WILDEST DREAM ➛ʜ.ᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡɪɴ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ

011

The Great Hall was alive with murmurs, whispers spreading like wildfire among the students as they processed the impossible. Harry Potter—a fourth-year student, underage by the rules of the Triwizard Tournament—was chosen as the fourth champion. Madeline sat frozen in her seat, her mind racing.

It didn't make sense.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the table tightly as she replayed the scene in her head. Harry's name had erupted from the Goblet of Fire in a swirl of fire and parchment, and she could still see his stunned expression as everyone turned to look at him. The cheers, the applause, the confused gasps—they had all blended into a cacophony of disbelief.

And now, as she sat in the Gryffindor common room, her thoughts refused to settle. How had Harry's name gotten into the Goblet? Why was this happening? Was it a cruel prank, or something more sinister?

Her mind flickered back to the dream she had the night before. The vision of the Goblet, the parchment bearing Harry's name—it had all been there. Her stomach churned at the thought, and she gripped her quill tighter, trying to focus on her essay.

The portrait hole swung open, and Harry entered, his face a mix of frustration and exhaustion. Ron was nowhere in sight, which wasn't surprising given the tension between them after the announcement. Harry scanned the room and immediately spotted her.

"Madeline," he called, walking over to her. His voice was steady, but his green eyes betrayed his turmoil. "How did you know?"

Madeline looked up, startled. "What?"

"You asked me this morning if I'd put my name in the Goblet of Fire," Harry said, lowering his voice as he sat down beside her. "How did you know I'd be chosen?"

She hesitated, debating whether to tell him the truth. Finally, she set her quill down and sighed. "It was a dream," she admitted. "I saw the Goblet, the parchment with your name. I—I thought it was just some stupid nightmare. I didn't think it'd actually happen."

Harry frowned, leaning closer. "A dream? Are you sure it wasn't just a coincidence?"

Madeline shook her head. "Harry, it was too real. The benches moved to the side, the cheering, even Ron with his...uh, saliva thing. It all happened exactly as I saw it."

Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his messy hair. "This is bad," he muttered. "We need to talk to Sirius."

Madeline nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. "You should talk to Ron first," she said softly.

Harry's expression darkened. "Why? He's already made up his mind that I somehow cheated my way into this. He won't even look at me."

Madeline bit her lip. "He's angry because he thinks everyone sees him as just your sidekick. He told me that earlier. He said he's tired of being 'just Harry Potter's stupid friend.'"

Harry's jaw tightened, and he looked away. "That's ridiculous. He's my best mate."

Madeline sighed, placing a hand on his arm. "Harry, he's hurt. Just...talk to him, okay? Sort things out. You two need each other right now."

Harry nodded reluctantly, but the frustration in his eyes didn't fade.

Later that evening, Madeline found herself in the Prefects' bathroom, hoping the quiet space would help clear her head. She filled the tub with steaming water, the bubbles glistening under the soft glow of the stained-glass mermaid window. The stress of the day had weighed heavily on her, and she needed this moment to breathe.

But her solitude didn't last long. The door creaked open, and she turned sharply to see Draco Malfoy leaning against the frame, his signature smirk plastered on his face.

"Don't you knock, Malfoy?" she snapped, crossing her arms.

Draco ignored her question and walked in, his footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. "So, Potter's the fourth champion. What a shock," he drawled, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Madeline rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Draco?"

He shrugged, stepping closer. "I wanted to see if you've come to your senses yet. We both know Harry didn't put his name in that Goblet."

Her jaw tightened. "Of course I know that."

"Then why aren't you doing anything about it?" Draco pressed, his tone accusatory.

Madeline glared at him. "And what do you suggest I do, Draco? March up to the Goblet and demand answers? This isn't your Slytherin schemes; it's serious."

Draco smirked, but there was a hint of something softer in his eyes. "I'm just saying, you're the only one who believes him completely. You should use that Gryffindor courage you're always so proud of."

Madeline scoffed. "You're one to talk about loyalty, Draco. Or did you forget the nasty things you said about the Weasleys last week?"

Draco's smirk faltered, and he crossed his arms defensively. "That's different."

"Is it?" she challenged, stepping closer. "You can't just insult my friends and expect me to be okay with it, Draco. You can't have it both ways."

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the floor. "You're right," he admitted quietly.

Madeline blinked, caught off guard by his sudden honesty.

Draco looked up, his expression sincere. "I'm sorry, Madeline please. I shouldn't have said those things about the Weasleys. I was angry and took it out on them. On you."

She folded her arms, still wary. "And?"

"And I shouldn't have. You're important to me, Madeline," he said, his voice softer now. "I hate seeing you upset. Even if I'm the one who caused it."

Madeline sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "I appreciate the apology, Draco. But that doesn't mean I'm ready to forgive you yet as I said before."

Draco nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Fair enough. I'll take what I can get."

Despite herself, Madeline couldn't help but chuckle at his persistence. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"I've been told," Draco said, his smile growing.

The two stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their earlier argument dissipating.

As Draco turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder. "For what it's worth, I'm glad we can talk again. Even if you're still mad at me."

Madeline didn't respond, but the faint smile on her lips said enough.