Bloodline | Harry Potter x Reader [DISCONTINUED]

Fourth Year~Chapter Fifteen

Third Person POV

(Y/N),

I can't say anything too meaningful in this letter as you never know who might see this.

I know you're worried about Harry because I am, too. He's going to have an important chat soon, though. I'm sure you can guess who he's going to be talking to.

Stay alert and help Harry with the Tournament. I'm going to look into who could have put his name into the Goblet of Fire.

I wish I could say more, but I don't think it's safe to write freely. Stay safe.

Love, Dad

~

Harry's POV

The prospect of talking face-to-face with Sirius was all that sustained me over the next fortnight, the only bright spot on a horizon that had never looked darker. The shock of finding myself school champion had worn off slightly now, and the fear of what was facing me had started to sink in.

The first task was drawing steadily nearer; I felt as though it were crouching ahead of me like some horrific monster, barring my path. I had never suffered nerves like these; they were way beyond anything I had experienced before a Quidditch match, not even my last one against Slytherin, which had decided who would win the Quidditch Cup. I was finding it hard to think about the future at all; I felt as though my whole life had been heading up to, and would finish with, the first task.

Admittedly, I didn't see how Sirius was going to make me feel any better about having to perform an unknown piece of difficult and dangerous magic in front of hundreds of people, but the mere sight of a friendly face would be something at the moment.

I wrote back to Sirius saying that I would be beside the common room fire at the time Sirius had suggested; and (Y/N), Hermione and I spent a long time going over plans for forcing any stragglers out of the common room on the night in question. If the worst came to the worst, we were going to drop a bag of Dungbombs that (Y/N) had gotten from Fred and George, but we hoped we wouldn't have to resort to that – Filch would skin us alive.

In the meantime, life became even worse for me within the confines of the castle, for Rita Skeeter had published her piece about the Triwizard Tournament, and it had turned out to be not so much a report on the tournament as a highly coloured life story of me. Much of the front page had been given over to a picture of me; the article (continuing on pages two, six, and seven) had been all about me, the names of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions (misspelled) had been squashed into the last line of the article, and Cedric hadn't been mentioned at all.

The article had appeared ten days ago, and I still got a sick, burning feeling of shame in my stomach every time I thought about it. Rita Skeeter had reported me saying an awful lot of things that I couldn't remember ever saying in my life, let alone in that broom cupboard.

I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they'd be very proud of me if they could see me now ... Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I'm not ashamed to admit it ... I know nothing will hurt me during the tournament, because they're watching over me ...

But Rita Skeeter had gone even further than transforming my 'er's' into long, sickly sentences: She had interviewed other people about me too.

Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school.