If you want to help me financially, you can do it on https://www.patreon.com/NeverluckySMILE
Finally, when the feasts were done, Dumbledore stood up, ready to make his speech. He quickly went over about welcoming the First-years to Hogwarts, and a happy side-welcome for the rest of the students returning for their upper-years. The usual mentions about the Forest and Filch's list of prohibitory items, which I was certain nobody save the twins gave any thought to for an entirely different reason —
I glanced at Hermione.
—Or her, for that matter.
Finally, he got around to the Triwizard tournament.
"As many of you might already know, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is playing host to the legendary Triwizard Tournament, which the ICW had finally agreed to revive after many centuries, particularly because of the danger and the potential death toll it brought about. Quite naturally, every premier magical institution was enthused in joining it."
Several among the audience snorted.
"This year, the ICW is allowing Hogwarts to host the Tournament as a trial model. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang — two excellent academies in Magical France and Wizarding Slovakia will be participating alongside Hogwarts. We will —"
He was paused by a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall banged open. A man stood on the doorway, leaning upon a long, thick staff, shrouded in a black travelling cloak. He was a burly, scarred man with a whizzing electric-blue fake eye and a heavy wooden leg.
I stared at the man, stupefied. For a moment, I was afraid that Barty Crouch Junior had somehow escaped my dungeon, which meant that he could have injured or done worse to Hestia or Penelope. But then I told myself that Voldemort was already taken care of, however temporarily, which meant that this was just one of the idiosyncrasies of this world that made the 'real' Alastor Moody walk in at the exact same time as the imposter did in the books.
"And on that exciting note, allow me to welcome your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Alastor Moody!"
The entire hall was blanketed with silence. Some, because of his surly looks; others, because they knew what the man was and how dangerous he was. And then there was a quarter of the population that probably had family-members apprehended by the man and sent to Azkaban.
I noted the way Moody's eye zoomed in my direction as he walked straight, before being warmly welcomed by Dumbledore, which he promptly ignored and took the first seat available on the table, right next to Hagrid.
"Professor Moody, apart from his usual duties of taking classes for the students, will also be part of Hogwarts security. With us playing host to two other schools, it is vital that there should be no compromise when it comes to safety. Students — no matter their school, and visitors must always feel safe inside these halls."
I held back from snorting loudly at the last one.
See? I can be diplomatic too.
"For that reason, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has willingly offered two among their ranks — Auror Tonks, and Auror Digwood." My eyes went up to the extreme right where both Aurors were standing ramrod straight, right behind Snape, as Dumbledore went on. "As well as an entire platoon of Hit-wizards that will be arriving shortly before the other schools do. They will be present at Hogwarts at all times, and should any of you need any security aid, you can and should contact them."
A small smile spread across my face. Tonks hadn't communicated after leaving Excelsior, not even with Hestia. Yet here she was, present at Hogwarts. Why? To be able to observe and talk with me further without making it look strange, or keep a check on me on Dumbledore's orders?
Hah! Baiting an incubus lord with a woman! This should be interesting!
I didn't know about this Digwood guy. Unknown by all measures. Speaking of… why hadn't Amelia shared this news with me yet? Or Hestia, for that matter?
But that was for later, for Dumbledore was speaking.
"Now, the student delegation from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang should be arriving at Hogwarts on the eleventh of October. While they will be here, they shall be both our guests, as well as fellow students. To make them feel welcome, Hogwarts shall organise The Feast of Hecate on the sixteenth of October, a ritual that many of you might already know about."
I didn't have to look at Hermione to know that she was already piqued and couldn't wait to get to the Library and find out all about it.
"They will be taking classes with you, sharing meals with you, and competing with you in the upcoming events. And while I have to say with a heavy heart that we will have to suspend the inter-House Quidditch Cup because of the Tournament —"
A chorus of groans erupted all over the Hall, before McGonagall quietened them all with a sweep of her wand.
"I'm glad to inform you that we will be hosting an inter-school Quidditch tournament, as well as a host of different co-curriculars. There will be student workshops, and seminars by visiting lecturers from the other schools, as well as promotions from other schools that are not part of the Tournament. For the entire year, Hogwarts will be a hub for paparazzi and the press, both from inside the country and abroad. So trust me when I say this — while participation in these events is not mandatory, I'd advise you to participate as much as possible. For international exposure, if nothing less."
I arched an eyebrow. This… was definitely way bigger than an inter school tournament that was forgotten in a year. No wonder Amelia and Fawley were so anxious about how the fallout of the World Cup would affect the Triwizard.
"Quite naturally, these activities and the tournament are likely to hog quite a lot of your time, which is why, I shall attempt to reduce your workload by cancelling your annual exams —"
"WHAT?" screamed Hermione, scandalised, standing up. I pulled her down.
"You're JOKING!" yelled the twins.
"I assure you," said Dumbledore, chuckling. "That I am not joking. Though I seem to remember an excellent one about a troll, a hag and a leprechaun that go into a bar…"
McGonagall coughed loudly.
"Ah well. It was worth a try. Unfortunately for fifth and seventh-years, they will still have to sit for their OWLs and NEWTs, which is why they must be extra careful. But, if you play it smart, you might just have job-offers in your hand before sitting for your exams."
Loud speculation burst in the Great Hall, before McGonagall silenced them again.
"Given the delicate nature of the Tournament, the ICW has deemed that the process be turned over to the hands of a neutral judge. And for that, I present before you — THE GOBLET OF FIRE!"
He thrust his wand ahead, and the seemingly empty place between the House Tables and the High Table shattered, revealing —-
Is that… bone?
It was indeed. Crafted out of what looked like human bones, was a massive, ornately designed chalice-like artefact. It stood unassumingly on top of a tall stool. I didn't know what it was, or what its powers were, but something told me that it was not something to tamper on a whim. The goblet was old… old.
"Crafted using magical arts no longer practised in the British Isles or anywhere else in the ICW-registered states, is this ancient artefact — the Goblet of Fire. Originally used as a way to choose heirs of magical clans by trial-by-fire, the Goblet has a rich and complex history of shaping events of our world. It, not us, will be the chooser of the Champions. It, not us, will choose what tasks shall be ordained. It, not us, will punish the guilty, the weak, and the trickster and the quitter that intends to run away from the tasks, once they have been selected for the Tournament. Beware, the Goblet knows neither human emotion nor is capable of seeing any difference between an innocent and a veteran. Once you step in and are selected, there is no turning back."
I have to give it to the man. He definitely knows how to keep his audience hooked. But at the same time….
I zoomed at the goblet, at its structure, at the energies flowing within. No, not within. Something was wrong about it. Very, very wrong. Part of me wanted to use the Black Family Magic to penetrate past the illusion and see the goblet for what it really was, but something like that would require proper timing, and a good alibi. Perhaps I could revisit it under the Invisibility Cloak, just in case there were any hidden spectators….
Then I realised Dumbledore was not done speaking.
"Quite naturally, the whole world's eyes and ears will be centred here at Hogwarts during the duration of the tournament. The Winner, apart from getting his hands on eternal glory and having his name carved in history, shall also be awarded ten thousand galleons, as well as a job of his choice in bureaucracy. That is, of course, he does not choose something from the private offerings from various companies and organisations that are sponsoring this tournament."
I stared, wide-eyed. Ten thousand galleons? That was quite a lot of money. Enough for anyone, and I repeat — anyone, to throw in the towel and try their hand at the tournament. For someone like Ron, the Triwizard was practically a speeding ticket to a life of glory and riches.
"Now, one final thing before I bid you all adieu. While initially the Triwizard Tournament was supposed to be held for those that had already gotten their OWLs at the very least, the Department of International Magical Cooperation has helped me understand that there are benefits of keeping the tournament open for those of fourth years and above."
I froze. SenileOldMan said what?
Ron meanwhile, looked like Christmas had come early.
"Yes. The tournament will be open for fourth-years and above. But beware, students. The Triwizard is infamous for its dangerous tasks and its death-toll. There is a reason why it was discontinued back in 1792, when one of the beasts involved in the tasks — a cockatrice that killed all three Champions, injured all three of the judges and ate at least sixty of the spectators before it was restrained."
He let the student body digest that for a few seconds.
"So listen to me when I say this. On the twenty-third of October, at exactly eleven forty-seven in the morning, the Goblet of Fire shall flare up. As your Astronomy instructor Professor Sinistra assures me, it is at that exact moment that the Sun enters Scorpio, and the energy from that point is perfect for engaging with powerful magical practices. From then on, interested candidates can enter their names before sunrise on October twenty-ninth. As the Dark Moon phases out on the thirty-first night, Samhain, the Goblet shall reveal the name of the chosen champions."
As I said, much, much bigger deal than in the books.
"Be advised that I shall be implementing measures that will keep students that are third-years and lower from entering their names in the tournament. I shall also ensure that no one can be tricked, coerced, or otherwise manipulated into putting someone else's name into the Goblet. You might think it funny, but I assure you, it is not. Remember my words. Entering the tournament is your choice, but if you are chosen, you cannot step back. Not without losing your magic, or your life. For good measure."
The entire hall fell silent.
"And on that exciting note, I conclude my speech. Now, off to your beds, Pip Pip."
"Oh, Merlin, yes...so big...you're so big..." Hermione panted. I just grunted, and started thrusting harder. She bounced up and down, her tits bouncing wildly, her ponytail swishing back and forth.
She had chosen to stay in a private dorm. Officially, the reason was to keep tensions among other residents in the Gryffindor tower about having a werewolf amidst them, given the recent events. But I knew better. By sleeping in her private dorm, I would be welcome to fuck the life out of her every single night and rend her to oblivion every single time we rutted.
Her moans went louder and louder. "Oh, yes, YES! Oh, Merlin, Harry! I'm cumming again! Oh! OH! YES! So good! SO GOOD!" She shrieked, as softly as she could, and began shuddering. She had already cum twice before, and looked primed for a soon-to-be third. Like a machine, I was pumping hard and fast into her.
Hermione turned her head, trying to look at me over her shoulder. "Cum inside me!" she fiercely whispered. "Breed me, Harry!"
I arched an eyebrow. This was the second time Hermione had demanded to be bred. I didn't know if she was just getting into the throes of passion, or if the lycan side of her truly wanted me to breed her and give out some nice, healthy cubs.
"You want me to cum inside you?"
"Yes, yes! Shoot your cum up in me! I want to feel you cumming in me! I'm not even on birth control!" She panted loudly. She had a pleading look in her eyes.
I groaned this time. "God, your pussy is so tight, Hermione...your tits are growing bigger..." I reached around with both hands and began mashing them together. She groaned and tried to reach behind her to touch me, but she almost lost her balance and brought her hands down on the back of the couch to steady herself.
"So big...so thick..." she moaned. After what seemed like another few minutes, I groaned and held my cock deep into her pussy. "Here it comes, Hermione! Here it comes! Fuck! Fuck, yes!" And with that, I let out a loud moan and made a final thrust into my girlfriend's pussy.
Hermione let out an elated gasp, and slowly sagged down. I could hear her raging heartbeat slow down until it was nothing but soft beats on skin.
Hermione didn't need to know this, but as an Incubus, the decision to breed or not to breed others was firmly under my voluntary command. And with the events happening around, it was simply too soon for the girl to be carrying a baby.
My baby.
Still, something weird was happening. First that altercation with Ron, her egging him to be in the competition, and then Dumbledore and the Ministry altering the rules to allow fourth-years the chance to participate in the competition. No doubt they were completely separate events, but their resultant effects could very well intertwine and cause problems for me. Not that Ron bore any significance as a threat — he wasn't even in my radar, so to speak.
Still, Hermione had changed. First with Ron, and wanting my baby? Was it just her mood swings, the result of listening to everything that happened, or something else operating from the shadows?
Too soon to tell.
With my werewolf partner now sound asleep, I turned around and sagged into the bed, my eyes closing. Physically, I would sleep, but mentally, it was anything but. And tonight was special.
For it would be my first time using my new power at Hogwarts.
Oneiros Spindle…
And in an instant, the world shifted. It wasn't merely a change in sight or sound—it was a transformation in reality itself. I felt as though I'd stepped onto an endless web of silken threads, each vibrating with emotion. Some carried whispers of dreams and desires, delicate and fleeting, while others pulsed with an almost tangible intensity.
I'd roamed Hogwarts under my Invisibility Cloak many times, but this was entirely different. The castle at night, alive with slumbering magic, hummed through its ancient stones. Every corridor, every tower, every dormitory resonated with countless dreams, woven into an intricate tapestry of emotions I could feel thrumming beneath my skin.
Each thrall glowed faintly along the astral web, their subconscious minds open to me like stars scattered across a midnight sky. Their emotions flowed toward me—joy, fear, longing—like currents I could almost touch. It was intoxicating, this connection, as though I stood at the center of a universe crafted solely for me.
Slipping into a dream felt like plunging into water, my presence fluid yet undeniable. The dreamscape bent around me, reshaping itself to my will if I so chose, or allowing me to linger unnoticed in the shadows. The air there buzzed with energy, each detail sharper and more vivid than reality. Here, I was both a thief and a god, absolute in the confines of their sleeping minds.
I could explore the deepest recesses of someone's thoughts, uncover their secrets, plant desires, or soothe fears. Yet I had to tread carefully; a subconscious realization of my intrusion could shatter the dream—or worse, provoke a vicious reaction. And in this swirling maelstrom of dreams and desires simmering inside the castle, I felt like a starved wolf surrounded by lambs, each one as tempting as the next.
Navigating the web felt instinctual, like following a river's current. Barriers didn't appear as walls; I felt them as tension in the threads. The dreams of thralls opened like doors, welcoming and pliable. Others resisted, their threads taut with defiance. Occlumens posed the greatest challenge—fortresses in a sea of open windows—but even they could be breached with patience and care.
Tonight, however, one star dimmed, its light elusive and shrouded in mist. Nymphadora Tonks. Her presence was faint, muted in ways that shouldn't have been possible. This wasn't simple resistance; it was something different, something unique. It intrigued me, and it stirred the predator within.
Through the Shrine, I felt my thralls' emotions ripple, brushing against my senses like whispers. Hermione was first, her mind as sharp as ever. Her subconscious swirled with restless energy, a collision of curiosity and discipline. Her dream revealed itself in fragments: an endless library with impossibly high shelves. Against one of them, she stood utterly bare, her hips shaking as a version of me—her dream me—had her in ways only Hermione could imagine. Trust a werewolf's libido to conjure such vivid fantasies, even after a night of indulgence.
I lingered only for a moment, then moved on.
Hogwarts' dreamscape unfolded before me, vivid and fluid, every connection amplified by the castle's ancient magic. I drifted through snippets of other dreams. Angelina Johnson danced at a masquerade, the air thick with mystery and temptation. I was there too, masked yet unmistakable. Lavender Brown's dreams, unsurprisingly, swirled with heat and silk, bold and unsubtle. The Shrine's influence wove into their fantasies, subtly bending their desires toward me like whispers carried on the wind.
But Tonks remained distant, her connection faint and flickering like a candle in the mist.
I extended my aura further, threading deeper into the labyrinth of dreams. The astral realm shifted around me, a patchwork of fears and longings. A younger student dreamed of flying, their joy untainted and pure. I appeared there too—a heroic figure bathed in sunlight—but I passed by without pause. Another dream was tangled in anxieties of exams and failing expectations. I drifted through them all, detached, a shadow prowling unnoticed.
Hermione's dream called to me again, brighter and more vivid. The library dissolved into a moonlit clearing. She was running—not from something, but toward me. Her golden eyes gleamed, feral and hungry, her breath ragged with want. I let her come closer, but not tonight. I left her to her instincts and continued my hunt.
And then I saw it—a void in the dreamscape.
It hung like a black hole, surrounded by deep sleepers lost in inconsequential dreams. Or perhaps the void had already devoured their emotions, leaving nothing behind. Daphne Greengrass. She fed on emotions as naturally as breathing. Where others radiated desires, she consumed them, leaving a cold, unnerving hunger in her wake. Her presence warped the dreamscape, pulling energy toward her with an irresistible gravity.
I lingered briefly, then moved on.
Others dreamed of me—Susan, Hannah, and surprisingly Pansy Parkinson—but their desires bent too easily. They didn't hold my focus. Tonks, however, eluded me. Her connection flickered, vibrant yet distant, like a flame at the edge of my reach. I pressed harder, threading deeper into the astral web.
The professors' dreams were different. Their minds were heavier, weighed down by decades of memories, regrets, and responsibilities. McGonagall's dreams were sharp and precise, each one a meticulous reflection of her discipline. Snape's dreams were jagged, dark, and turbulent—a labyrinth of shadows and bitter truths. I took care not to linger near Dumbledore's presence, but even from a distance, they were a paradox, bright and inviting on the surface but concealing depths I could not yet fathom.
Yep. Better stay away.
The castle itself seemed to dream with them, its magic alive and intertwined with their slumbering minds. The air felt thick with possibility, the boundary between waking and dreaming thinner than anywhere else I'd ever known. It was intoxicating, that symphony of thoughts and feelings, all of it within my reach. But there, hidden in the symphony, I sensed something curious—a thread unlike the others, faint and fraying at the edges, as though it existed both within the web and outside it. It vibrated with a strange resonance, a mixture of longing and absence, calling to me like a whisper from somewhere deep within the castle's dreaming heart. For the first time, I hesitated. Something was waiting at the other end of that thread, something unknown, and it demanded to be found.
As I followed the thread deeper into the dreamscape, I felt its pull grow sharper, more distinct. It led me to the Great Hall, now eerily warped in the astral plane. The Goblet of Fire stood at its center, its flames crackling with an intensity that seemed to devour the air itself. The sight of it within the dreamscape was disorienting—its light didn't illuminate the shadows but deepened them, as though it thrived on darkness even while it burned brightly.
This wasn't just an enchanted object. The Goblet thrummed with a life of its own, ancient and malevolent. Its presence dominated the astral web, sending ripples across the threads that bound Hogwarts' subconscious minds together. I could feel its influence worming its way through the dreams of the students who had dared approach it, even those who had merely watched from afar. It was not just alive; it was aware.
The Goblet wasn't judging their , it was feeding. A different form of feeding than Daphne the Empath, but feeding nonetheless. It took the hopes, fears, and aspirations of those who approached it and twisted them into something darker. What it returned wasn't opportunity but obsession, a poisoned chalice that corrupted as it empowered.
I followed the threads it had touched, glimpsing the impact it had left behind. Susan Bones, whose dreams were calm and erotic until now, now churned with a quiet dread, her insecurities about her aunt overshadowing her in terms of importance, her watching me from afar as I sat with Hermione at the Great hall and not with her during dinner. Her subconscious mind replayed scenes of failure, twisting even her brightest memories into moments of despair.
The rest of the Hufflepuffs, normally so warm and loyal, radiated a strange, almost frenetic energy. Their dreams were suffused with an uncharacteristic desperation, as if the Goblet had awakened something in them—a hunger that rivaled Slytherins to prove themselves, no matter the cost. I lingered in one of their dreams, catching glimpses of a labyrinth filled with shadows and whispers, a place that seemed to echo with the Goblet's insidious influence.
The Ravenclaws weren't spared either. Their dreams, typically filled with wonder and curiosity, had become fragmented and chaotic. The Goblet's presence had turned their brilliance inward, their minds spiraling into overanalysis and doubt. Anthony Goldstein dreamed of an endless spiral staircase, each step crumbling beneath his feet as he tried to ascend, while Padma Patil found herself trapped in a library where every book dissolved into ash the moment she opened it.
And then, the Goblet turned its attention to me.
Its flames flared, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to stretch toward me like grasping hands. I felt its presence press against my mind, testing, probing, as if it were searching for a way in. It was more than a relic or artifact; it was a predator, ancient and insatiable, and it recognized me not as prey but as a rival.
The Goblet pulsed with a hunger unlike anything I'd felt before, its twisted power resonating in the dreamscape. It didn't just feed on those who submitted their names—it fed on the entire castle. Every student who glanced at it, every professor who stood near it, every soul who even thought about its flames contributed to its unending feast. It devoured their ambitions, their fears, their hopes, leaving behind subtle but profound scars in their subconscious minds.
I stepped closer, my presence rippling through the dreamscape as I tried to peer deeper into its nature. The Goblet didn't recoil; it reached. For a brief, chilling moment, I felt its power brush against my soul—a searing, invasive force that promised both greatness and annihilation. I pulled back sharply, severing my connection to its thread, but the sensation lingered, a ghostly echo of its touch.
As I retreated, I realized the Goblet wasn't merely a chooser. It was consuming the ambitions of the participants, shaping them into something it could use for its own ends. Whatever magic had created it had left behind more than a tool—it had birthed a parasite, one that thrived on the very essence of those who sought its favor.
Hogwarts slept on, unaware of the predator that burned in its heart. But I had seen it now, and felt its hunger. The Goblet of Fire was more than a relic—it was a wound in the fabric of the castle, a fissure through which something far darker and more ancient was watching. I wondered if Dumbledore knew just what it was he had brought into the castle, and if I should even try to inform him.
Or perhaps, could I learn to use it for my own ends?