Disclaimer: Do I own Harry Potter? No. Why? Because….that's a secret!

Elder Scrolls – presumably written by some other elder than me.

The crowd hushed, struck dumb by what was to them an unbelievable occurrence. A young wizard (Boy-Who-Lived though he may be) had just dropped his wand, walked up to the fiercest of dragons in the world – who is also a nesting mother! – and proceeded to shout it arse-over-teakettle. This was a day for only those who read the Quibbler to say, "So what?".

Harry reflected on the past few moments as he watched the dragon stumble around, obviously dazed.'Alright, I might have gone a LITTLE bit overboard with the whole…throw-the-wand-on-the-ground-to-look-badarse act. Still, I'll eat my underused pointy hat if that doesn't put the fear of me into some 'former' mort-munching bastards'

Bordmearc, on the other hand, was hosting an entirely different tone of conversation with itself, revolving around the word "panic": 'I don't bloody believe it! He's got to be a dragonborn – he must have killed dozens of dragons to have that much power; I can't match him...maybe he's still amenable to a deal?'

'Back into the fray, Harry me lad – just don't overdo it, and get in and out quick', thought Harry.

"OI! SCALY-ARSE! I'm going to take the golden egg what isn't yours in the first place – if you know what's good for you, stay over there or I'll ram your head up your arse!"

The crowd, having momentarily recovered from the previous shock, was once more dumbfounded. They watched silent as the grave while Harry Potter walked down to the nest, took the golden egg, and proceeded to begin his slow walk back to the arena entrance. A scream tore through the crowd, as the dragon released its fiery breath from behind Harry – his fate was surely sealed.

Bordmearc had heard the arrogant shout of the meatling, and could not take the sting to her pride – unable to protect her nest from a flesh-sack that she herself had taught. She took a deep breath, and shouted out dragon-fire with abandon at the boy's unprotected back.

Harry, being thoroughly chuffed with how well all of this was going, immediately realized that – given his position as fate's designated regional whipping-boy – something was about to go wrong. Turning about swiftly, he came face to face with the pressure wave of the dragon's fire; he had barely enough time to speak – but barely enough is still enough.

"YOL-TOOR-SHUUL!"

Tired as he was, Harry walked out of the arena with his head held high. The crowd was responding to the previous action by taking the most logical course of action – going absolutely bananas. After all, how often do you see a dragon's breath countered by even STRONGER dragon-fire? Bordmearc herself would have certainly commented upon the situation, were she still conscious after being essentially blown away by the reaction of the opposing pressure waves along with being burned by the only fire strong enough to harm a dragon.

Meanwhile, back in the champion tents, Cedric and Krum were being tended to for moderate burns while Fleur was having some minor cuts treated. Their wounds were mostly healed by this time, and thus they were perfectly prepared to mock the young Harry when he came back to the tent with failure and bodily harm as his reward (save for Cedric, who after all was a Hufflepuff through and through). As Harry walked in, though, it was quite obvious that not only had he escaped unscathed but that he had retrieved his egg in record time.

"Lis'en, you leetle boy! Tu were suppos'd to attaque le dragon, not steel ze egg from ze judges!"

Krum merely grunted his displeasure, assuming as Fleur did that his arrival was the result of cheating. However, they were soon abruptly pulled into the (sur)real world with the arrival of the judges – Ludo Bagman, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, and Karkaroff.

"STUPENDOUS! I've never seen such magic – and without your wand! I can't imagine what you'll do next….and how much I'm going to win!", cried Bagman, though the last part of his speech was merely excitedly whispered to himself.

"Dumbly-door, I demand zhat vous explain exactly what has happen'd 'ere? No fourt' year can do such magic!" Madame Maxime was beside herself with fury – not for any potential disgrace to her student (as she was assured of the quality of her students to the same degree as the direction of the sun's travel across the sky) but for what she saw as the most rampant example of nepotism ever. After all, who but Albus Dumbledore would know such magic?

"I am afraid, Madam…..that I am as perplexed as you are – both to the…demonstration we have just received, as well as its origins. Harry," he asked, interrupting Karkaroff's attempt to speak in the interim, "perhaps you could be so kind as to explain the spells you used to create such an effective defense?"

"Defense? Per'fesser," Hagrid spoke," that drag'n didn' have a chance – Harry up and knocked it sideways; I'd be s'prised if the poor creature can even think loud in 's own skull!"

"Well, Harry?"

Harry, ever the prepared adventurer, …had absolutely no idea what he was going to say – but he was sure it would be in keeping with his new 'bad-arse' image.

"Um…..well…..sorry, can't say!" he squeaked as his voice broke.

I'm updating a bit at a time - it's no longer PRECISELY a one-shot, but I may just do this at a random pace until I run out of shouts...