A trace of surprise flashed through Sagres's eyes.
The Elixir of Life was not something that could be given away casually. Its significance was extraordinary.
He asked curiously, "Who could make you willing to part with such a precious potion?"
Thunderbird smiled lightly.
"Queenie Goldstein, the grandmother of Ilvermorny's Champion, Cuthbert Kowalski."
Thunderbird made no attempt to conceal it.
"She's an old friend of mine. Her husband, a Muggle, is over ninety years old and nearing the end of his life. She has been doing everything she can to find a way to prolong it."
"Queenie Goldstein..." Sagres repeated softly, searching his memory.
"She's the sister of Newt Scamander's wife," Thunderbird reminded him.
Sagres immediately understood.
"So it's her."
He recalled Thunderbird mentioning his friendship with the famous Magizoologist Newt Scamander. Mr Scamander had even helped Bronze Feather deal with the dangerous Nundu they had captured last time.
Sagres considered the matter for a moment.
It concerned Newt Scamander's brother-in-law, and Scamander had previously assisted Bronze Feather. That favour had to be taken into account.
"I understand."
Sagres finally nodded.
"I will instruct Nightingale to increase your monthly allocation of the Elixir of Life to two portions beginning next month. However..."
His tone became serious.
"You must ensure that every dose you hand over is consumed by that Muggle gentleman under your direct supervision. That is the condition."
"Of course. I would never allow it to cause trouble for us," Thunderbird promised solemnly. "And I thank you on Queenie's behalf."
Sagres waved a hand and gave one final warning.
"However, Thunderbird, you must make the situation clear to Madam Goldstein, and remind yourself as well. Although the potion may extend a Muggle's life, a Muggle who lives far beyond the normal human lifespan will inevitably attract unwanted attention and danger. For someone unable to hide within the wizarding world, longevity may not always be a blessing. It could instead invite disaster. You must be extremely cautious."
Thunderbird nodded gravely, clearly aware of what was at stake.
"I will pass on your warning exactly as you have given it."
...
Meanwhile, Harry, Ron, and Hermione encountered a different kind of trouble on their way back to the Castle.
The three walked with their heads lowered, wanting only to cross the grounds quickly and return to Gryffindor Tower so they could process everything that had happened that evening.
However, as they approached the Castle gates, they happened to meet a group of Beauxbatons students coming from the opposite direction, dressed in elegant silk robes.
Several of the girls noticed Harry and immediately began scrutinising him. They gathered together, openly pointing at him and whispering.
"...Look, it's him. The little boy who was unexpectedly chosen..."
"Shh... he's looking this way..."
"What is there to be afraid of? He's only a novice. I really don't know why the Goblet of Fire chose him..."
"...Perhaps Hogwarts has run out of suitable candidates?"
They deliberately spoke in low voices, their English coloured by French accents, as though afraid Harry and his friends might not hear them clearly enough.
The words "novice" and "little boy" were especially humiliating to Harry.
The suspicion he had endured that night, the danger awaiting him, and all the anger he had been suppressing were easily ignited.
He stopped abruptly and, to Ron and Hermione's surprise, turned around and strode towards the Beauxbatons girls.
Ron and Hermione froze for a moment before quickly following him.
"What did you just say?" Harry asked, his voice tight with suppressed anger.
Fleur Delacour, who stood at the front of the group, raised her chin slightly.
Her Veela charm, which usually left boys dazed, seemed to have little effect on the furious Harry or on Ron, who was fiercely protective of his friend.
"We were merely stating a fact, Mr Potter," she said in a melodious yet distinctly superior tone. "Competing comes with risks. We were simply wondering whether you are truly prepared."
Her condescending manner, as though she were addressing an ignorant child, made Hermione frown deeply.
"What we're prepared for is none of your business!"
Ron retorted loudly. At that moment, he seemed completely immune to Fleur's Veela charm, his face nearly as red as his hair.
"If all you can see is age, you'd better be careful, because sooner or later, you'll pay for your arrogance!"
Fleur raised an eyebrow.
"Is that so? Then I shall look forward to it."
Hermione stepped forward, her brown eyes blazing with indignation.
"Miss Delacour, age has never been the measure of a Wizard's ability. Professor Greengrass was awarded the Order of Merlin at fifteen for his innovations in healing magic!"
What she did not mention was that she herself had faced Dark Wizards over the past few years and even had their blood on her hands.
"Age proves nothing," Hermione added coldly. "Experience does."
Her sharp gaze swept over the surprised Beauxbatons girls. Without another word, she seized Harry, who still wanted to argue, with one hand and tugged the furious Ron along with the other.
"Let's go. There's no need to waste our breath on them."
With that, she pulled them into the dimly lit corridors of the Castle without looking back.
Even after the Beauxbatons girls were completely out of sight, Hermione's chest was still rising and falling with indignation.
She released their arms and turned around, her brown eyes burning with rare determination.
"Harry, did you hear that?"
She looked at him firmly.
"If you face Fleur Delacour, or anyone else who underestimates you during the Tournament, you must do your very best. Even if you can't win, you must teach them a lesson they'll never forget. If nothing else, fight for your own pride!"
Before Harry could answer, she turned towards Ron, her tone becoming unquestionable.
"Listen carefully. From today onwards, your study schedule will be twice as demanding. The coming days will be difficult, and I will no longer tolerate any laziness from you."
"Wait, Hermione!"
Ron could not help protesting, his face full of reluctance.
"I'm not the one competing in that bloody Tournament. Why do I have to suffer too?"
Hermione placed her hands on her hips and stared at him.
"Ronald Weasley! Have you already forgotten what happened to Harry tonight? Or are you saying that the next time one of us is in danger, you are still willing to stand by helplessly and do nothing?"
Her words struck Ron like a hammer.
He opened his mouth, remembering the powerlessness he had felt while Harry was being questioned by everyone. Then he thought of the many dangers the three of them might face in the future.
At last, his reluctance faded.
His shoulders slumped.
"All right, all right... You're right."
"But what exactly are the Tournament tasks?" Harry asked, bringing the conversation back to the most urgent issue. "We still have no idea."
Hermione took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down.
"Don't worry. We'll find a way to learn more. Once we get back to the common room, we can ask the older students first."
When they finally climbed to Gryffindor Tower, gave the password to the Fat Lady, and entered the common room, an unexpected sight greeted them.
"He's here!"
"Our Champion!"
Almost the moment they stepped inside, deafening cheers and applause engulfed them.
Students leapt from armchairs and sofas, their faces glowing with excitement.
Harry was immediately surrounded by an enthusiastic crowd, countless hands patting him on the back and congratulating him.
Of course, not everyone believed he was innocent.
Amid the clamour, Harry could still make out a few doubtful voices.
"...How did you do it, Harry?"
"He must have used some method we don't know about..."
"Who cares? As long as he's a Gryffindor, that's enough!"
Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas pushed their way to the front, their faces full of curiosity.
"The first task starts next Tuesday, Harry. Are you nervous?" Seamus asked directly. "Seriously, how did you fool the Age Line?"
Harry tried to explain.
"I didn't. I don't know how my name got in..."
But his voice was drowned out by another wave of cheering.
Most of them did not seem to care whether he had been chosen fairly. As long as Harry Potter had been selected by the Goblet of Fire as a Gryffindor, that was enough to fill them with pride and excitement.
Amid his exhaustion and unease, their almost blind support gave Harry a faint sense of warmth and belonging.
This was Gryffindor.
___
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