The White Dragon - A lion's fury. (Patreon)

Harry Potter, Great Hall – Hogwarts

“HARRY POTTER!”

The young Potter simply looked, stunned, toward the headmaster, who had a piece of parchment in his hand and was looking, with a frown, toward where Harry was.

“Excuse me, headmaster? I am sure there must have been some mistake, I did not put my name in the Goblet,” Harry said firmly, completely ignoring the whispers of jealousy from the rabble.

The lion does not concern himself with the rabble of the sheep, after all, one of the favorite phrases of his aunt Narcissa and his brother Jon.

The elderly headmaster looked at Harry and simply said.

“Please go to the trophy room, Harry, we will speak in private,” said the headmaster calmly, although the order was more than evident.

Harry stood up calmly, his face impassive, his magic roared within him, threatening to come out at the evident plot against his life.

Again.

Harry walked, his magic at the tip of his fingers, as he descended toward the trophy room, his face impassive, completely furious.

Upon entering, the young Gryffindor observed the three champions chosen for the tournament.

Fleur looked as beautiful and spectacular as he remembered her in Wolf’s Den, dressed in her characteristic baby-blue French uniform, she was sitting with one leg crossed while looking toward the fireplace with a distracted expression.

Krum was leaning against a wall, his face carrying the same frown he had worn since arriving at the castle, his eyes lost in nothingness.

And finally, Cedric Diggory, sitting with a nervous face, although trying to be friendly, Harry looked with amusement as he tried, unsuccessfully, to start a conversation with Fleur.

Lord Potter simply snorted, knowing perfectly that Cedric’s pathetic attempts were doomed to fail, after all, although attractive and talented, the young Diggory paled before a name as important as Jon Stark.

Fleur belonged to Jon, as simple as that, and the young veela had never hidden it in any way.

As his footsteps echoed in the trophy room, the three champions turned to look at him, all three with expressions of curiosity and surprise on their faces.

“Arry?” Fleur asked in surprise, and the young Lord Potter simply raised his hand in a distracted greeting.

“Hey,” he said, as the French witch stood up and walked elegantly toward Harry.

“What happened? Do they need us to return?” the blonde asked, making Harry make an expression of annoyance, but before he could begin explaining, the door of the trophy room burst open.

“Splendid! Simply magnificent! Four champions!” said the annoying voice of Ludo Bagman, while the rest of the headmasters and the Ministry representative for the tournament, Bertha Jorkins, followed closely behind.

All the champions looked directly at Bagman, before focusing their gaze on Harry.

“Arry? What is he talking about?” Fleur asked with curiosity on her face, making Harry sigh heavily before answering.

“My name, somehow, was selected by the Goblet,” said the young Lord Potter.

At those words, the three champions looked at Harry with disbelief, before turning to their respective headmasters, who nodded slightly.

Dumbledore with a calm face, Karkaroff with a frown, clearly indignant, an expression he shared with Madame Maxime, Fleur’s headmistress.

“What does this mean, Dumbledore? Two champions for Hogwarts? Durmstrang will not allow...”

However, Harry had no intention of letting the useless Karkaroff speak.

“SILENCE!”

The young Lord said, channeling his magic through his voice as his brother had taught him, causing the flames of the torches and the fireplace to shift from their classic orange to a bright emerald color, making Karkaroff’s rambling stop instantly.

Everyone present, professors, officials and champions looked at Harry with disbelief or even respect, as was the case of Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape, as strange as it seemed to Harry.

“How were the Goblet’s defenses bypassed?” the young lion asked, looking directly at the headmaster and ignoring everyone else around him, this matter was no longer about a simple school tournament, but an attempt against his life.

And he would respond with the seriousness expected.

The old headmaster looked at him in silence for a moment, not with his characteristic twinkle in his cerulean eyes, but with that calculating gaze more related to the political beast that had dominated magical Europe for more than half a century.

Alas, it seemed Albus Dumbledore wished to continue playing the senile old man.

“I assure you, Lord Potter, that the Age Line enchantment was…”

However, Harry was not in the mood for games.

Frowning, the young Lord Potter interrupted abruptly and arrogantly.

“Do not play with me, Lord Dumbledore, I am not referring to your pathetic distraction, I am referring to the runic cluster of magical verification at the base of the Goblet, as well as the bilateral blood contract hidden within the flames, those protections, while not infallible, are extremely complex to bypass, unless you know exactly what you are looking for,” Harry snapped with evident annoyance.

A brief silence followed, sharper now, as several in the room realized they were no longer listening to a student—but to a trained political figure, even he was just fourteen years old.

Harry is Lord Potter after all.

The rest of the champions looked at him with surprise, as did the officials and headmasters, with the only exceptions being Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape.

The old headmaster opened his mouth softly, responding to the young Lord’s question.

“It is… an unknown that I could not answer at this moment, Harry,” said the old man, making the young dark-haired wizard nod, his face cold.

“Then the Goblet must be analyzed in utmost detail, it is evident that the enchantments were manipulated and an investigation must be carried out with full awareness,” said the young Lord, ignoring everyone around him, but more importantly, maintaining calm and a cool head.

The old headmaster nodded with elegance, while the insignificant Karkaroff, feeling offended at being dismissed by someone he considered inferior, could not help but say his usual stupidity.

“Do you really expect us to believe that you did not put your name in the Goblet? It is obvious that Hogwarts cheated to have two champions in the tournament!” the stupid man spat as usual, without using what he had inside his head.

Harry simply raised an eyebrow, focusing both his gaze and his magic directly on Karkaroff, silencing him instantly.

“I care little for your opinion, with your history, I do not even know how you are allowed to be so close to young witches and wizards, be silent, Headmaster Karkaroff, before you truly make me angry,” said the young Lord, frowning and with furious eyes, making the cowardly man take a couple of steps back.

Even Krum’s posture shifted slightly, his attention now fully locked on Harry, as if reassessing him entirely.

That action caused a laugh from Professor Moody, who had just entered the room.

“HAHAHA that’s was good Potter, and you are right, it is evident that someone manipulated the Goblet, something concerning, a security breach of that magnitude not only leaves Hogwarts in a bad position, but all of England, I will make sure to investigate the matter thoroughly,” said the mad man, looking with disdain at both Karkaroff and Professor Snape, who remained completely impassive.

However, Harry intervened.

“No, you will not.”

Those words silenced the entire room, who looked at him with disbelief, at least until Harry spoke again.

“An assassination attempt against Lord Potter, member of the coalition in a matter of vital importance for the alliance, I will call an emergency meeting with my brother and Lord Black, we will discuss what happened and based on that, we will send our own wizards to carry out the investigation,” said Harry, making it more than clear that it was not a question.

The shift was absolute: this was no longer a school incident, but an international matter.

All the adults were completely shocked, with Dumbledore and Snape being the only exceptions, Harry had spent enough time with the Potions professor to recognize perverse satisfaction in his icy gaze, while the Headmaster’s face remained impassive, neither affirming nor denying Harry’s words.

An indication that the old wizard was analyzing each and every one of Harry’s actions.

“That is your right, Lord Potter, however, the binding contract is ancient and therefore quite vague, you will have to compete in the tournament,” said Dumbledore, while looking directly into Harry’s eyes.

The dark-haired young man frowned, about to respond negatively to the headmaster’s words, however, something in the old man’s gaze made him stop, as if… within his words, there was a hidden message, a kind of test for Harry.

And following his instinct, Harry nodded once, with elegance worthy of his title.

“I understand, Headmaster, I comprehend the nature of the Goblet, I have studied it thoroughly, however, I wish to have a word with you at the end, there are matters we must discuss,” said the young Lord, making the old man nod calmly, his gaze filled with respect and approval.

The following minutes, the clowns of the Ministry gave the details of the first trial, the date and everything they would need to know, once the short meeting ended, each and every one of those present began to leave, some ignoring Harry, others fleeing from him in fear, and even some with nods of the head, a sign of respect.

“We will speak later, Arry,” said Fleur with caution, before saying goodbye with a couple of kisses on the cheek and leaving the place, leaving young Potter alone with Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape.

“There is a mole in the castle,” said Harry with complete certainty, pleased to see that both Dumbledore and Snape nodded at his words.

“Indeed, Harry, there is, and let me say, that it greatly pleases me to see the amount of maturity you displayed in the complicated situation you are in, the work of your excellent tutors, without a doubt,” said the old man, making Harry, against his will, blush slightly.

“Thank you, Aunt Cissa is strict but fair, unless it involves Clarissa, she spoils the little terror rotten” said the young lion with a small smile.

At those words, Professor Snape snorted, while Dumbledore laughed softly, his face jovial, the spark in his eyes, previously absent, now shining brightly.

“You have grown a lot Harry, too fast for my liking, but I suppose it is inevitable, considering the nature of your powerful allies and their… more than questionable actions,” said the headmaster, clearly referring to Jon’s plan to eliminate the remaining followers of Voldemort.

“I have heard rumors of savage attacks toward the families of acquitted Death Eaters, Headmaster, all accompanied by a Dark Mark, a vendetta without a doubt,” said the young lion.

Professor Snape simply raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie, while Dumbledore sighed heavily.

“I do not condemn the actions of Lord Stark and the coalition in general, Harry, but I understand that such a decision is not taken lightly, I would like to understand, what led Jon and you, accompanied by your allies, to make such a… drastic decision,” said the old man with a frown, real doubt in his voice.

Harry frowned, thinking about his answer, the situation was… delicate.

Dumbledore was not his enemy, that he had clear, and even so, he could not consider him an ally either, not at the level of Jon, Sirius and Remus, the young Potter knew that his brother and his father’s friends would bleed and die for him, something that, being honest, Dumbledore would not do.

Not the naïve young boy from a couple of years ago.

However, that did not mean that Dumbledore did not have his utility for the cause, his personal knowledge of Voldemort was perhaps what they needed to find the last anchors of the abomination.

And there was the question, trust or not trust Dumbledore? A couple of years ago the answer would have been an instant Yes.

Now? He was not so sure.

So Harry, as his Aunt Cissa had taught him, would try to reach a sort of compromise.

Ah, politics.

A quiet tension settled between them, the kind born not from hostility, but from measured caution and unspoken calculation.

“Answering that question is… more complicated than it seems, Headmaster, I need to speak with my brother and arrange a meeting between both of you, I know that we both want the same thing, to prevent Voldemort’s return,” said Harry, sighing in relief when he saw the old headmaster nod gently.

“I understand, how about this Saturday in my office? I will make sure to clear my schedule so we may speak without rush,” said the old man, making Harry nod.

“I will inform the alliance of the imminent meeting,” said the young Potter, pleased with the compromise, excited for the meeting.

Because if Dumbledore believed he could manipulate Jon, he would be in for a rude awakening.

Things at Hogwarts were becoming as dangerous as they were interesting.

Lord Voldemort, Unknown Place – Europe.

“My Lord, mercy!” shouted the pathetic Yaxley, as he writhed at his feet, holding his head in agony as he felt Voldemort’s mental assault upon him.

However, the Dark Lord gave him not the slightest importance, his face impassive and his mind occupied, after seeing what had happened in Estonia.

The word massacre was an understatement, and Jon Stark honored the reputation of his ancestors, massacring two entire werewolf clans, depriving Voldemort of his useful pets.

Another harsh blow against his cause, he thought with a mixture of respect and hatred toward the young Stark.

However, his mind was more occupied with something else… more spectacular.

Jon Stark was a dragon rider, a feat that, as he recalled, had only happened once in all of history.

The beast was enormous, fierce and powerful, enough to decimate thousands of werewolves, which made it a problem for his plans.

He had to take action, and quickly.

“I need you to bring me all available knowledge about dragons, from the most common, to the most exotic and esoteric, speak with your contacts and obtain for me an adult dragon, the largest and most ferocious will suffice—”

Yaxley looked at him, as if for a moment he dared to question him, before nodding and saying a soft my Lord and leaving the place quickly, slipping away like a rat under Voldemort’s amused gaze.

Although his mind forgot about the pathetic man in an instant, returning to more important matters.

Dealing with Jon Stark and his damn beast.

Dragons were powerful, forces of nature that dominated with their mere presence, and if Jon Stark could dominate and subdue one…

Voldemort could do the same.

He had a ritual to prepare, a pure soul to kill and a Horcrux to create.

After all…

How do you destroy a dragon?

With an equal.

And this time, the war would not be fought in shadows, but in fire.