Hogwarts Library was one of the quietest places in the entire castle. Wooden tables were scattered around the room, and students moved silently between tall bookshelves. Some whispered, others leafed through textbooks, looking for material for assignments that were already piling up, even though the school year had just begun.
I was standing by one of the shelves myself, searching for something about the Unforgivable Curses — naturally, there wasn't much in the Hogwarts library. I grabbed a few books and carried them to a table by the window. From there, I could see the mountain peaks bathed in the afternoon light. The table was already buried under piles of papers, newspapers, and encyclopedias.
And still no Riddle.
My watch showed one minute past three. "Don't be late," I mimicked his voice in my head. But of course, he can be late. Idiot. I huffed. Typical.
I stood up to fetch more newspapers, arguing with myself whether to mock him or just tease him a little. When I returned, it was twenty minutes past three — and there he was. Mattheo Riddle, messy-haired, wrinkled uniform, looking annoyingly unconcerned.
"You're late," I said flatly as I placed the papers on the table. On top was a copy dated November 1st, 1981.
"The Potters Found Dead in Their Home — Only Their Son, Harry Potter, Survives."
"Who cares," he muttered, not even glancing at me.
"I do," I mumbled. "Because yesterday you told me you hate late people — and now you are one."
He looked up; his expression said he heard me loud and clear.
The next hour felt like the longest of my life. We sat opposite each other. He tapped his fingers impatiently; I tried to ignore how much his presence annoyed me. With a loud thud, I closed The Encyclopedia of the Most Dangerous Spells.
"There's supposed to be silence in the library," he said dryly, clearly trying to provoke me.
"I know," I replied calmly. "I just wanted your attention. I'm heading back to the Gryffindor tower. I'll finish the Imperius there. Let's meet again in a week and compare notes."
My voice sounded as uncertain as I felt.
Mattheo nodded. "Go. I'll finish Crucio."
Then he looked straight at me for the first time. His brown eyes met my steel-grey ones.
"See you in a week, Black."
I ran out of the library as if a Dementor were right behind me.
When I entered the room, I finally exhaled. No Riddle would find me here.
I spread all my materials across the desk and started taking notes. Even now, I understood why we had an entire month for this.
As the week drew to a close, Hogwarts buzzed with only one topic — the Triwizard Tournament and who the Goblet would choose.
And even though I was curious too, my attention kept drifting back to the Defense Against the Dark Arts project. It turned out to be far more demanding than I had expected.
Even now, during dinner in the Great Hall, I had The Darkest Spells and How to Defend Against Them open on the chapter about the Imperius Curse.
Imperius (Imperio) – The Unforgivable Curse
Effect:
The curse allows a witch or wizard to completely control the mind and body of the victim, who loses their free will and is forced to obey commands. The victim often feels like a puppet — their thoughts muted, their emotions dulled. When cast, a faint golden light appears around the wand, reaching toward the victim's eyes.
Danger and Warnings:
Using the curse is illegal and considered a serious crime.
Long-term control can cause psychological trauma, loss of identity, and permanent mental damage.
Only wizards with extraordinary mental strength can resist it — there are only a few known cases where someone succeeded.
History:
Used by dark wizards, including Death Eaters, to manipulate and force others to commit crimes.
One of the most famous cases was a victim forced to steal magical artifacts, who managed to break free through sheer inner strength.
Resistance:
Mental training and self-control are essential.
If you ever feel your thoughts are not your own, focus on one vivid memory or image until the foreign influence fades.
Note for students:
"Imperius is not a toy. Never try it on classmates — or yourself. Experimentation with this curse is strictly for experienced witches and wizards under the supervision of a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
"Elyse," Lydia nudged me, sitting beside me. "They're going to announce the names soon," she said, a little too cheerfully. Or maybe I was just too tired.
I closed the book and looked around the hall. Across from me sat Harry, who looked even more exhausted than I felt — and I was fairly sure he hadn't spent the night working on his project. Even while joking with Ron, the weariness radiated from him.
"Good evening, students," Dumbledore's voice rang through the hall. "The moment we've all been waiting for — the selection of the Triwizard Tournament champions."
Applause filled the Great Hall. The first two champions were Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour.
Everyone held their breath. Now it was time to announce the Hogwarts champion. Some leaned forward as if that would help them hear faster. A few seats away, I spotted the Weasley twins whispering — probably about their failed attempt to put their names in the Goblet.
Dumbledore smiled faintly as he unfolded the parchment and announced:
"And the Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory!"
The hall erupted in cheers and whistles. A young man with caramel-colored hair rose from the Hufflepuff table and made his way toward the other champions. As he passed, people patted his shoulder and wished him luck.
"Well, that settles it," Dumbledore began, turning toward the professors — when suddenly the Goblet crackled and flared blue again.
"What's happening?" Ginny asked in surprise. Ron, Hermione, and I just shrugged. Harry leaned forward for a better view, while Lydia's gaze remained fixed on Cedric.
A small piece of parchment flew from the Goblet and landed in Dumbledore's hand.
He unfolded it, scanned the hall until he found the one he was looking for, and said in a grave but steady voice:
"Harry Potter."
Harry's eyes widened, his face turning pale as a sheet.
Well then... this was going to be an interesting year.