firecracker ???

They didn't talk about the Astronomy Tower anymore.

But it lingered. In the way Elestara's glances lasted a beat too long. In the way Harry always seemed to find her in a crowd without looking. In the way he carried himself now—with a loosened collar and that infuriating, infallible grin that made people notice.

They were something now. Not a couple, not a secret, not a spectacle. Just something. A thing that shifted the air between them. That made time warp when they stood too close. That made Elestara feel like she was always balancing on the edge of something unspoken.

She hated how much she liked it.

But things were changing again.

Because the Triwizard Tournament wasn't over.

And the third task loomed like a shadow.

—

The announcement came during breakfast, and it was as anticlimactic as it was ominous.

Dumbledore rose from the staff table, his silver beard glowing in the morning light, and raised a hand. The Hall dimmed into quiet.

"As the final task of the Triwizard Tournament draws near," he began, "I would like to inform our champions—and the rest of the school—of the details regarding what awaits."

Harry, still halfway through his toast, set it down slowly.

Dumbledore's voice, calm and deliberate, filled the space.

"The third and final task will take place on the twenty-fourth of June, on the Quidditch Pitch," he continued. "There, a large maze has been constructed. Its hedges are thick, tall, and charmed. Within it are various obstacles—magical and otherwise. The first champion to reach the Triwizard Cup in the center of the maze will be declared the winner."

Murmurs broke out immediately. Elestara tilted her head slightly, fingers still curled around her teacup, gaze flicking toward the Gryffindor table.

Draco muttered, "A maze? That's the best they could come up with?"

"A charmed maze," Theo reminded him. "Nothing simple about that."

Elestara didn't speak. Her mind was already racing.

Across the Hall, Harry sat back, jaw tight. He had a feeling it wouldn't be that simple. Nothing ever was.

That afternoon, he was summoned.

The summons came not from Dumbledore—but through Sirius.

He met them near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where the air was quiet and the sky was beginning to grey.

Regulus Black stood beside his brother, cloak lined with dust and silence, eyes sharp as they always were.

"Harry," Sirius greeted, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't ask how I got here. Just know I won't be here long."

Regulus cut straight to the point. "Listen carefully. Something is going to happen during the task. I can't tell you exactly what—only that you need to be ready."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean? Is someone going to try to stop me?"

Regulus didn't flinch. "Not stop you. Move you."

There was a pause. Sirius's expression darkened.

Regulus continued, voice lower now. "You'll be given protection—subtle, but strong. It is something of Elestara's. She will lend it to you."

"You want her to—?"

"She will do it."

Harry blinked. "What is it?"

"An heirloom brooch of the House of Black. Enchanted. Layered with protective charms you won't find in any textbook. It'll help. Just trust it."

Sirius gave him a pointed look. "Trust us, Harry."

Harry nodded, but unease prickled down his spine.

"Why can't you tell me more?"

Regulus didn't answer.

Later that evening, Regulus stood outside the doors of Dumbledore's office, hands clasped behind his back.

"Fizzing Whizbee," he muttered.

The gargoyle leapt aside.

Inside, Elestara was already waiting. She stood with her arms folded, leaning against the desk, her usual elegance undercut by tension.

Regulus entered quietly. The firelight painted his face in gold and shadow.

"You came," she said, soft.

"Of course I came," he replied. "It's time you knew everything."

She turned to him fully. "He's coming back, isn't he?"

Regulus nodded once.

"He already has."

Silence.

"You've been with him."

Another nod.

Her mouth tightened, but she didn't speak.

Regulus stepped closer. "The Cup. The final task. It's a trap."

Her head snapped up.

"It's not just a finish line. It's a Portkey."

"To where?"

"A graveyard in Little Hangleton. He's there. He's waiting."

Elestara's blood ran cold. "For who?" She already knew the answer.

"For Harry."

She felt it before she understood it. That lurch in her chest. That ache in her ribs. Like something was being pulled out of her.

"I can't stop it," Regulus said. "If I break the plan now, I die. Harry dies too. But I can protect him."

"Elestara. I will need you to give your brooch to him."

He took it off her collar and placed it in her hand.

Elestara stared at it. "You want me to give this to him?"

"He trusts you. It will protect him."

She looked down. "I don't want him to go."

"I know."

"I don't want to care."

Regulus was silent.

But then he touched her shoulder gently.

"Then pretend you don't," he said. "But protect him anyway."

She closed her fingers over the brooch.

"I will."

—

Somewhere in the castle, Harry was lying on his bed in the Gryffindor common room, spinning a quill between his fingers, thinking of Elestara's laugh, her scowl, her mouth twisting just slightly when she tried not to smile.

He didn't know that somewhere in the near future, he'd be pulled through space into darkness.

He didn't know that Cedric would die. That Voldemort would rise.

All he knew was that Elestara Black had looked at him like he was worth something. Something more than a name.

And that made him fearless.

Almost.