The Goblet of Fire - Harry Potter Male Reader Insert

18: Y/N's Wrath

The portraits of the Headmaster's office had seen many unexplainable or even impossible things in their time as respected Headmasters of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This, on the other hand, was definitely something new, and absolutely bonkers.

Never had Professor Phineas Nigellus Black been expecting to be rudely awakened as he slumbered in his portrait, by the Sorting Hat of all things.

There he was, comfortably enjoying his afternoon snooze, when the ragged old thing began to sputter and shake very violently. So violently in fact that the entire shelf it was perched on began to vibrate, even to the point of wobbling dangerously out of balance.

"Whatever is the matter with the Hat?" said the portrait of Armando Dippet, the previous Headmaster before Dumbledore.

The Hat did not respond. It's incessant shaking had also woken the others, who yawned and mumbled about what the commotion was.

"How very curious," said Eupraxia Mole, the Headmistress of the 1870s. "I've never seen the ragged old thing act so oddly before."

"Well, someone do shut it up, I can't sleep!" said Dilys Derwent, of the late 1740s.

"Perhaps it's magic is finally wearing off," suggested Armando Dippet. "Godric placed the charm on that thing centuries ago. It's really quite the miracle that it has lasted this long in the first place."

Suddenly, the brim of the hat was torn open, and, in a flurry of silver, a long sword with rubies engraved into its handle came boomeranging from it's depths.

Forgetting that they were already dead, the Headmasters ducked, weaved and hid behind objects in their frame as they tried to avoid the sword, which, as Phineas Nigellus put it, had gone 'quite mad'. It was throwing itself around the room in circular laps, destroying everything in its way, apparently trying to find the exit. Then, it hovered outside the window for a moment, before charging straight through the glass, hurtling into the open air and out of sight.

Once she was sure it was gone, Dilys Derwent meekly poked her head out from behind the frame of her portrait.

"Goodness gracious!" she exclaimed, examining the office, which had been wrecked by the flying sword. "If I had known that there was such a dangerous weapon in that crusty old hat I would never have let my poor first years put it on their heads!"

* * *

There was an instant panic. The stands erupted in mixtures of screams and gasps and the students laid their eyes on Harry's unmoving form.

The teachers were throwing themselves out of their seats and calling for more dragon handlers. The Horntail put up a good fight. It swiped, severed, swerved and scewered all those stupid enough to to approach it. Many dragon-handlers fell to the ground in bloody, burnt thumps as the dragon roared and continued its rampage.

Bagman, who was watching, white as a sheet, understood the warnings now. The Horntail was never meant to be a part of the Tournament, but since there was a fourth champion, there had to be a fourth dragon. The wizards who had been providing them with the dragons suggested something easier to handle, like a Norwegian Ridgeback or a Hebridean Black, but that wasn't going to do it for Bagman. He wanted something flashier, something that looked the part. The Hungarian Horntail was certainly what he had been looking for, with its enormous, bulky body, black scales and spiked tail, but the dragon-handlers had been skeptical, warning him of the especially ferocious nature of the Horntail. Bagman had brushed it off. Now, he understood why he had been warned, and how foolish he was for ignoring the warning.