Chapter 1

The Great Hall blazed with floating jack-o-lanterns, their flickering grins casting dancing shadows across the enchanted ceiling where storm clouds rolled in silent fury. Rain hammered against invisible barriers far above, streaking the illusion with silver while thunder rumbled through the stone walls. Harry Potter reached for another slice of roast beef, only half listening as Seamus Finnigan argued with Dean Thomas about whether the Holyhead Harpies stood any chance against the Heidelberg Hexen in next month’s match.

“They’ve got no depth in their Chaser line,” Dean insisted, gesturing with his fork. “One injury and they’re finished.”

“That’s rubbish. Did you see McLaughlin’s performance against the Magpies? Absolute brilliance.”

“One good game doesn’t make a season, does it? And their Keeper’s been dodgy since March.”

Seamus shook his head vigorously. “McLaughlin scored four goals in the last quarter alone. Four! Name me one Chaser on the Hexen who could manage that.”

“Kristoff. Antonova. Müller. Should I keep going?”

Harry grinned, letting the familiar rhythm of their bickering wash over him. Seventh year. Final year. The thought sent a thrill through him even as it felt impossible. How had six years vanished so quickly? It seemed like yesterday he’d been an anxious first year, staring up at the Sorting Hat, wondering which house would claim him. Gryffindor had felt right the moment the hat announced it. It still felt right.

Across the table, Neville was deep in conversation with Hermione about some Herbology journal article. Hermione’s face had that intense, focused expression she got when discussing academic matters, her hands moving as she made some point about Venomous Tentacula cultivation techniques.

“But the article clearly states that lunar cycles affect the potency,” Hermione was saying. “You can’t just ignore the data.”

“I’m not ignoring it,” Neville replied, his voice patient. “I’m saying that the data might be skewed by the greenhouse conditions. Natural habitats don’t have climate control charms.”

“Which is why the controlled environment makes the study more reliable, not less.”

Ron sat beside Hermione, shoveling food into his mouth with single-minded determination. He’d already cleared two full plates and was working on his third.

“You planning to actually taste any of that, mate?” Harry asked.

Ron looked up, grinning around a mouthful of potato. He swallowed. “Don’t know what you mean. I’m savoring every bite.”

“Right. Very dignified.”

“I’m a growing lad, aren’t I? Need my strength.”

“You haven’t grown in two years,” Hermione said without looking up from her debate with Neville.

“Might have another spurt coming. Never know.”

Lavender Brown leaned over from further down the table. “Has anyone else noticed that the Headmaster’s been watching us more than usual? He keeps looking at the seventh years specifically.”

“Probably just thinking about N.E.W.T.s,” Parvati Patil suggested. “Making sure we’re all on track or whatever.”

“The Headmaster doesn’t care about N.E.W.T.s beyond basic competency,” Hermione said, finally turning away from Neville. “He cares about magical innovation and practical application. He’s said so in multiple interviews.”

“You would know,” Ron muttered. “Bet you’ve read every interview he’s ever given.”

“Not every interview. Just the relevant ones published in the last decade.”

Harry tuned them out again, his attention drifting to the staff table. Lavender was right about the Headmaster watching them. He sat in the central chair, his dark robes immaculate, and his expression unreadable. Even at a distance, there was something unsettling about him. He never seemed to age, never seemed to change. He’d been Headmaster since before Harry’s parents had started Hogwarts, appointed by Armando Dippet himself when the Supreme Emperor had restructured the school system across magical Europe.

“Speaking of dignity,” Seamus said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “did you lot see him when we came in? Looked proper pleased with himself, didn’t he?”

Dean nodded. “Like a cat that’s caught something. My mum gets that look when she’s planning something.”

“He always looks like that,” Harry said. “Like he knows something nobody else does.”

“Gives me the creeps,” Seamus muttered.

Hermione frowned. “He’s an excellent Headmaster. The academic standards at Hogwarts are among the highest in the Empire.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not creepy,” Seamus countered. “You can be brilliant and creepy at the same time. Look at Professor Sinistra. Brilliant astronomer. Absolutely terrifying when she catches you yawning in class.”

“That’s completely different,” Hermione protested.

“Is it though?”

Before the argument could develop further, the chatter throughout the Great Hall began to fade. Harry looked up to see the Headmaster rising from his seat, one pale hand raised. Silence spread like ripples across water. Even the ghosts paused in their drifting. Nearly Headless Nick stopped mid-sentence, his perpetual smile frozen.

“Good evening,” he said. His voice carried effortlessly, smooth and cultured. “I trust you have all enjoyed the feast.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the students. Someone at the Hufflepuff table shouted something enthusiastic that earned scattered laughter.

“Excellent. Before you retire to your common rooms, I have an announcement of considerable importance.” He paused, his dark eyes sweeping across the four house tables. “Many of you will have heard of the Triwizard Tournament, a competition that once brought together the three greatest schools of European magic. That tournament was discontinued nearly three centuries ago due to the rising death toll among competitors.”

Harry felt a prickle of interest. He leaned forward slightly. Beside him, Ron had actually stopped eating.

“This year,” the Headmaster continued, “on the occasion of the one hundredth anniversary of the Grand Alliance, the Supreme Emperors have decided to revive the tournament. However, it will not be the Triwizard Tournament of old. It will be something far greater.” His lips curved in what might have been a smile. “The Empire is calling it the Tournament of Heirs.”

Excited whispers erupted throughout the hall. Harry saw students at every table leaning toward each other, their eyes bright. At the Ravenclaw table, a girl he didn’t know had her hand pressed to her mouth. At Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan was already talking animatedly to Hannah Abbott.

The Headmaster waited, patient, until silence fell again.

“Schools from across the Empire will send their finest students to compete. Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, the Academy of Thrace, the Vienna Institute, and others. As the host school, Hogwarts will select three champions through the Goblet of Fire, an impartial judge that will choose those most worthy.” He paused again, letting the weight of his words settle. “The tournament is open exclusively to sixth and seventh year students. The challenges will test not merely magical ability, but intelligence, courage, and the capacity to lead.”

The hall had gone completely still. Harry could hear his own heartbeat, could feel the tension in the air like a physical thing.

“The winner will receive one hundred thousand Galleons,” Riddle said.

The hall exploded with noise. Students jumped to their feet, shouting to be heard over each other. Many were pounding the surface and whooping, gesticulating wildly.

The Headmaster raised his hand once more, and quiet returned, though Harry could feel the electricity in the air. It crackled like lightning.

“More importantly,” he continued, “the winner will be granted an opportunity to help shape the Empire’s future. The Supreme Emperors are looking toward the next generation. They seek those with the vision and strength to carry forward the work they have begun.”

Harry’s mind raced. One hundred thousand Galleons. An opportunity to shape the Empire’s future. The chance to establish his dominance against the best students from across magical Europe. This was everything he’d ever wanted without knowing he wanted it.

“The Goblet of Fire will be placed in the entrance hall tomorrow morning,” the Headmaster said. “Those wishing to compete will have the entire day to submit their names. Choose wisely. The tournament will be dangerous. Students have died in past iterations. I would be failing in my duty if I did not make the risks clear.” His gaze swept across them again, linger on the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables for a moment like cold water. “Only those who are certain they possess the necessary skill and fortitude should enter.”

With that said, he sat down. For a moment, nobody moved. Then the hall erupted into chaos.

“Bloody hell!” Ron shouted over the din. “Did he just say a hundred thousand Galleons?”

“Did you hear the bit about students dying?” Hermione said sharply.

“Yeah, but a hundred thousand Galleons, Hermione! That’s more money than my family’s seen in generations!”

Dean was already talking over both of them. “D’you reckon they’ll actually let everyone enter? NEWT students only, but that’s still what, maybe two hundred students per house?”

“The Goblet chooses,” Neville said quietly. “Doesn’t matter how many enter. It’ll pick who it thinks is best.”

“How does it even work?” Lavender asked. “I mean, how does a goblet decide who’s worthy?”

“It’s an ancient magical artifact,” Hermione said, her voice taking on the lecturing tone she used when explaining things. “It judges based on magical ability, temperament, knowledge, and a dozen other factors we probably don’t even know about. The exact methodology has never been published.”

“So it’s basically a mystery,” Seamus said.

“A very powerful mystery.”

Harry barely heard them. His blood sang with possibility. This was it. This was what seventh year should be. Not just N.E.W.T.s and career counseling, but something real. Something that mattered. He could see it already, his name emerging from the Goblet, the roar of the crowd, the challenges ahead. Whatever they were, he’d face them. He’d win.

“You’re going to enter,” Hermione said. It wasn’t a question.

Harry grinned. “Damn right I am.”

“Harry, you heard what the Headmaster said. Students have died.”

“Not going to die, am I? Come on, Hermione. When else are we going to get a chance like this?”

She pressed her lips together but didn’t argue further. Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder, nearly knocking him sideways.

“You’ll be brilliant, mate. Absolutely brilliant. I’ll help you prepare. We all will.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said, his tone slightly amused.

Neville was studying Harry with a thoughtful expression. “You’ve been good at everything since first year. Defense, Transfiguration, Charms. If anyone from Gryffindor has a shot, it’s you.”

“Or you,” Harry said. “You’re incredible at Herbology and you’ve gotten loads better at dueling.”

Neville flushed. “I’m not entering. Too dangerous. My gran would kill me even if the tournament didn’t.”

The conversation swirled around Harry, speculation and excitement building with each passing moment. He caught sight of the Ravenclaw table where students were already debating optimal strategies. A boy with dark hair was sketching something on a napkin while three others leaned in to watch. At the Hufflepuff table, some students looked excited while others appeared anxious. Susan Bones was shaking her head firmly at something Ernie Macmillan was saying.

And at the Slytherin table, there was a different energy entirely. Calculation. Ambition. Students sat in tight clusters, their heads together, and their expressions serious.

His eyes found Iris without meaning to. His twin sister sat near the center of the Slytherin table, her posture perfect, her expression composed. But Harry knew that look. He’d grown up with it. She was already planning, already strategizing. Her friend Daphne Greengrass sat beside her, looking equally poised and equally controlled.

Their eyes met across the hall, and Iris’s lips curved in the barest hint of a smile. A challenge. Harry smiled back. It had always been like this between them. Everything was a competition. Everything mattered.

“Your sister looks interested,” Seamus observed, following Harry’s gaze.

“She’s definitely entering,” Harry said.

“That’ll be something, won’t it? Both Potters competing.”

“Yeah,” Harry said softly. “It will be.”

Dean leaned forward. “I heard she hexed a sixth-year last week for getting in her way in the corridor. Is that true?”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled, glancing over at the Slytherin table where said sixth-year sat, still nursing his cheek occasionally. He was sitting as far away from Iris’s spot as he could.

His twin had never hesitated to enforce her personal space.

“She’s terrifying,” Lavender said, though there was a note of admiration in her voice. “Beautiful, but terrifying.”

“That’s Iris,” Harry agreed.

The feast was breaking up now, students streaming toward the exits in clusters, chatting animatedly. The noise level hadn’t decreased at all. If anything, it had gotten louder. Harry stood, his mind already racing ahead. He’d need to intensify his practice. He’d need to prepare. Despite being well advanced of his peers in every department, he could not afford to get complacent.

But first, he needed to talk to Iris.

“Where are you going?” Ron asked.

“Just for a walk. Need to clear my head.”

“Want company?”

“Nah. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Harry slipped through the crowd, ignoring the continued speculation around him. Students were placing bets now, arguing about who would be chosen. The Creevey twins were already taking money, their faces alight with excitement.

He made his way out of the Great Hall and into the entrance hall.

XXXXX

Iris Euphemia Potter leaned back in her chair, watching the chaos unfold around her with detached amusement. The Slytherin table had become a hive of whispered plotting within seconds of the announcement. Everyone thought they had a chance. Almost all of them were deluding themselves.

“One hundred thousand Galleons,” Daphne said beside her, her voice carefully neutral. “That’s more than fifty times the average annual income of a British Wizarding family.”

“Yes,” Iris agreed. “It isn’t nothing.”

“You’re entering.”

“Of course.”

Daphne nodded as if this confirmed something she already knew. They’d been friends since first year, bound by a similar understanding of how the world worked. Power mattered. Opportunity mattered. Everything else was sentiment, and sentiment was a luxury neither of them could afford.

“Half the NEWT students will put their names in,” Daphne said. “The Goblet will have hundreds to choose from.”

“It’ll choose the best.”

“And you think that’s you.”

Iris met her friend’s cool gray eyes. “Don’t you?”

Daphne’s lips twitched. “I think you have as good a chance as anyone. Better than most.” She paused, taking a sip of her juice. “Harry will enter too.”

“Obviously.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

Iris considered the question. Across the hall, she could see Harry surrounded by his Gryffindor friends, all noise and enthusiasm. So predictable. So transparent. He’d enter because he wanted the glory, the challenge, the excuse to make it clear to everyone he was the best. He’d always been like that. Rushing forward, trusting his instincts, never thinking three steps ahead.

And yet he usually succeeded. That was the infuriating part. That despite his reckless tendencies, he was indeed the most capable wizard this school had seen in the last five decades.

“Why would it bother me?” Iris asked.

“Because if you both enter and you’re both chosen, you’ll be competing against each other.”

“We’ve been competing our entire lives, Daphne. This is just one more thing.”

And it was true. From the moment they’d realized they were different from other children, that they could do things nobody else could, it had been a competition. Who could make things move faster. Who could make things float more steadily. Who could push the boundaries of accidental magic further.

Aunt Petunia had tried to discourage it, of course. She’d tried to make them normal, to suppress what they were. It had never worked. Not with Iris, and certainly not with Harry.

“The tournament could be dangerous,” Daphne said. “The Headmaster wasn’t exaggerating about the deaths.”

“Everything worth doing is dangerous.”

“Very philosophical.”

Iris smiled. “I’m not afraid of danger. I’m afraid of mediocrity.”

“Then you’ll definitely enter.”

“First chance I get.”

Around them, other students were still talking, voices overlapping in a cacophony of speculation and boasting. Theodore Nott was holding court near the end of the table, pontificating about his family’s connections to the Vienna Institute. According to him, his cousin had nearly won the last major tournament held there forty years ago. Iris doubted the accuracy of that claim.

Blaise Zabini looked bored by the entire spectacle, examining his fingernails with studied disinterest. But Iris knew better. Blaise was interested. He just preferred to pretend he wasn’t.

Pansy Parkinson was whispering furiously with Millicent Bulstrode, their heads close together. Pansy caught Iris’s eye and smiled. Iris didn’t smile back. She and Pansy had maintained a careful détente for seven years, circling each other without ever becoming friends or enemies.

“What do you think they meant by ‘shaping the Empire’s future’?” Daphne asked.

That was the real question, wasn’t it? The money was significant, but it was the vague promise of influence that intrigued Iris more. The Emperors were old. They’d ruled for decades, transforming the magical world through conquest and consolidation. They’d ended the chaos of the early twentieth century, brought order to magical Europe, and established systems of governance that had lasted for a hundred years.

But even they wouldn’t live forever.

“I think they’re looking for someone to groom,” Iris said slowly. “A successor. Someone who can carry on their vision.”

“That’s a lot of power.”

“Yes.”

“And you want it.”

Iris met Daphne’s eyes. “Don’t you think I could handle it?”

“I think you’re one of the few people who could.” Daphne paused. “But wanting power and obtaining it are different things. The tournament is just the beginning. Who knows what comes after.”

“I’ll handle whatever comes.”

Daphne studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “I believe you.” She glanced around the table. “Half these idiots think the tournament is about glory. They don’t understand what’s really being offered.”

“Let them think that. Makes them easier to beat.”

“Cold.”

“Practical.”

The Slytherin table was beginning to empty. Iris stood, smoothing her robes. Students were still clustered in the aisles, discussing the tournament in excited tones. She saw Harry making his way toward the exit with his Gryffindor friends. He glanced back once, catching her eye again.

There it was. That familiar spark of challenge. They understood each other, even if they rarely agreed on anything else. They’d been shaped by the same experiences, forged in the same crucible.

But only one of them could win.

“Coming?” Daphne asked.

“In a moment.”

Iris watched Harry disappear through the doors. Tomorrow the Goblet would arrive. One day to decide. But she’d already decided. She’d decided the moment the Headmaster started speaking.

This was her chance. And she wasn’t going to waste it.

Daphne touched her arm lightly. “Are you worried about the challenges themselves? What they might involve?”

“No. I’m worried about the things I can’t control. The other schools. What kind of champions they’ll send. Whether the Goblet’s criteria favor certain types of magic over others.”

“You can’t prepare for everything.”

“I can try.”

They walked together toward the exit, falling into step naturally. The corridors were crowded with students, all talking about the same thing. Iris caught fragments of conversation as they passed.

“My cousin participated in a tournament in Durmstrang two years ago. Said it was the hardest thing he’d ever done.”

“Do you think they’ll have dragons? I heard the old tournaments had dragons.”

“A hundred thousand Galleons. I could buy a house with that.”

Iris tuned them out. Most of it was speculation and fantasy. The real tournament would be something else entirely.

“I should get back to the common room,” Daphne said as they reached the dungeons. “Astronomy essay due tomorrow.”

“You finished that days ago.”

Daphne smiled. “True. But I like to maintain appearances.”

Iris watched her friend disappear down the corridor, then turned in the opposite direction. She wasn’t ready to return to the common room yet. Too many people. Too many questions. She needed space to think.

She found herself climbing stairs, moving through the castle on instinct. The storm outside had begun to ease, rain pattering softly against windows instead of hammering. Lightning still flickered occasionally, casting brief shadows across stone.

Iris ended up in one of the upper corridors, by a window overlooking the grounds. She could see the Forbidden Forest in the distance, dark against the sky. Somewhere out there, creatures moved in the darkness. Dangerous things. Beautiful things.

The tournament would be like that. Dangerous and beautiful and worth the risk.

“Took you long enough,” she said without turning around.

She heard footsteps behind her, soon followed by Harry’s voice. “Had to shake off Ron and the others. They wanted to strategize all night.”

Iris turned, her green eyes sharp in the dim light. They had the same eyes, the same dark hair, the same angular features. Or rather, she usually kept that appearance because… reasons. Being a metamorph meant having no true form, and this was the appearance she had chosen to keep most of the time.

People had commented on it their entire lives. The Potter twins. Inseparable and yet completely different.

“You’re entering,” Iris said.

“You are too.”

“Obviously.”

Harry leaned against the opposite wall, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert. “Think the Goblet will choose both of us?”

“It might. We’re the best candidates Hogwarts has.”

“Can’t deny that,” Harry smirked.

Iris’s expression was cool and appraising. “I think you’re good at improvisation and instinct. That counts for something.”

“And you’re good at planning and manipulation.”

“Strategy,” Iris corrected, a slight smirk dancing on her lips. “Not manipulation.”

“Sure,” Harry chuckled.

They stood in silence for a moment, the sense of unspoken competition hanging between them.

“What do you really want from this?” Iris asked. “The money?”

Harry gave a faint, knowing smile. “The money? Sure, it’s good. But let’s not pretend that’s what drives this. We’re past that.”

He leaned forward, eyes sharp with focus.

“This is about proving something. About lining up against the very best they can throw at us… and breaking them. It’s about that moment when everything’s on the line, when the pressure is unbearable… and you still come out on top.”

A quiet intensity settled into his voice.

“Don’t you feel it? That pull? The hunger to dominate, to push beyond every limit, to show them exactly where you stand. That’s the real reward. Not the prize money. The victory. The statement.”

He exhaled, almost like he was already in the arena.

“That rush… that’s what I live for.”

Iris stared at him for a moment. She’d already expected such a response.

“And I want to win.”

“So do I.”

Iris’s lips curved. “Then I guess we’ll see who’s better.”

“Guess we will.”

There was another moment of silence, filled with anticipation and recognition. They’d been rivals their entire lives, but deep down, they were allies. They might compete, but they both knew they were always together.

Growing up at Privet Drive, it had been the two of them against Aunt Petunia’s desperate attempts at normality, against Uncle Vernon’s rage, against a world that didn’t understand what they were.

“Remember when you made Vernon’s car float?” Iris asked suddenly.

Harry laughed. “How could I forget? He was screaming so loud I thought he’d burst something.”

“Petunia was furious.”

“She was always furious.”

“True.” Iris’s expression softened slightly. “But that day was different. That was the day we realized we could do more than just small things. That we had real power.”

“You changed your hair that same week. Made it go from brown to blonde to black in the space of a minute.”

“Petunia cried. She actually cried.”

“She always said we were freaks.”

“We were freaks. Are freaks. Just not the kind she thought.”

The memory settled between them, bittersweet. Privet Drive had been miserable, but it had made them stronger. Made them rely on each other when no one else understood.

“We’ve come a long way from there,” Harry said quietly.

“We have.”

“And now we’re competing for a chance to shape the Empire’s future. Dumbledore and Grindelwald’s Empire.”

Iris’s expression shifted, something calculating entering her eyes. “Does that bother you?”

“Should it?”

“Some people think the Empire is too controlling. Too authoritarian.”

Harry shrugged. “I’ve never known anything else. Neither have you. It’s just how things are.”

“How things are isn’t necessarily how things should be.”

“You sound like you’ve been thinking about this.”

“I think about everything,” Iris said. “That’s the difference between us. You feel. I think.”

“And yet we both end up in the same place.”

“Usually.”

Lightning flashed outside, turning the corridor white for an instant. Thunder followed, rattling the windows. The storm was getting worse again, a second wave moving in.

“What do you think the challenges will be?” Harry asked.

“No idea. Could be anything. Dueling. Magical creatures. Warding. Probably some combination.”

“Whatever they are, we’ll handle them.”

“Confident, aren’t we?”

“Realistic.”

Iris laughed. “That’s what I said earlier. To Daphne.”

“Great minds think alike.”

“Or just related ones,” she said softly.

Harry stared at her for a moment before he pushed off from the wall, taking a step toward her. For a moment, they stood close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes, could feel the tension that always existed between them.

“I should get back to the common room,” Harry said, though he didn’t move away.

“Probably.” She didn’t move away either.

“Good talk.”

“Riveting.”

Harry took another step, then stopped. His eyes roamed across her face. “It’s really fascinating, how you can take up any form you want,” his voice was soft, his hand coming up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Iris’s eyes closed briefly at the contact. “Iris. Whatever happens with the tournament. Whatever the Goblet decides. We’re still us, right?”

Her eyes opened, and a peculiar expression flickered across her face. “We’re always us, Harry. That doesn’t change.” She reached out and straightened his collar. "But don't think I'll go easy on you in this tournament."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Harry caught her wrist before she could pull away. "May the best Potter win."

"The best Potter will win." Victoria extracted her hand from his grip. "Me."

Harry’s smile was sharp. “We’ll see about that.”

They stood there for another moment, the competitive fire crackling between them. Iris took a step back, her eyes assessing.

“Good luck with the selection tomorrow, Harry.”

“And you as well.”

She turned and started walking away. Harry watched her go, a familiar mix of emotions warming his chest. He turned and started making his way back as well, his mind filled with thoughts about the tournament.

“Well, you took your bloody time.”

His lips curved slightly as he glanced at the brunette who stood leaning against the wall with a smile that was anything but innocent. Not for the first time, he spared a moment to take in the pretty Slytherin seventh year with her brown hair pulled into a ponytail and her tie slightly askew.

“Waiting long, are we?” He stepped closer, resting his hands on the wall on either side of her.

Pansy grabbed him by the balls and all but dragged him inside the abandoned classroom to her right. The moment the door shut and locked behind them, her fingers started working his shirt buttons, and Harry smirked.

This had become familiar over the past few weeks, ever since the new school year had started. Hot encounters in alcoves, in broom closets, in abandoned classrooms. It was nothing serious. There was nothing complicated about it. This was just release, and they both understood it perfectly.

As she unbuttoned his shirt, Pansy’s lips found his neck, working their way down as her fingers traced patterns across his chest.

“So the tournament,” she breathed against his skin. “You really think you can win?”

“Know I can.” Harry’s hands found her waist, pulling her closer. “Three champions from Hogwarts. I’ll be one of them.”

Pansy pulled back slightly, her dark eyes glinting in the moonlight streaming through the windows. “Arrogant.”

“Accurate.”

She laughed, low and amused, then kissed him again, harder this time. Her mouth was hot and demanding, her tongue sliding against his as their lips parted. Harry groaned into the kiss, one hand tangling in her dark hair while the other gripped her hip, pressing her body flush against his. They stumbled backward together, their mouths still locked, until her thighs hit the edge of a desk. She finally tugged his shirt off his shoulders and tossed it aside. She broke the kiss only long enough to take her own robes and shirt off, revealing smooth skin and the lacy bra beneath that barely contained her breasts.

Harry’s hands were on her immediately, cupping her tits, his thumbs brushing over her hardening nipples through the thin fabric. “Fuck, Pansy,” he muttered, his voice rough. She moaned as she arched into his touch, her own hands dropping to his belt and working it with urgency.

“What about the other schools?” Pansy asked between kisses, her breath hot against his mouth as she nipped at his lower lip. “They’ll send their best.”

“Let them.” Harry pushed her bra cups down, freeing her tits. He leaned down, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make her gasp. “I’ll beat them anyway.”

“So sure of yourself.” Her hands dropped lower, shoving his trousers and boxers down in one motion. His cock sprang free, already hard and throbbing. Pansy’s fingers wrapped around the thick shaft, stroking him slowly from base to tip, her thumb circling the sensitive head where precum was already beading. “It’s attractive. Stupid, maybe, but attractive.”

Harry pulled her closer, his breath coming faster as her hand pumped him. He kissed her neck, then lower, his teeth grazing her collarbone. His hands worked at her skirt, hiking it up around her waist before hooking his fingers into her knickers and dragging them down her legs. She kicked them off, standing there in just her bra and bunched-up skirt, her legs parted slightly.

Pansy dropped to her knees without a word, her dark eyes looking up at him with that wicked glint.

“Not stupid. I’ve been training for years for something like this,” Harry managed, echoing his earlier words as her hot breath ghosted over his cock.

“Have you now?” She smirked, then leaned in, her tongue tracing a slow, wet line from his balls up to the tip. Harry hissed, his hand fisting in her hair as she took him into her mouth. Her lips stretched around his girth, sliding down until he hit the back of her throat. She hummed around him, the vibration sending sparks up his spine, then bobbed her head, sucking him with wet, obscene sounds that filled the empty classroom.

“Everything’s been preparation,” Harry groaned, his hips twitching forward as she took him deeper. “Every training session, every advanced study, every challenge. This is what it’s been for.”

Pansy’s response was a muffled moan around his cock. She sucked harder, one hand stroking what she couldn’t fit in her mouth while the other cupped his balls, rolling them gently. Saliva dripped down her chin as she worked him, her eyes watering but never breaking contact. The heat of her mouth, the swirl of her tongue, the tight suction… it was almost too much. Harry fucked her face in shallow thrusts, chasing the building pressure, but he pulled back before he could finish, his breathing ragged.

Pansy’s expression shifted, a heated look entering her eyes. She smiled, her expression wicked, and stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Fuck me.”

Harry spun her around, bending her over the teacher’s desk. Dried inkpots and quills scattered to the floor as he kicked her legs apart. His hand slid between her thighs, finding her soaked. Two fingers pushed inside her easily, curling to stroke that spot that made her whimper.

“The challenges,” he managed at one point, his voice strained as he pumped his fingers faster, his thumb rubbing her clit. “Whatever they are. I’ll be ready.”

Pansy’s response was lost in a broken moan, her hips pushing back against his hand. She was dripping, her inner walls clenching around his fingers. Harry withdrew them, replacing them with the thick head of his cock. He rubbed it along her slit, teasing her entrance, coating himself in her wetness.

“Fucking stop teasing already!” She whined.

“So impatient,” he chuckled before he thrust in, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke. Pansy cried out, gripping the edge of the desk as he filled her completely. She was tight and hot around him, feeling so good. Harry didn’t give her time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed in again, setting a hard, urgent rhythm. The desk creaked beneath them with every thrust, her tits bouncing against the wood.

They moved together across the room, Harry never pulling out as he fucked her toward the wall. He pressed her against it, lifting one of her legs around his waist so he could drive deeper. Rough and urgent, chasing sensation rather than connection. Skin slapped against skin, wet and loud. Pansy’s nails dug into his back, leaving red lines as she met every thrust.

“What did you say back then?” Harry growled against her neck, biting down as he pounded into her. “That fucking me felt like you lost your virginity all over again? That’s Malfoy’s baby prick for you.”

“Fuck—yes,” Pansy gasped, her head falling back against the stone wall. Her pussy fluttered around him, squeezing tighter with every deep stroke. “Harder, Harry. Morgana, just like that.”

He obliged, gripping her ass with both hands and lifting her fully off the ground. Her legs wrapped around his hips as he fucked her against the wall, burying himself even deeper. Sweat slicked their bodies. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples hard points rubbing with every movement. Time blurred. The empty classroom, the darkness beyond the windows, the dying storm. Harry lost track of everything except the slick heat of her cunt, the way she moaned his name, and the fragmented conversation that continued between gasps and murmured words.

“Your sister’s entering too,” Pansy said eventually, her voice breaking as another thrust hit deep inside her. She was close. Harry could feel it in the way her walls rippled around his cock.

Harry turned his head to look at her, still buried to the balls. “Yeah.”

“That’ll be interesting.” She clenched intentionally around him, making him groan.

“It always is with Iris.” He shifted the angle, grinding against her clit with every thrust.

Pansy propped herself up, or tried to, her body trembling, as they slid down to the floor together. Harry laid her on her back on the scattered robes and shirts, never breaking their connection. He hooked her legs over his shoulders and drove in again, the new position letting him hit even deeper. Her tits bounced with every powerful snap of his hips. He leaned down to capture a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard while he fucked her relentlessly.

“You two have always been competitive,” Pansy panted, her fingers threading through his messy hair. “I remember third year, that duel in DADA class. You both refused to yield.”

Harry smiled at the memory even as he pounded into her, his balls slapping against her ass. “Montague had to separate us.” He reached between them, rubbing her clit in tight circles. Pansy’s back arched, a sharp cry escaping her as her orgasm hit her like a freight train. Her pussy spasmed around his cock, milking him, soaking his shaft and thighs with her release.

“You tied,” she gasped through the aftershocks, still clenching.

“We usually do.” Harry kept fucking her through the orgasm, chasing his own peak. The pressure built fast now, coiling tight at the base of his spine.

“And now you’ll be competing in this tournament. Possibly against each other.” Her voice was wrecked, but she kept talking, her eyes locked on his.

“That’s how it’s always been,” Harry said, his thrusts growing erratic. “We compete against each other and alongside each other, depending on the day. We push each other. Make each other better.”

“Sounds exhausting.” Pansy reached up, pulling him down into a messy kiss as another smaller climax rolled through her.

“Sometimes.” Harry sat up slightly, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise as he slammed in one final time. Pleasure crashed over him. He came hard, his cock pulsing deep inside her as he filled her with thick ropes of cum. They stayed locked together, breathing hard, their bodies slick and trembling.

Afterward, they lay on the floor, breathing hard. Harry stared at the ceiling, watching shadows shift as clouds passed over the moon. His shirt was somewhere across the room. He couldn’t be bothered to look for it. Pansy’s hand rested on his chest, idly tracing circles through the sweat before Harry shifted. She pulled her hand off him as he sat up and summoned his shirt from across the room.

“But it’s also what makes us who we are,” Harry continued from where he left off. “Iris wouldn’t be half as good if she didn’t have someone to measure herself against. Neither would I.”

Pansy watched him dress, her thighs still glistening with their combined release. “So you don’t mind if she wins?”

“I’d mind,” Harry said honestly. “But I’d understand. She’s brilliant. Calculating. She thinks three steps ahead while I’m still figuring out step one.”

“And yet you usually end up in the same place.”

“Yeah.” Harry finished buttoning his shirt. “We do.”

Pansy stood, summoning her clothes as well. She moved, pulling her clothes on before erasing any evidence of what they’d been doing. “Well. Good luck, Potter. I hope you get what you want.”

“Thanks.”

She crossed to the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ve got a real chance at winning the whole thing. Merlin knows you’re the best wizard, at least at Hogwarts.”

“Appreciate that,” Harry chuckled.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” She rolled her eyes. “Your ego’s already large enough.”

“Says the girl who just sucked me off like she was trying to win the tournament herself.”

Pansy laughed. “Fair point.” She opened the door, checking the corridor. “Coast is clear. I’ll go first. You wait five minutes.”

“Same as always.”

“Same as always.”

With a parting nod, she was gone, leaving Harry alone in the empty classroom, the taste of her still on his lips.

To be continued…