleur was nowhere to be seen.
And Lucas…
Lucas had not swum.
He jogged.
The lake parted around him in thin ripples of displaced force, the water bending away from his body, obeying him.
Eyes open, unbothered by pressure or temperature.
If only he could have two domains active at the same time, then he could use the second one to locate the hostages and apparate to them, making this all the more easier.
He sighed as he thought about it.
Above him, far in the distance, he could feel Harry's presence. He reached gently with Legilimency, not enough to breach, just enough to taste the thoughts in the water.
Harry was anxious. Focused. Determined.
Just like he was supposed to be.
Then Lucas focused on the other, more violent one. Viktor was definitely going to be the first one to reach the objective, if he didn't interfere. Fleur took her time. Lucas had told her that she couldn't get first place, partly the reason for their duel, so now she took it easy, content with second place.
His eyes narrowed.
Viktor was cutting through the lake like a torpedo.
Not yet.
The sand beneath his boots shifted slightly as he picked up his pace. He passed through a school of spectral fish, the magic in his wake scattering them like smoke in wind.
He glanced upward again. Harry was veering off slightly, confused perhaps by the terrain or misled by the Grindylows.
No matter.
Lucas turned his gaze to Viktor, reaching out with Legilimency. A whisper in the currents.
Hunger.
He fed the image to Viktor's transformed senses.
Prey.
The scent of blood in the water. Something thrashing nearby, wounded, vulnerable, close.
Lucas watched as the shark-head turned sharply in the water, nose lifting, eyes flicking side to side.
He merely suggested, but it was enough. Viktor, steered by the instincts of the apex predator he'd become, began to drift off-course.
Toward Lucas.
Sand curled around Lucas's boots as he slowed his pace, letting the Durmstrang champion approach. He shifted his stance.
When Viktor was close enough the sand under him shifted, turning alive. A massive circular maw reached up. The sand-worm easily twice as big as the half-shark man.
And with one massive gulp, the Durmstrang champion was devoured. He had no chance against the current sucking im inside of the worms belly.
Just as quickly as the sand-worm reached up, it fell down again, merging back into the seabed. Viktor tried to resist, thrashing violently, which from Lucas' perspective looked like something was burrying under the sand.
Without the mental capacities to use magic, it was unfortunately pointless.
Slowly the sand calmed down until serenity returned.
'A bit too easy.... unless he didn't know. Hmm. I might need to pay Karkaroff a visit afterwards.' Lucas thought as the reality settled in. The only explanation he found as to why Viktor was so unprepared against a Legilimens was that someone explicitly wanted him to be.
Lucas refocused on the predetermined winner of this competition, who was struggling against three Grindylows. He watched with amusement how Harry flailed around and eventually managed to fling his aggressors away with his wand.
Harry tore through the water, gills flaring, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. The Grindylows were already back on his heels.
He swam faster.
'Where are they?'
And then he saw them.
Five figures, bound and gently swaying, suspended between tall stone pillars.
Ron.
Hermione.
Cho.
Susan.
And a small girl he didn't recognize, delicate features framed by silvery-blonde hair.
Each of them lay motionless, enchanted sleep sealing them in magical stasis. A chain of seaweed bound them gently in place, cords of runes pulsing with dim blue light.
Harry's breath hitched.
Ron.
He darted forward, past the merpeople, who simply watched him. There were no threats. No spears raised. No warning cries.
Odd.
He didn't notice how their gazes flicked briefly past him, toward the depths beyond. Or how their grip on their weapons loosened the moment they did.
He swam straight to Ron and grasped the shimmering cord holding him. The runes sparked faintly under his touch, but there was no resistance. The magic unraveled easily, folding away like mist, as if whatever wards had guarded the hostages had… gone dormant.
Ron floated gently into his arms.
Still asleep, still breathing, but safe.
Harry hesitated for a moment, glancing at Hermione, at the others.
But the rules had been clear. Only one.
Regardless, he reached for another, Hermione's. But the moment he made contact the runes on the seaweed turned red and an electric current shocked his arm. He instinctively let go.
He looked back, jaw tight. He didn't trust the task, but Ron was the one he was supposed to save.
Relutantly, he focused up, gripped his best friend tightly and kicked upward.
The surface shimmered far above like a dream. Harry swam hard, dragging Ron with him, every stroke powered by purpose and adrenaline.
And then... splash.
He exploded from the water with a gasp, Ron in tow. Cheers erupted from the scaffold above. Bagman's voice boomed, shouting Harry's name.
Hands reached to help. Madame Pomfrey rushed forward, already checking Ron for signs of harm.
Harry pulled himself up beside him, dripping and breathless. His lungs burned with cold air now. But he felt no relief.
He glanced back at the lake.
It was easy... too easy.
And that made him nervous.
Lucas in the meantime had watched Harry's retreating form, lazily sitting on one of the stone pillars.
He turned to the next champion, who arrived.
It was Fleur.
They exchanged a nod and the Veela took her sister, securing her second place.
A bit later came Cedric, who took Cho, ranking third.
Lucas stared at who he was supposed to save, Susan Bones.
There wasn't really anyone in the castle who meant something to him, her being the closest. She might have, if circumstances were different. She still held onto her feelings towards him, even when her defending him had made her an outcast. Even Hannah turned away from her.
He could understand her choice now. He also wouldn't turn his back on Akane. A shame really that she continued to suffer for his sake, even though it was futile. Honestly, she looked more like a Gryffindor now than a Hufflepuff.
*Sigh* Lucas walked up to the seaweed. His fingers brushed the runes.
The bindings dissolved at once.
He caught her gently in a princess carry.
Then, without fanfare or flourish, he stepped forward and vanished.
No bubbles. No sound. Just a flicker in the water as the lake filled the space he left behind.
Moments later, he appeared at the edge of the scaffold, the same spot from where he had jumped in, robes perfectly dry.
Gasps rose from the crowd. Some screamed.
He stepped forward without so much as a drip trailing behind him.
Susan stirred, groggy but unharmed. Lucas handed her off to Madame Pomfrey wordlessly.
Dumbledore watched him closely. Karkaroff looked shaken, he was a good actor her had to give him that.
Harry stared.
Lucas did not look at him.
Instead, he simply adjusted his collar, glanced at the scoreboard where Viktor's name now flickered uncertainly, and walked away.
An awake and wide eyed Ron stared up at Harry with a gleeful smile that reached his eyes, his voice only reaching the boy who lived in the celebrating crowd. "How do you like my little articles?"
Harry stared at Ron.
At the smile that had vanished too quickly and at the gleam in his eyes that shouldn't have been there.
Harry's knuckles turned white as he seethed with hate.
The crowd cheered around them, oblivious. Someone clapped him on the back. Madam Pomfrey muttered something about shock and handed him a towel.
Harry didn't move.
Ron coughed once, then looked up, eyes normal again. "Did… did we win?"
Harry didn't speak. He couldn't.
His throat was tight. His pulse was hammering in his ears. He wanted to throw up or scream or both.
Instead, he looked past Ron, across the platform.
Lucas was already leaving, calmly walking toward the castle. Like nothing had happened.
Of course he was.
Harry stood.
He took a single step forward before someone grabbed his arm, Holly.
"Harry," she said, voice low. "Don't."
He didn't even look at her. His eyes stayed locked on Lucas's back.
He wasn't going to scream. He wasn't going to make a scene. Not here.
But next time.
He'd be ready.