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HP:BSG - Chapter 689: Harry’s Competition Experience
🕑 Added 2025-11-09 11:30:23 +0000 UTCSince parting ways with Natalia, Harry hadn’t encountered a single other contestant.
The forest around him was utterly silent—only his own breathing and the occasional unidentifiable rustle broke the stillness.
He couldn’t help but wonder—
Have I gone the wrong way?
Maybe when I took that detour earlier, I should’ve chosen the other path... Perhaps someone else is already close to claiming the Cup?
I don’t even know what would happen once the champion is crowned—would the remaining contestants keep competing for ranking, or would someone come and remove them from the forest right away?
As Harry trudged onward, random thoughts kept popping into his head. For the third time, he pulled out his compass. After wobbling for a bit, the needle stubbornly pointed in the same direction.
So I am not lost.
Then where is everyone else?
Could it be that, while I am still struggling through the forest, the others have already reached the Cup and are locked in a fierce battle for it?
While I, the “famous” Harry Potter, am wandering around like an idiot far from the action, wrestling with thorns and vines?
By the time I finally get there, everything may already be over.
For some reason, all these thoughts in his head began to take on Snape’s voice and tone—complete with the mocking laughter of Slytherins echoing in the background.
The imaginary scene made Harry’s stomach twist painfully. He wiped the sweat from his face, suddenly realizing he had no idea how much time had passed.
The thick canopy of the Forbidden Forest blocked out the sunlight entirely—he couldn’t even tell if it was afternoon or evening anymore.
A small blue bird sometimes flew beside him, sometimes soared high above. Every time it came near, Harry felt the urge to hide himself.
He couldn’t help but wonder if, when the audience saw him—sweaty, gasping for breath—they would laugh at the thought that this was the champion chosen to represent Hogwarts.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to keep moving in the direction the compass indicated. In this dense forest, it was the only thing he could trust.
Harry walked for what felt like ages. Again and again, he found himself at dead ends or in terrain too dense to pass through. Until now, he’d never realized how difficult it was to actually navigate through a forest.
Sweat soaked through his shirt, sticking it to his back. Every step felt heavier, as though his legs were filled with lead. He wanted nothing more than to lie down right there and rest.
At last, he slumped against an ancient oak tree, exhausted, and pulled out the supplies Sirius had packed for him—
A large bottle of iced pumpkin juice, still cool to the touch with condensation beading on the glass;
A box of beef pies, the crust baked golden brown and the filling rich with savory aroma;
A few honey-flavored energy bars, a chocolate shaped like a Golden Snitch, and a fist-sized piece of creamy cake.
Harry knew eating too much would slow him down, so he restrained himself and ate only half a pie. Still, when he stood up after resting, he felt like he’d overdone it.
Just as he was about to pack the rest of the food away, a strange clicking sound came from above.
Harry looked up— a spider the size of a carriage wheel was descending slowly from the treetops, its eight black eyes gleaming coldly, reminding him—unnervingly—of Snape’s gaze.
“Stupefy!”
Harry rolled to his feet, and the red flash struck the spider’s abdomen—but it had about as much effect as if he’d thrown a rock at it.
The spider twitched, then quickly dropped from the tree and charged straight toward him.
Harry moved fast, shouting spells as he went:
“Stupefy! Impedimenta! Stupefy!”
But it didn’t work—or at least, not in any obvious way.
The spider kept lurching forward with its legs jerking as it crawled closer.
Harry’s spells hadn’t slowed it down at all; instead, they seemed to have enraged it. With a sudden leap, its pincers slashed through the air—Harry barely dodged, but his backpack strap snapped, and his supplies scattered everywhere.
As the spider’s front legs pinned him to the ground, Harry instinctively shouted the spell he knew best—
“Expelliarmus!”
To his surprise, the spider actually loosened its grip. Seizing the fleeting moment, Harry shouted, “Incendio!”
Flames burst to life across the spider’s black, hairy body. It screamed in terror, stumbling backward several steps, curling up tightly as it flailed to put out the fire. Though it didn’t dare come closer, its many eyes flicked warily, calculating.
Harry quickly realized that the creature was testing him—gauging the strength of his fire spell, perhaps wondering if his magic was really dangerous enough to harm it.
He jumped up and swung his wand again. “Expecto Patronum!”
A silver stag burst from the tip of his wand, galloping forward with graceful power. Its hooves pounded audibly—thud, thud, thud—as it charged.
The antlers slammed hard into the spider’s eyes. The eight-eyed monster shrieked in agony. When the stag charged a second time, the spider finally gave up, spun around and fled at full speed.
Harry collapsed to the ground, gasping, still clutching his wand.
When he tried to move, pain shot through his shoulder—a deep, searing ache. He looked down to see a ragged wound bleeding freely, each breath sending a sting through his nerves.
The spider’s pincers must have sliced into his shoulder earlier, but he’d been too tense to notice at the time.
His Patronus trotted back to him, pacing nearby in watchful circles. Its body gleamed with pure silver light—holy, steady, and strong.
Once he was sure the area was safe, Harry gritted his teeth, rummaged through his pack, and pulled out a small vial of dittany. Thankfully, the bottle hadn’t broken during the fight.
The wound gaped like a small open mouth. As soon as he poured the potion over it, it fizzed and foamed violently. Harry gasped, clenching his fists against the pain.
Before his eyes, the torn flesh began to knit itself together. Within minutes, only a faint pink scar remained.
After resting for a bit, Harry used a tree trunk to help himself stand. His legs still felt weak, but he knew he couldn’t stay there any longer.
He checked his compass again—the needle pointed straight into the thick forest ahead.
This time, Harry didn’t take any detours. He pushed through the tall grass, used spells to clear the bushes, and climbed over a huge fallen tree blocking the way.
Suddenly, the forest opened up.
Before him stretched a soft, glimmering green grassland—and beyond it, a towering wall of thorny vines so massive it inspired dread.
Between the dense spikes, there was only one low, narrow passageway.
“If there are more monsters like the one just now inside this place… I’m not sure I could handle it.”
Harry muttered to himself.
His Patronus—the silver stag—had vanished at some point. He paused for a moment on the grassy field, then, without further hesitation, stepped into the passageway.
…
In the stands, someone murmured, “Is it just me, or does this contestant’s whole competition feel completely different from everyone else’s?”
Fudge’s round ears twitched; he’d heard the remark, and the muscles in his face tightened slightly.
To be fair, though he wasn’t particularly fond of Dumbledore’s so-called Chosen One, even he had to admit—Harry Potter’s experience in the tournament was exactly the kind of Triwizard style he had originally envisioned.
Champions braving dangerous beasts in the Forbidden Forest, confronting strange and unpredictable plants, overcoming traps set by the Ministry, battling or allying with each other, and finally engaging in a fierce showdown before the Goblet of Fire…
Just like in Quidditch, when the Seekers vie for the Golden Snitch—one touch to decide victory.
But who could’ve predicted it? Wade Grey, single-handedly, had rewritten the entire competition into a battle between contestants and his magic dolls.
Ironically, that made Harry Potter—the one facing a normal set of challenges—stand out as the unusual one.
“Wade Grey’s going easy on him, isn’t he? You can see those dolls aren’t even attacking him.”
The audience began whispering among themselves.
“But Cedric was the first to get eliminated!”
“I heard Potter and Grey are friends… but when they reach the Cup, what will they do? Hold it together?”
“Hey, wait—look! There’s a magic doll!”
On the giant screen, the lizard doll appeared silently in the frame. Its eyes rolled in a strange, unsettling motion, fixated on the direction Harry had just gone.
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