The days after the third task passed in a strange, suspended silence. The castle, which had been buzzing with excitement, seemed to hold its breath. The fourth task was coming, and everyone knew it would be worse than the third. The Gauntlet had been dangerous—dragons, Manticores, enchanted fire. But the fourth task, the fifth, the sixth—they would be something else entirely.
Edmund walked the corridors with his friends, but the crowds parted differently now. Students who had once ignored him nodded as he passed. Professors who had never spoken to him offered words of encouragement. Even the ghosts seemed to linger near him, their translucent faces curious.
He did not enjoy it. He found it unsettling.
---
The *Daily Prophet* had not stopped writing about him. Every morning brought a new article—analysis of his spells, interviews with his professors, speculation about his future. The photograph of him walking across the chasm had become famous. Edmund had seen it pinned to the walls of the Gryffindor common room, the Ravenclaw common room, even the Durmstrang quarters.
"You're a celebrity," Arthur said, dropping onto the bench beside him at breakfast.
"I'm a student."
"You're a student who walked across air and banished a Manticore with a silver lion. That's not normal."
Edmund reached for the toast. "I've never been normal."
Arthur laughed. "That's the understatement of the century."
---
The Beauxbatons students had taken to calling him *le Prince*—not as a title, but as a name. It was strange, hearing his surname spoken with such reverence. He had grown up as the last Prince, the heir to a fading line. Now he was something else. Something new.
Colette found him in the library one afternoon, a stack of books in her arms. "You are avoiding me," she said, sitting across from him.
"I'm not avoiding you. I'm studying."
"You are always studying." She set down her books. "The fourth task is in two weeks. I want to talk about it."
Edmund closed his book. "There's nothing to talk about. We don't know what it is."
"We can still prepare. We can discuss strategies, share knowledge." She leaned forward. "At Beauxbatons, we believe that competition does not preclude cooperation."
Edmund considered this. "What did you have in mind?"
"A study group. The three champions. We can practice together, share our strengths." She paused. "Dolohov has already agreed."
Edmund was surprised. "He agreed?"
"He is competitive, but he is not foolish. He knows that we will all perform better if we learn from each other."
Edmund thought about it. A study group with his rivals. It was unconventional. It was also wise.
"All right," he said.
---
The first meeting was held in an empty classroom on the third floor. Dolohov arrived first, his Durmstrang robes immaculate, his face unreadable. Colette came next, carrying a tray of Beauxbatons pastries. Edmund came last, his wand in his hand, his journal under his arm.
They sat in a triangle, facing each other. The silence was awkward.
Dolohov spoke first. "I have been studying the previous tournaments. The fourth task is often a test of endurance. The champions are placed in a situation that requires sustained magical output over a long period."
Colette nodded. "At Beauxbatons, we have a similar exercise—the Vigil. Students must maintain a protective ward for twelve hours."
Edmund listened. He had read about the Vigil. It was a Beauxbatons tradition, not practiced at Hogwarts.
"I can maintain a shield for six hours," Dolohov said. "But after that, my concentration weakens."
Colette frowned. "I can manage eight. But only with a focus charm."
Edmund said nothing.
Dolohov looked at him. "And you?"
"I haven't tested my limits," Edmund said. "I've never needed to."
Dolohov's eyes narrowed. "You should know your limits. They are the foundation of your strength."
Edmund thought about this. Dolohov was right. He had spent seven years pushing his limits, but he had never measured them. He had never needed to. He had simply done what needed to be done.
"I'll test them," he said.
---
The study group met three times a week. They practiced together, shared techniques, criticized each other's form. Dolohov was brutal in his assessments, but he was fair. Colette was gentle, but she was precise. Edmund was quiet, but he was observant.
He learned from both of them. Dolohov taught him a defensive spell that redirected curses back at the caster—a Durmstrang technique that was not taught at Hogwarts. Colette taught him a charm that enhanced his focus, allowing him to maintain complex spells for longer periods. In return, he taught them the *Veritas Revelio*, his detection charm. Dolohov mastered it in three days. Colette took a week.
"You are a natural teacher," Colette said, after Edmund had explained the spell's theory for the fourth time.
"I've had practice," Edmund said. "My friends and I have been studying together since fourth year."
Dolohov looked up. "You teach your friends?"
"We teach each other."
Dolohov was silent for a moment. "At Durmstrang, we do not share knowledge. Knowledge is power. Power is individual."
Edmund shook his head. "Knowledge grows when it is shared. Power grows with it."
Dolohov did not respond. But he returned to the next session, and the next, and the next.
---
The fourth task was announced on the morning of the fifteenth of March. The champions were summoned to the entrance hall, where Professor Wainwright was waiting.
"Follow me," he said.
He led them out of the castle, across the grounds, toward the Quidditch pitch. The stands were already full—students, Ministry officials, reporters. The crowd cheered as the champions appeared.
The pitch had been transformed. The grass was gone, replaced by a vast, flat expanse of packed earth. In the center of the pitch, a circle of standing stones had been erected—twelve stones, each twice the height of a man, arranged in a ring. Within the ring, the air shimmered, as if with heat.
"The fourth task is called the Circle of Endurance," Wainwright said. "You will enter the circle. Once inside, you will not be able to leave until the task is complete. The circle will test your ability to withstand sustained magical pressure—heat, cold, force, and darkness. The champion who remains standing the longest will receive the highest score."
He paused. "There is no time limit. The task ends when only one champion remains, or when all three have fallen. You may use any magic at your disposal. You may not leave the circle. If you step outside, you are disqualified."
The crowd murmured. Edmund looked at the circle. The stones were ancient, carved with runes that pulsed with a faint light. The air within shimmered, distorted.
He was ready.
---
The champions entered the circle. The moment they stepped inside, the world outside vanished. The crowd, the stands, the castle—all gone. There was only the ring of stones, the packed earth, and the three of them.
The heat came first. A wave of it, intense, suffocating, pressing down on them from above. Edmund raised his wand and cast a cooling charm, wrapping himself in a layer of cold air. Dolohov did the same. Colette conjured a mist that surrounded her, evaporating as fast as it formed.
The heat intensified. Edmund's cooling charm held, but he could feel it straining. He poured more power into it, reinforcing the spell. The minutes passed. Sweat dripped down his face.
The heat vanished. The cold came—a biting, numbing cold that seeped into his bones. Edmund switched spells, casting a warming charm. Dolohov did the same. Colette conjured a flame that hovered before her, radiating heat.
The cold intensified. Edmund's warming charm held, but his fingers were stiff, his breath misting. He pushed more power into the spell, feeling the drain on his reserves.
The cold vanished. The force came—a crushing pressure, as if the air itself was trying to flatten him. Edmund raised a shield, a dome of shimmering light that deflected the pressure. Dolohov raised his own shield. Colette raised hers.
The pressure intensified. Edmund's shield cracked. He reinforced it. It cracked again. He reinforced it again.
The pressure vanished. The darkness came—a blindness so complete that he could not see his own hand before his face. Edmund closed his eyes. He did not need to see. He could feel the magic, the stones, the other champions.
The darkness pressed against him, trying to disorient, to confuse. He held steady.
---
The cycle repeated. Heat, cold, force, darkness. Each time, the intensity increased. Each time, Edmund held. He lost track of time. Minutes, hours—he could not tell. His spells were draining him, his reserves running low. He could feel Dolohov's shield weakening, Colette's mist thinning.
He pushed harder. He poured everything he had into his spells.
The heat came again—the seventh cycle. Edmund's cooling charm flickered. He reinforced it. It flickered again. He heard a cry—Colette. Her mist had failed. The heat was overwhelming her.
Edmund turned toward the sound. He could not see her, but he could feel her magic, fading, flickering.
"Colette!" he shouted.
No response.
The heat vanished. The cold came. Edmund switched spells, casting a warming charm. He heard a thud—someone had fallen.
The cold vanished. The force came. Edmund's shield cracked. He reinforced it. He heard Dolohov grunt, then a curse. His shield had failed.
The force vanished. The darkness came. Edmund stood alone.
The circle went silent. The stones stopped pulsing. The air cleared. Edmund opened his eyes. Colette was on the ground, unconscious, her robes singed. Dolohov was on his knees, his shield shattered, his face pale. Edmund was standing.
The crowd roared.
Barnaby Fingle's voice boomed across the pitch. "Edmund Prince is the last champion standing! He has won the fourth task!"
---
The mediwizards rushed onto the pitch, tending to Colette and Dolohov. Edmund stood in the center of the circle, his wand in his hand, his chest heaving. He was exhausted, drained, his magic nearly gone. But he was standing.
The scores were announced at the feast that evening. Dolohov: 5 points. Colette: 4 points. Edmund: 10 points.
Five tasks, five perfect scores.
---
After the feast, Colette found him in the corridor. Her arm was in a sling, her face pale, but her eyes were bright.
"You saved me," she said. "When the heat came, you called my name. You distracted yourself, and you still held your spells."
Edmund shook his head. "I didn't save you. The task ended."
"You tried. That is enough." She touched his arm. "At Beauxbatons, we are taught that magic is about control. You have taught me that it is also about compassion."
She walked away. Edmund stood in the corridor, the ring warm on his finger, and thought about what she had said.
---