Harry Potter with Technology System

Ch372- What? Dragons? Really?

The next morning, the Great Hall was louder than usual. Students huddled in groups, some whispering, others outright gaping at the newspapers in their hands. The Daily Prophet had arrived, and instead of the expected smear campaign against Harry, the headline was something no one could have predicted.

"THE BOY WHO FOUGHT FATE – HARRY POTTER, THE UNWILLING CHAMPION!"

At the Slytherin table, Tracey was already reading aloud, her voice dripping with disbelief.

"Forced into a tournament he never entered, bound by magic no one could override—Hogwarts’ youngest champion has no choice but to compete in one of the most dangerous magical competitions in history. Yet, despite the injustice of his circumstances, young Harry Potter stands strong, facing the unknown with a resilience that defies expectation. What kind of school allows this to happen? What kind of Ministry refuses to intervene?"

She lowered the paper, looking at Harry like he'd suddenly grown a second head. "Alright. What the hell did you do to her?"

Across from them, Daphne was skimming her own copy, her brow furrowed. "This doesn’t make sense. Rita Skeeter doesn’t write nice articles. She doesn’t defend people."

Blaise snatched a paper from a first-year, ignoring her protests, and flipped through it. "She goes on for an entire column about how you've been 'targeted' since childhood and now you're being forced into this tournament while the so-called leaders of our world do nothing." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "This isn't just positive. This is war propaganda."

Twins looked at Harry with a grin. "Love potion?"

Harry took the paper from Blaise, tossed it back to the first-year it was stolen from, then turned to the twins. "Please."

"Has to be," George insisted, flipping the paper around and scanning the article again. "Rita Skeeter doesn't write positive things."

"Definitely drugged," Fred agreed. "Or maybe she's under the Imperius."

"Or Harry finally broke her," Tracey suggested. "Wouldn’t put it past him."

"Harry is terrifying when he wants to be," Daphne said, sipping her tea as if she wasn't casually calling her friend scary.

Luna folded her newspaper neatly and set it aside. "Be nice to my Harem Emperor. He wouldn't do any of those things."

Astoria snickered, tilting her head toward Harry. "True. He’s too busy managing his harem."

The table erupted in laughter.

Harry tore a piece of toast in half and tossed a bit at Astoria, who caught it effortlessly. "You lot have way too much free time."

"On the contrary," Blaise said, lazily flipping through the Prophet. "We're simply invested in your personal affairs. It’s not every day someone gets labeled as the tragic, wronged hero."

"Since Rita Skeeter wrote that..." Hermione muttered, eyeing the article again. "That woman has never written anything remotely sympathetic in her life. She must want something."

"Or she finally got a conscience," Neville said optimistically.

Ginny scoffed. "Right. And Snape’s secretly a cheerful ray of sunshine."

Fred leaned over, reading a bit more. "Listen to this: ‘Despite his unwilling participation, Harry Potter has displayed remarkable composure in the face of injustice, while the Ministry remains suspiciously silent on this blatant breach of the tournament’s integrity.’"

George whistled. "Blimey. She’s really hammering that angle."

Daphne hummed, tapping her fingers against the table. "This is calculated. She’s not just being nice. She’s setting something up."

Harry chuckled as he patted Luna's head. “I just found something that could put her away in Azkaban for a long time, so now she’s playing nice. Nothing to think too much about.”

Across the table, Daphne raised a brow. “She’s sucking up to you?”

“Looks that way.” Harry grabbed a slice of toast, biting into it.

Tracey leaned in, grinning. “Alright, spill. What do you have on her?”

Harry glanced at her, then at the others, all of them clearly waiting for an answer. He leaned in slightly, and the rest followed. "It’s a secret."

Tracey rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Potter. You can't just drop that and expect us to move on."

Harry smirked, picking up his goblet and taking a sip. "Sure, I can."

Daphne gave him a flat look. "You probably threatened her, didn’t you?"

"Me?" Harry set his goblet down. "Threatening an esteemed journalist of the Daily Prophet? I’d never."

Blaise snorted. "That’s not a denial."

Across the table, Fred grinned. "So what did you do, Potter? Bribery? Blackmail? Charm?"

George nodded sagely. "All three?"

"Please," Harry said, grabbing a slice of toast. "I have standards."

Astoria, who had been quietly nibbling on a piece of fruit, tilted her head. "So what exactly does Skeeter think will happen if she writes something bad about you?"

"That’s the fun part," Harry said, smirking. "She doesn’t know, but she’s smart enough to be scared anyway."

There was a brief pause before Pansy let out a short laugh. "Merlin, Potter, you are terrifying."

Luna hummed thoughtfully. "Oh, it’s probably something awful. But only if she does something stupid."

"Exactly," Harry said, pointing at her with his fork.

The rest of November passed quickly. Moody was still forcing everyone to practice resisting the Imperius Curse, but his lessons had become pointless. Thanks to Harry’s training, everyone in the Duelling Club had mastered the protection spell, making Moody’s efforts a complete failure. Moody didn’t seem to care, though. If anything, he looked more annoyed than usual, as if he didn’t like that a bunch of students were shrugging off a curse most adults struggled with.

Meanwhile, Transfiguration lessons focused on summoning spells. McGonagall drilled the class relentlessly, making sure they could summon objects from different distances and even through minor obstacles. It wasn’t particularly difficult, but she wasn’t satisfied unless they performed it perfectly. Harry, already familiar with the spell, spent most of the lessons helping others. It has become norm for Harry to assist Professors in the classes.

The first Hogsmeade visit of the year was a welcome break. The usual stops—Zonko’s, Honeydukes, and The Three Broomsticks—were packed with students eager to spend their pocket money. Harry and his friends wandered through the shops, avoiding the more crowded spots. They stopped by Scrivenshaft’s to pick up new quills, then made their way to Gladrags, where Tracey convinced Harry to buy a new winter cloak under the excuse that his old one was ‘absolutely tragic.’

Two days later, Hagrid, bless his oversized heart, dragged Harry along on what was supposed to be a completely accidental detour toward the dragon enclosure. Professors weren’t supposed to reveal anything about the tournament’s tasks, but Hagrid clearly thought that rule was optional when it came to Harry. And while Harry already knew about the dragons—courtesy of his own preparations—he wasn’t about to ruin the moment for Hagrid.

They trudged through the Forbidden Forest under the cover of darkness, Hagrid humming to himself as if he weren’t leading Harry straight into a nest of fire-breathing death machines. The massive half-giant shot him a conspiratorial grin, his beady eyes twinkling with excitement.

“Got a real treat for yeh, Harry,” Hagrid said, pushing aside a thick branch. “Jus’ a little somethin’ I thought yeh oughta see.”

Harry kept his expression carefully neutral. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Hagrid stomped through the undergrowth, leading Harry deeper into the Forbidden Forest. The ground was damp, and the trees loomed tall, their gnarled branches twisting into the night sky. Every so often, a distant roar echoed through the trees, but Hagrid acted like he hadn’t heard a thing.

Then, as if he’d just had a grand idea, he stopped in front of a thick oak tree. Its bark was scarred with a clumsy carving—obviously fresh, the edges rough and uneven. Hagrid patted it, looking far too pleased with himself. “Look at this ‘ere, Harry! A real mysterious scar on the tree! Bit strange, innit?”

Harry stared at it, unimpressed. Hagrid’s carving skills were about as subtle as a troll in a teashop. He’d clearly hacked away at the bark in a hurry, and the ‘scar’ looked more like someone had taken a dull knife to it. “Right,” Harry said. “Very mysterious.”

Hagrid nodded eagerly, then, as if just noticing the distant dragon roars, turned his head toward the sounds. “Blimey, wassat?” He cupped a massive hand around his ear, playing up the act so poorly that even a first-year would’ve caught on.

Harry sighed but went along with it. “Dunno,” he said, taking a step forward. “Let’s check it out.”

They moved toward a clearing where a series of massive enclosures had been set up, torches flickering around the perimeter. Shadows moved beyond the barriers, large and restless, and another roar shook the trees. The ground trembled as one of the creatures shifted, chains clanking against metal.

Hagrid grinned like a child on Christmas morning. “Ain’t they somethin’?”

Harry let his eyes wander over the scene. Wizards in thick protective gear were stationed all around, some carrying long poles with runes glowing faintly at the tips. Others were tossing large slabs of meat into the enclosures, keeping a safe distance as the dragons snapped at the food. The creatures were massive—scales gleaming under the firelight, wings twitching as they tested their restraints. Hungarian Horntail, Swedish Short-Snout, Chinese Fireball, Common Welsh Green.

Harry took a step closer, tilting his head slightly. “So. Dragons.”

Hagrid scratched his beard, eyes wide with exaggerated confusion. "Dunno why they’re 'ere," he said, as if the massive enclosures, chains, and the group of wizards actively trying not to get burned were somehow subtle. "Jus' happened ter come across 'em meself."

Harry didn’t bother responding to that. He just gave Hagrid a look—one that clearly said, Really?

Hagrid, bless him, kept up the act for all of five seconds before he caved. "Alright, alright," he muttered, lowering his voice like the dragons might overhear. "They’re for somethin' important."

"Obviously," Harry said, not pressing any further.

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