certher
patreon
Harry Potter: Forging the Flame Ch. 29
🕑 Added 2025-05-17 21:35:50 +0000 UTCThe tournament arc has begun. The training arc has begun. I plan to delve deeper into magic and spells, with Harry learning and absorbing it all from every angle. A lot of talking in this one but yeah, sometimes we need it yeah? Hope you like it.
Chapter 29.
Harry stepped through the portrait hole and froze. The common room was still full, every conversation cut off the second they saw him. Of course, they were waiting for him. Ron stood near the fireplace, eyes wide, mouth half open like he was about to speak but didn’t know what to say. Hermione was further back, arms crossed tight over her chest. She looked pale.
Surprisingly Neville got to him first.
“Are you okay? Where have you been?” he asked nervously.
Harry looked at Neville and felt his chest twist a little. His face was red and he looked like he was regretting opening his mouth already, but he was still standing there, waiting for an answer. Harry gave him the smallest smile he could manage, something close enough to thanks. He was about to say something back, maybe just “yeah” or “sort of,” when Angelina cut in hard.
“Oh, great,” she said, marching straight up to him. “Look who’s back from his secret little adventure. Did it ever occur to you some of us actually wanted a shot at that tournament?”
When he was walking back to the Common Room with McGonagall, Harry had plenty of time to really think about what his participation in the Tournament might mean to other students. Cedric’s House probably saw him as a traitor; in his mind’s eye he could already see a repeat of second year, when the whole school ignored him because he was supposedly the Heir of Slytherin. But that whole outburst from Angelina felt more like something Ron would do. What did Harry really know about her? Not much, so for now he tried to hold off on judging. He patted Neville and nodded at him as a typical guy sign of understanding. He turned toward the older witch who was approaching.
“Good to see you, Angelina. From the very start I’ve been saying I’m not interested in this whole tournament. Nothing’s changed about that. Dumbledore and Moody will try to find out what caused my name to be selected as a champion and under the name of some fourth school that doesn’t even exist.”
Angelina smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, it must be so exhausting, getting picked for things you don’t even want.” Her arms folded neatly across her chest, voice light like she was making casual conversation. “Some of us only had one shot. Trained for weeks. Dreamed a little. Silly, I know. Should’ve just waited for the Goblet to drop your name instead.” She looked him up and down. “Maybe it knew something we didn’t.”
Harry shook his head and walked past her, not bothering to answer. He wasn’t in the mood to argue, explain, or defend anything. As he moved through the common room, he glanced around.
Out of everyone watching him, it was Seamus’s stare that caught him off guard the most. It wasn’t curious or confused. It was straight up hostile.
Harry heard Ron’s voice behind him.
“Harry, wait!”
He climbed the stairs to the boys’ dormitory, pushed the door open, and sat down on the edge of his bed. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor. A few seconds later, the door creaked open again.
Ron sat down on the bed across from him and didn’t speak at first. He just fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve like it might give him the right words.
“Are you alright?”
It came out weirdly soft. Harry looked up and Ron actually looked worried.
“You disappeared, mate,” Ron said, louder now, like he’d been holding it in. “I thought maybe you got cursed or kidnapped or I don’t know. Hermione nearly hexed me when she found out I didn’t know where you were.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Why would she hex you?”
Ron’s ears went pink. “Because she told me to keep an eye on you,” he muttered. “Said you were acting odd lately. And I told her it was just stress but then you vanished and I sort of panicked.” He cleared his throat and glanced away. “We were just worried, alright?”
“You’re not mad?” Harry asked. “About the tournament, I mean.”
Ron looked at him confused. “What?”
“You’re not… angry I got picked. Or think I cheated.”
Ron blinked like he was still catching up. “Mate, I was too busy thinking you were dead in a ditch to worry about that.” He paused, scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah, it’s bloody weird. You said you didn’t put your name in, right?”
Harry nodded once.
“Then that’s it, isn’t it?” Ron shrugged. “I’m not gonna fight you over something you didn’t ask for. I mean, I’ll still be jealous when you win a hundred Galleons or whatever, but…” He trailed off and gave a small laugh. “You looked wrecked when you walked in. Figured there were more important things.”
Harry felt a quiet wave of gratitude. After everything, it meant more than he could say. He stood, crossed the small space between them, and sat down beside Ron with a tired sigh. His shoulder bumped Ron’s lightly.
“Thanks, mate,” he said. “Really. I needed that.”
Ron gave a small nod, like he didn’t know what to do with the emotion but wasn’t about to brush it off either. Harry opened his mouth to start explaining, to try and unpack the whole graveyard thing, but the door banged open before he got a word out.
Hermione stormed in.
She marched straight into the room and threw her arms around Harry before he could even stand up.
“I was so worried,” she whispered into his ear.
Harry froze for a second, caught off guard. Her jumper was warm against his cheek, and she smelled like old library books and minty toothpaste.
He glanced sideways at Ron, still sitting next to him on the bed, who gave a helpless little shrug like he didn’t know what to say.
Hermione pulled back just enough to shoot Ron a look, then smacked him on the arm.
Ron flinched. “Oi! What was that for?”
“You said you were keeping an eye on him.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not his bloody babysitter,” Ron muttered, rubbing his arm.
Hermione stepped back and sat down on Neville’s bed across from them. She folded her arms, legs crossed at the ankle, and fixed Harry with a look that was less angry now, but still firm.
“I think you owe us an explanation, Harry.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Harry said. “I should’ve told someone. But this year’s already been insane and… I don’t know. I’m trying to figure out who I am when no one’s watching. Who I am without everyone telling me who I’m supposed to be.”
He glanced at Ron and Hermione, then back down. “Sirius said he was going to visit my parents’ grave. Asked if I wanted to come. It just felt… right. No speeches, no professors, no expectations. Just him and me, and them.”
He paused, swallowed. “I needed that. I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I just needed to go.”
Ron scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah… I get it. If it were me, I’d probably want to do the same.”
Hermione looked at him for a long second, then nodded. “You could’ve told us. But… I’m glad you went. And I’m glad Sirius was with you.”
Harry gave them both a small smile but then he remembered the Tournament. The Goblet. Everything waiting just under the surface. He stood and crossed over to his trunk, popped it open, and pulled out the mirror Sirius had given him.
“I’m gonna call him,” he said, not really explaining who, but they both understood. He stepped over to his bed, angled the mirror in his lap, and spoke clearly. “Sirius Black.”
The glass shimmered, then cleared. Sirius’s face appeared.
“Harry?” he said, frowning.
Harry turned the mirror so Ron and Hermione could see too. “You should hear this now so I don’t have to say it again.”
He took a breath. “My name came out of the Goblet. I’ve been picked. I’m the fourth champion.”
Sirius’s face sharpened the second the words left Harry’s mouth. “Fourth champion?” he repeated
Harry nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I said.”
“Alright. Did you meet with Dumbledore?”
“Yeah.”
Sirius leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Good. Now tell me exactly who was in the room.”
Harry glanced over at Ron and Hermione, then back down at the mirror. “Dumbledore, McGonagall, Moody, Crouch, Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, and this Ministry guy I didn’t recognize.”
“Okay. What did they ask you?”
“Where I’d been. Why I left. How my name got in the Goblet.”
“And what did you say?”
“I told them I went to Godric’s Hollow,” Harry said. “To visit my parents’ grave.”
Sirius didn’t say anything for a second, just stared like he was checking every word for what might’ve been left out. “And what did they say to that?”
“Most of them didn’t care,” Harry said. “Maxime was annoyed. Karkaroff kept looking at me like I’d pulled some kind of trick. Moody though… he kept watching me. I think he was waiting to see what I’d do next.”
“Sounds like him. Did he ask you anything else?”
Harry thought for a second. “Yeah. He asked why I wasn’t excited. Said most kids would be thrilled to be in the tournament.”
Sirius leaned in again, his expression tight. “That’s not just weird, Harry. That’s off. Moody asking why you weren’t excited? That’s not a casual question. That’s him testing you, seeing if you knew what game you were part of.”
Harry frowned. “You think he suspects something?”
“I think he suspects everything. That’s why he was a good Auror. Paranoid kept him alive.” Sirius paused, then added, “But if he’s circling like that already, it means he thinks there’s something foul under the surface.”
“Karkaroff and Maxime tried to twist it. Acted like I was some spoiled Hogwarts kid trying to rig the tournament. They used it to jab at Dumbledore.”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “Of course they did. Karkaroff’s a snake in shoes, and Maxime only cares about her school’s reputation.” He leaned closer again. “But forget them for now. I want to know about you. Since you got back… has anyone acted strange? Has anyone threatened you?”
Harry blinked at that. “Threatened me?”
“Yeah,” Sirius said, his voice serious now. “Even subtly. A weird comment, a strange look. Anything that made the hairs on your neck stand up. Start thinking like someone’s after you, Harry. Because I think they are.”
Harry looked down.“There was one thing.”
“Tell me.”
“Karkaroff,” Harry said. “Right before he left Dumbledore’s office. He walked right up to me, got in my face, and whispered that if Hogwarts was playing tricks and his champion got made to look like a fool, I’d find out just how short his temper was.”
Sirius expression darkened, every trace of humor gone. “Did anyone hear?”
“McGonagall,” Harry said. “She was standing right beside me. He probably thought she was too far to catch it, but she did. She pulled her wand on him. Called him a dog. Said he hadn’t changed since he followed Voldemort. Told him if he threatened me again, she’d hex him so hard he’d forget his own name.”
Sirius gave a short nod, like he could picture it perfectly. “Good,” he said. “That’s what he deserved.”
Ron and Hermione looked at him like they were only now starting to get how serious this was. A headmaster threatening Harry that wasn’t something you brushed off so easily..
“Alright,” Sirius said. “Here’s the truth. This tournament isn’t just some school event. It’s dangerous, Harry. Always has been. Back when the Ministry still bothered, the Department of Mysteries used to send people to monitor the tasks. Some of them were so bad they nearly shut the whole thing down for good.”
“Why would they bring it back then?”
“Politics,” Sirius said flatly. “And pride. But none of that matters now. What matters is you’re in it, and someone made sure of that. So from now on, we train. I don’t care what rules they’ve got. If they’re gonna throw you into something deadly, you’re not walking in blind.”
Harry nodded, “I’ve already started, you know,” he said, a bit quietly. “Been sneaking off to the old classroom. Practicing spells, going over those books you gave me from Grimmauld Place. But I’m falling behind, there’s the Potions project with Daphne, and Andromeda’s been trying to meet every Sunday, and…” He trailed off, pressing his lips together. “Can you tell her I need to pause the meetings for a bit? Just until the first task is done. I need to focus.”
Sirius’s image in the mirror gave a slow nod. “Yeah. I’ll let her know,” he said. “She won’t be thrilled, but she’ll get it. You’ve got more on your plate than any fifteen-year-old should.”
He rubbed his jaw, glancing offscreen like he was thinking through something. “Honestly, Harry… I’m proud of you. You’re doing the right thing. But I don’t want you running yourself into the ground trying to cover every angle at once. This isn’t about being the best. Your job in that tournament is simple.” He looked straight at Harry again. “Survive.”
Hermione uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, eyes narrowing with focus. “Then we start planning,” she said. “Properly. I’ll make a list. Spell categories, classifications, the ones that overlap or complement each other. Shielding charms, counterspells, quick-casts, anything that can buy time or shift momentum in a fight.”
Ron turned his head slowly to stare at her like she’d started speaking Parseltongue. His expression was somewhere between awe and fear. He knew what is coming.
Hermione was already building steam. “We’ll craft a whole defensive style that works for you, Harry. Not just throwing up a some random charm and praying it holds. We’ll look into movement spells, terrain manipulation, even temporary transfigurations if we can find ones fast enough to cast. Change the field, change the outcome.”
Harry blinked. “So, like… use the environment against the task itself.”
“Exactly,” she said, already halfway lost in thought. “Make the arena yours. If we can control the space, you’ll never be cornered. We start with the basics and build from there. One good shield is worth ten dodges, but the right spell at the right time changes everything.”
Ron looked between her and Harry, then back again, eyes wide.
“You’ve done it, Harry,” he whispered. “She’s in that mode now.”
Sirius laughed looking at them fondly. “You lot sound exactly like us,” he said, shaking his head with wicked grin. “Me, James, and Remus we used to do the same thing when we were your age. Bored of homework, too much energy, and curiosity. We’d take over empty classrooms, push desks to the walls, and spend hours experimenting. Spell chaining, trap wards, terrain flips, you name it. Remus tried to keep it structured, James made everything a competition, and I… well, I had a talent for chaos.”
Sirius leaned forward, eyes gleaming now like he was back there himself, in those dusty old rooms with sunlight slanting through high windows and the thrill of trying something that could blow up in your face. “One time, James figured out how to transfigure half the stone floor into a kind of wooden ramp, blocked two stunners and sent Snape sliding straight into a wall. We were howling. Then we got cocky and started messing with animation. That’s where it really got interesting.”
He started counting off on his fingers. “Take something simple turn part of the ground into wood. Easy. Now transfigure it into, say, a lion. A crude one at first, doesn’t matter. After that, animate it. Give it movement. Make it snarl. Make it fight. Suddenly, you’re not alone in a duel. You’ve got backup. Even if it’s got splinters for teeth.”
He paused, frowning slightly. “Hang on. Animation… I think that’s fifth year? Or was it sixth?” He rubbed his temple, muttering. “Blimey, I’m getting old. Whatever. You’ll get there.”
His grin came back “The point is, be clever. Be unpredictable. Magic’s not a rulebook it’s a toolbox. You can build anything with it if you’re willing to think outside the parchment. The only real wall you’ll hit is the one that says, ‘That’s not how it’s done.’ Tear that down. That’s when it gets fun.”
Hermione was scribbling notes furiously now, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. Harry just sat there with the mirror still in his lap, a slow smile tugging at his mouth, thinking that he didn’t feel alone in this. It ws kind of nice to have supportive friends.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The door creaked open just like it always did.
Harry stepped inside first. “Don’t worry, it always sounds like that,” he called over his shoulder.
He dropped his bag on the front desk and unzipped it. “I’ve been using this place for a while,” he said, pulling out two thick books and setting them down with a thud. “Comes in handy when I need to not think for a bit.”
He flipped one open to a page filled with hand-drawn shield formations and quick-defense notes. “Sirius gave me these when I moved into Grimmauld Place. Said if I was going to keep landing in the middle of things, I should at least have something to help me not die.”
Ron raised an eyebrow as he tilted one of the covers toward him. “Practical Defensive Charms for Duels,” he read out. “And… Duelling: Art and Precision. Sounds like something Percy would assign for fun.”
“They’re not,” Hermione said, already scanning the index. “These are proper dueling manuals. Some of this isn’t even covered until NEWT-level classes.”
Harry sat on the edge of the desk, wand in his hand now, absently tapping his leg. “I’ve been going through them bit by bit when I had time. But now that you two are here… I think we can move faster.”
Ron set the book back down and cracked his knuckles. “Alright. So what’s first? One of us throws a curse, the other tries not to die?”
“Basically,” Harry said, but Hermione was already digging into her bag.
“Wait, use this one instead.” She pulled out a slimmer, navy-colored book with neat gold lettering across the spine. Transfiguration Theory: Intermediate Level.
“I checked it out yesterday,” she said, flipping rapidly through the pages until she landed on one covered in diagrams and footnotes. “Here, this is a basic environmental conversion charm. Lapidorus lignum. Transforms stone into wood. Usable for temporary defensive structure or quick elevation, depending on intent.”
Harry leaned over her shoulder. “Does it say how to pronounce it?”
She pointed to the phonetic guide under the heading. “Lah-PIH-dor-us LIG-num. Four beats. And it’s wand down, press and twist slightly, then lift. Pressure matters the slower you cast, the more complete the transformation.”
Harry nodded, mouthing the words once. “Lah-pih-dor-us lignum…”
Ron walked to the middle of the room and kicked a loose piece of parchment aside. “Alright, I’ll go first. I’ll hex something small. You do the blocky-transfiguring bit.”
“Blocky-transfiguring,” Hermione muttered. “Very technical, Ron.”
“Better than doing this during the actual task,” Harry said. He moved toward the far wall and picked a solid spot near the floor. “Alright, I’ll try it first. Just get ready.”
He gripped his wand tighter and took a breath. “Lapidorus lignum!”
The floor twitched, but nothing happened.
Hermione squinted at her book. “You rushed the lift. Slow it down. Press, twist, lift, then finish the spell.”
Harry nodded again, tried to reset. This time he spoke slower, letting the syllables roll off his tongue like he was chewing each one. “Lah-pih-dor-us… lignum.”
The stone glowed faintly, then converted gritty texture spreading outward like ripples. Within seconds, a block of wood jutted up from the floor, uneven but solid.
“Alright,” Ron said, stepping back a few paces. “Here comes the test. Expelliarmus!”
The red light slammed into the wood and fizzled with a sharp snap. The block wobbled but held.
Harry let out a breath and grinned. “Okay. That felt good.”
Hermione smiled too. “Let’s try it again. Next time, bigger.”
Ron shook his head and gave a crooked smile. “Only you two would call building wooden walls on a Sunday morning ‘fun.’”
Hermione rolled her eyes but looked amused. She was already flipping through Practical Defensive Charms for Duels, scanning the margin notes. “Here’s something we haven’t tried yet. Arenafors.”
Harry leaned over to look. “What’s it do?”
“It’s listed as a proximity repulsion charm. Creates a burst of defensive energy in a tight circle around the caster. Supposed to knock back projectiles, small objects, and maybe an attacker if they’re close enough.” She squinted at the diagram. “Range is about a meter and a half. Says here it doesn’t stop strong spells, but it deflects them. Sort of… buys you breathing room.”
Ron’s eyes widened. “So, like kaboom, everything near you gets launched?”
Hermione nodded. “If you do it right. Also says it’s tricky to control. Too much force and you’ll end up flinging desks across the room.”
Ron stepped away from the furniture. “Yeah, no, I’ll just… observe from behind this very stable table.”
Harry gave a half-grin and flexed his wand fingers. “How do you say it?”
Hermione pointed at the footnote. “Ah-REH-na-fors. Push magic into your wand, hold it like you’re charging something, then release it all at once in a snap.”
Harry gave a nod. “Alright. Let’s see what it does.”
Ron popped up from behind the desk, wand already raised. “Mind if I toss the spell?”
Harry squared his stance. “Go for it.”
Ron didn’t need to be told twice. “Expelliarmus!”
The jet of red light shot toward him, and Harry snapped his wand down. “Arenafors!”
There was a loud crack and a burst of blue force exploded out from Harry in every direction. The spell slammed into Ron’s disarming charm midair, knocking it off-course so hard it scorched a chunk of wall near the window.
But that wasn’t the only thing it hit.
Hermione, who’d been standing maybe half a meter too close, got caught in the edge of the wave. She let out a surprised “Oh” as her feet lifted clean off the ground. She flipped once, books and notes flying, and hit the floor with a loud thump.
Ron’s mouth dropped open. “Blimey!” he shouted. “You just yeeted Hermione!”
Harry’s wand hand dropped instantly. “Hermione!?”
She groaned and sat up, hair completely disheveled, one shoe halfway off. “I’m fine,” she said, waving off the panic as she pushed herself upright. “Mostly startled. That was… more effective than I expected.”
Ron snorted. “More effective? You got launched like a Bludger!”
Harry rushed over, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to..it just came out stronger than I thought..”
“It’s okay!” Hermione cut in, but she was laughing now, breathless. “Honestly, that was probably my fault. I should have moved when you said you were casting.”
Ron was nearly doubled over, trying not to choke on his own laughter. “She flipped, Harry. Like midair. I swear I saw her make eye contact with the ceiling.”
Hermione shoved her hair out of her face and stood up straighter, brushing dust off her jumper. “Alright. From now on, we mark a safe casting zone. No standing within blast radius of a boy who doesn’t know his own spell strength.”
Harry scratched the back of his head, still grinning sheepishly. “So… not bad for a first try?”
Hermione looked at the scorch mark on the wall, the overturned chair, and the scattered pages from her book. “Not bad,” she said. “But next time, aim the shockwave away from your friends.”
She grinned at him.
Harry smiled. “Alright. Let’s keep going.”
I want to check how many people actually read it. Over 150 people subscribe and Forging The Flame posts get up to 6 likes. Hmmm. Math doesn't add up! PLEASE LEAVE A LIKE! It helps a lot!
Comments
Ted Pabst
I just found this story yesterday and now I'm subbed for a year so I guess you could say I think it's good work 💀
Tessa Faron
Ah yes, truly Ronald is keeping up with the muggle terms... "yeeted Hermione", lmao
Benjamin Ludes
Very nice and I'm happy that Ron believes him this time and stays by his side.
