Chapter 9

The next couple of days went as I expected. The other houses, except Gryffindor, didn't seem impressed with me.

They also believed that I had put my own name into the Goblet, and frankly, I didn't care that much about it to bother trying to change their minds.

From the books, it was pretty clear that most of the students at Hogwarts were sheep, following whatever opinion was fed to them, as long as it made me the bad guy. At-least, for the first few years after that they were more chill.

So, I didn't have any expectations from them in the first place.

The Hufflepuffs seemed to be the most upset about this incident, probably because their house had nothing going on, and the one chance they had to show off to the rest of the school now had to be shared with me.

 But even with Cedric trying to sort things out, it was of little use—at least for a while, before their anger would finally start to calm down.

Even Professor Sprout seemed to be more distant with him, which was odd considering she was a teacher.

But it also highlighted how non-existent their house seemed to be when it came to actual achievements or influence. That even there head of house was desperate for some glory.

Which brings us to one particular morning when I had a Care of Magical Creatures lesson.

The lesson itself wasn't anything interesting, but what was interesting was that it was the first lesson I had with Slytherins after I'd been selected as a champion.

Now, anyone who has read even a few of the Harry Potter books would know that there was a little ferret in Slytherin named Draco Malfoy, who seemed to get a hard-on whenever he argued with me.

Having a fight with me was probably more important to him than food or air.

Predictably, Malfoy arrived at Hagrid's cabin with his familiar sneer firmly in place.

It seemed to be a default expression for him whenever he would come face to face with me.

"Ah, look, boys, it's the champion," he said to Crabbe and Goyle (his two usual lackeys) the moment he got within earshot of me.

"Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt he's going to be around much longer. . . . Half the Triwizard champions have died . . . how long d'you reckon you're going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task's my bet."

"Rather than just talking about it how about an actual bet then , I would bet that I would not only survive the first task but I would do it unscathed as well." I replied to him in a bored tone.

Malfoy blinked, clearly taken aback by my response. He wasn't used to me not getting riled up at his taunts.

"Unscathed?" he scoffed, trying to recover. "You're on, Potter. But I'll warn you now, I've got more money than you could dream of. When you fail, I'll be collecting—big time."

I shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm sure your vast fortune will be very comforting when you lose, Malfoy."

"So how much are you willing to bet? With so much talk of your father's money, I'm sure you could afford to make it interesting," I replied to him in the same bored tone, knowing full well it was getting under his skin.

His face twitched, and I could see the internal battle happening—his ego fighting the desire to prove me wrong, but still trying to salvage some pride.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and I could see the wheels turning in his head. He was clearly weighing the options—how much to bet, and how much would be embarrassing enough if he lost, but not enough to seriously hurt his pride.

After a moment of silence, he spoke, his voice dripping with smugness. "Alright, let's make it interesting. I'll bet you ten Galleons that you'll be out of the first task before it's even halfway over. How does that sound?"

I raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider the offer. "Ten Galleons? That's your idea of making it interesting?" I paused, glancing at Crabbe and Goyle, who looked as absentminded as they usually looked.

"Make it hundred gallons atleast or it that too much for your vast fortune to handle."

Malfoy's jaw tightened, and for a second, I could see a flicker of doubt cross his face. He wasn't used to losing. "You're on," he spat, as if I'd just insulted his entire family.

With that he went back toward the other students in Slytherin house as they looked at us both in interest.

Hermione's expression was a mixture of concern as she approached me, wringing her hands slightly. "Are you sure, Harry, that you should have made a bet with Malfoy?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.

"I'm sure you'll clear the task, but it's still possible to get a little injured. The tournament is supposed to be very dangerous."

I raised an eyebrow at her, offering a small smile at her. "Hermione, I'm not worried," I said with confidence, trying to reassure her. "I know what I'm doing. Besides, its not overconfidence or anything but something I genuinely believe I can do."

"And I have you as well so how can I be worried about something as simple as a task." I replied cheekily to her.

Hermione's face softened slightly at my words, though the worry still lingered in her eyes. "You always manage to get through these things, Harry," she said, her voice a little less tense. "But that doesn't mean I won't worry. Just promise me you'll be careful, okay?"

I smiled reassuringly. "Of course, Hermione. But really, I've got this. You know me why would I ever do anything that might make me lose to Malfoy of all people."

She shook her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite herself. "I really don't get you sometimes, Harry."

With that we turned towards the hut from where we could see Hagrid emerging from its back carrying a tower of crates balanced on top of each other.

Each of them carrying a large blast ended skrewt.

Looking at the large crates some students couldn't help but despair about what they might had to do for them in today's lesson.

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