A/N: Sorry about not posting last week, but I was on a rather spontaneous vacation!

Thank you very much for the kind reviews from TheOnyxSnake, Kelly185891, Psyka, cherrity, KioshiUshima, Lizzosaur, PercyJacksonROCKS4ever, Ashvarden and one anonymous reviewer; and thank you to all the people who followed and favourited my story!

On another note: just in case anyone was wondering, the former Yule Ball has been pushed into February (probably) for plot reasons, so don't you worry, there'll be awkward who's-going-with-whom-stuff coming up!

Anyway, now let's get it on with the First Task!

Chapter 7:

Neville was alone in their dorm, rummaging through his trunk because he wanted to put on gloves and an extra-scarf; it was freezing outside and he had no idea how long the Task might last.

He gave an undignified yelp when the door slammed open and Harry rushed inside; his hair even more dishevelled than usual, his shirt buttoned up the wrong way and his bare feet pounding on the floor. "What on earth –," Neville began, but Harry immediately ripped off his clothing and ran into the bathroom. "The Task starts in twenty minutes, you know that?" Neville yelled over the sound of a shower running.

"I know!" Harry yelled back and after what seemed like two seconds, he came back, drying his hair with a towel and cursing under his breath. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, what have I been thinking?"

"Uhm, are you alright?" Neville asked carefully. He and Harry were not exactly close friends – well, Neville liked Harry and they got along well, but he wasn't even sure whether Harry would even call him a friend. He didn't exactly pay a lot of attention to Neville, though he was always friendly to him and often helped him writing his DADA homework, but there was no way he was as close to him as he was to Ron and Hermione. Neville sometimes wished he and Harry could be friends like Ron and Harry were, but he knew that wish was futile – after all, why would Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived who had fought You-Know-Who several times, star of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and much sought-after bachelor, by girls as well as boys, ever want to be friends with shy and clumsy Neville Longbottom who spent most of his time gardening and doing homework?

Still, he felt obliged to ask Harry.

"Huh?" Harry said, looking at him with huge green eyes, and stopped dressing himself for a moment. "Yeah, I am. Well… no, I'm not. Oh damnit!" he cursed when he had somehow managed to mess up the knot in his tie.

"Would you like to… uhm, talk about it?" Neville asked, blushing though he knew Harry probably wouldn't share his problems with him.

"No," Harry said shortly, "I can't… oh fuck, I think I made a really huge mistake… like, the worst mistake of my life." He bowed down to pick up his shoes and hissed with something that sounded like pain, Neville assumed.

"Oh," Neville said and he could only imagine what Harry's mistakes might look like compared to his own – probably they were a lot grander and more significant. "Um, can I help you?"

Harry laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "No," he said, picking up his bag, "no, you can't, it's too late for that. Don't tell anyone I said that, though. Do I look okay?" His hair was tousled, his shirt wrinkled and he looked tired and unhappy and he bent down to grab his bag, hissing again.

"You always look okay. Uh… are you hurt?" Neville asked.

Harry whirled around, wincing, but his eyes were dark. "No!" he barked. "Stop asking stupid questions, Neville! Where are Ron and Mione?"

Neville flinched, hurt by Harry's sudden anger – he didn't even know why Harry was irritated. "They thought you had gotten up before them and that you are already preparing yourself for the Task. They went to look for you and wish you good luck. But… you didn't sleep here, did you?"

"Don't ask, Neville, just don't," Harry said sharply. "Tell Ron and Mione I appreciate it, but don't say anything else, okay? I gotta go."

He picked up his broom, opened the window and took off without looking back. "Good luck, Harry!" Neville yelled after him, but Harry didn't react so Neville didn't know whether he had heard him or not.

With a look at his watch, he decided he'd better hurry, too, and ran down towards the stadium, stumbling down a set of stairs shortly before the Great Hall, only to realize that he had forgotten his gloves and his extra-scarf. Just my luck, he thought miserably.

xXx

From high above Harry could see the stadium, already filled to the brim with spectators, but a few were still hurrying towards the stadium, yelping when he shot above their heads, right into the huge white tent that was reserved for the Champions. As soon as he was inside, he jumped from his broom, suppressing a moan of pain and cursing himself again. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he berated himself. Among all the bad ideas he had ever had, this one surely took the cake.

"Sorry for being late," he panted and only now he realized that he was actually the last to enter the tent; everyone had frozen mid-movement to stare at him.

"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall screeched and Harry flinched. "Must you always –" She took a deep breath, obviously to calm herself. "Well, it seems we are complete finally," she said sharply.

"Yes," Bagman cleared his throat, "come here, m'boy, come here. As I was just saying, the task is to get the golden egg. Each of you may pull a… ah, an obstacle from this bag, because they are different for each of you." He shook the bag in his hand, but neither of the Champions paid any attention to him. Harry was busy straightening his shirt and tucking it in properly, while the other Champions stared at him, Fleur clearly disapproving of his dissembled state. "Ladies first!"

Harry was not the least bit surprised when he pulled the Hungarian Horntail from the bag – that was just his bad luck, he supposed. "Good luck then!" Bagman boomed and together with the judges and McGonagall, he left the tent.

"Are you alright?" Cedric asked softly as soon as they had left.

"Yes, I am," Harry said, annoyed – why did everyone have to ask him that? Besides it wasn't like he would tell perfect prefect Cedric.

"You are a deezgrace," Fleur announced, looking down her nose at Harry.

Harry just shrugged; he couldn't care less what Fleur thought of him. She snorted and raised her chin even higher, pointedly not even looking at him.

Cedric looked like he was about to say something else when Bagman called his name from the stadium. With a slightly green tinge, he got up and stumbled towards the exit. "Good luck," Harry said, and Cedric turned around, flashing him a nervous smile, before he disappeared.

Harry spent the next minutes, which seemed like hours, with his face buried in his hands, only mumbling "good luck" when Fleur and Krum were called, but neither of them reacted to him and Harry didn't care. His mind was buzzing, but he was unable to form a coherent thought; images of the huge dragon, and of himself, being roasted by to the dragon, and memories of last night whirled through his head. Classy, Harry, he thought, really classy, losing your fucking virginity to fucking Marcus Flint on Snape's fucking desk. He hadn't planned for it to happen that way – well, he hadn't planned how to lose his virginity at all, but if he had, surely this wouldn't have been his method of choice. If he hadn't been about to face a dragon in a few minutes, his life couldn't have become any worse, he was sure.

And then, his name was called. He felt dizzy and his knees were trembling when he made his way to the stadium. The spectators were hooting and howling and screaming, some of it sounded encouraging, some did not.

And there was the dragon, huge and black and menacing and crouched over a nest on one side of the stadium.

Harry swallowed.

"Here comes our boy hero, the Boy-Who-Lived himself!" Bagman boomed and Harry wished he would shut up.

As soon as he had entered the stadium, the dragon noticed him, whirling around and snarling menacingly into his direction. Harry inhaled deeply, pulled his wand and called: "Accio Firebolt!" He desperately wished it would work, it must work, it must; and after what seemed like ages, his Firebolt zoomed into his direction and smacked into his palm. Harry grabbed it with trembling hands and mounted his broom, willing himself not to wince at the pain.

He shot up vertically, flying a huge circle above the stadium at first to get an overview; it reminded him of a desert, with a few rocks scattered here and there, and the dragon, of course. Bagman shouted something, but Harry did not listen to him.

Breathing deeply once more, he raced towards the dragon, glimpsing the golden egg which lay half buried among the other eggs, and evaded the flame shooting from the dragon's snout just-so. The dragon screeched, so loud Harry's ears were ringing, obviously annoyed that she hadn't managed to barbecue him, and tried to snap him when he began to fly in circles around her head.

The crowd hooted, but it sounded like from very far away. He didn't know how many times he avoided the flames and the dragon's snapping teeth by hairsbreadth; and her eyes followed him all the time. She screeched again and Harry began to drift to the left slightly, he wanted to lure her away from her nest, but unfortunately she didn't move, she only stretched her long neck and flapped her wings which made his broom tumble in mid-air.

So he moved away even further from her, buzzing around her head, but always just out of reach of her flames until she gave another screech of fury and finally her body rose into the air. Had she seemed ungraceful and heavy while on the ground, so was she of deadly grace and beauty in the air, and of incredible speed. The crowd gave a unified howl when her tail slashed along his back, one of the thorns ripping his cloak almost into half.

He continued luring her farther away from the nest, almost as far as her chain allowed, heat soring on his skin and a few blisters blooming on his hands, but he was not really burned, not yet. He took a steep dive, her head following him instantly, but then, just a foot from the ground, he abruptly turned his broom back up again and her head almost crashed into a rock on the ground and for a moment, she seemed confused and dizzy.

Harry used that moment to do something monumentally stupid.

He jumped from his broom mid-air and landed on her neck, just behind her head. Suddenly, he felt incredibly tiny; surely her neck was twice as thick as a huge tree trunk, yet slender in comparison to her body and graceful and covered with thick scales, that were in fact not black, but a very dark green, iridescent with the light and her movements.

The crowd had fallen silent and the dragon bellowed, shaking her head to get rid of him, so Harry hastily slipped down so he landed on her neck, legs dangling down on both sides (which hurt). Assuring himself with a glance that his broom was safely hovering behind him, held up by only his will, he pulled out his wand and leant forward. Her scales were unexpectedly cool, almost like metal, and very sharp, he realized when he cut himself; and her eyes were huge and golden with slit pupils.

Again, the dragon bellowed and tried to turn her head, but he sat so close to her head she could not reach him with her teeth. He raised his wand, about to perform the Conjunctivitis curse, when he hesitated. It just seemed so… mean, considering that she had not chosen to take part in this Tournament either. And her golden eyes were full of fury, but they were beautiful as well and Harry saw a yearning for freedom in her eyes, which reminded him of his younger self. He did not want to hurt her, he realized, and so he ripped off his cloak, placed it over her eyes and leant to the left to knot the ends with his wand.

Unfortunately, she had chosen this very moment to spin her head to the left to reach her head with her claw, and he fell. For a moment the world seemed frozen: her mouth wide open, with huge sharp teeth and flames licking over her tongue; the crowd gazing upon him in horror, scattered faces as sharp and clear as crystals; and the ground beneath him, uncomfortably close.

Then, his hand closed around his broom handle and he pulled himself up, speeding away from her. The dragon needed about fifteen seconds to rip Harry's cloak from her eyes with her claws and to reorientate herself, but that was enough time for him to race to her nest, pick up the golden egg and get out of her range.

He flew past the entrance of the stadium and landed softly on the floor, turning around to look back at the dragon. Though she must know he was out of her range, she shot flames into the direction he had fled and screeched again, her wings beating the air and her tail slashing. And suddenly, Harry understood Hagrid: She was incredibly dangerous, deadly even, and furious, but she was beautiful in that.

Harry smiled, and then his legs gave in under him, and he slumped to the floor, so tired and dizzy and suddenly hungry; and blinking he realized that he must have cut himself deeper on her scales than he had thought for the golden egg was dark and slick with blood. Weird, he thought and then he fell into darkness.

xXx

When Harry awoke he immediately knew he was in the hospital wing – he had spent way too many nights here and that too-clean smell was unmistakeable.

"Hush, Ron, you are going to wake him," he heard Hermione's quiet voice somewhere to his left.

"But I want him to wake," Ron's voice whined, quietly though, "he needs to know what happened afterwards, don't you think?"

"What happened afterwards?" Harry asked, without opening his eyes. Immediately he was buried in a lot of bushy hair and Hermione's firm hug.

"Oh Harry, you're awake!" she cried and hugged him even closer.

"Leave him alone, Mione, you'll crush him," Ron laughed, but he hugged Harry, too, as soon as Hermione had let go of him. "You were brilliant, mate! Completely suicidal, though."

"Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, you were supposed to inform me the very moment he woke up!" Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room and bowed over Harry. "How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, he just felt a bit faint, but as always Madam Pomfrey paid him no mind.

"You were dehydrated and had not eaten for days – I had to give you three nutritional potions – and then you came upon the brilliant idea to outfly a dragon – well, at least the dragon was not your fault, Mr. Potter – I have to wonder what this school has come to. Dragons, really! The nerve!" she exclaimed, measuring Harry's pulse with her wand. "Well, your pulse seems to be in order. I must request of you that you stay in bed until this evening, however. And I forbid you to fight a dragon for at least six weeks."

"That should not pose a problem," Harry said with a weak smile.

"Very well. Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley you have ten minutes and then I want to see you leaving."

"You were bloody brilliant!" Ron yelled as soon as Madam Pomfrey had disappeared in her office. "And can you believe – you fucking won the Task!"

"Really," Harry said weakly. "That is, um, brilliant." He didn't know what to think of it, though – well, first of all, he couldn't really believe it.

"That is so typical of you, Ron," Hermione chastised. "Don't you think Harry should recover before you dump this piece of information on his head?"

"Well, it's just the most important news ever!" Ron said, jumping up and down excitedly. "I mean it's bloody awesome!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I almost died when I saw you jump on that dragon's head, Harry. What were you thinking?"

"Not that much," Harry admitted. "I'm not that good at aiming, y'know, and I thought the closer I am to her eyes the better."

"Only you," Ron said, shaking his head. "Jumping on a dragon's head as if it was nothing. The very idea of getting that close is suicidal – Charlie said not even the most experienced dragon keepers would ever dare to do that."

"Well, I had to come close, hadn't I?" Harry defended himself.

"And then, using your cloak!" Hermione shrieked. "Why on earth didn't you use the Conjunctivitis Curse?"

"I dunno," Harry said who had wondered the same thing. "It just seemed so… cruel, you know? I didn't want to hurt her," he added softly, lowering his eyes.

"Clearly you spend way too much time with Hagrid," Ron declared.

"Why should I have hurt her?" Harry asked sharply, his fury suddenly aflame. "She hadn't chosen to be there, had she? In fact, from her point of view I was the evil one, trying to steal one of her eggs. She only defended her children and herself. It wouldn't have been fair."

"Fair!" Ron said, laughing. "Yeah, like that would have mattered! Treating a dragon fairly!"

"Well, maybe you think it's funny, but I happen to know what it's like to be treated unfairly for no reason whatsoever," Harry hissed, feeling suddenly reminded of his time with the Dursleys. He remembered how many times Dudley had done some bullshit and Harry had been punished for it, hit over the head by Aunt Petunia's frying pan (probably he had gotten his good reflexes from ducking under her frying pan, he thought bitterly), and pushed into his cupboard with no food for days. Ron and Hermione didn't know, Harry remembered, they didn't know what it felt like to be starving, to go without food for a week, so hungry and desperate, to lie in a dark cupboard and wait, wait for the moment they may be let out again, yet full of fear what the next day might hold; and yearning, yearning for justice and fairness, so they might get food, too, and a room and maybe, maybe just a bit of love.

Suddenly, he didn't feel like talking to Ron and Hermione anymore and he turned away from them, pulling the covers over his head. It was childish, he knew, but he couldn't stand Ron's laughing face and Hermione's concerned all too knowing eyes right now. He heard Hermione hiss something and Ron said, hesitantly: "I didn't mean it that way, y'know… Harry, c'mon…"

"Go away," Harry said sullenly, his voice muffled by the blanket. "'M tired."

"Harry…" Hermione whispered, placing a cool hand on his shoulder, but Harry shrugged it off. "Very well then, we'll see you tonight," Hermione said after a few seconds of silence. "Sleep well, Harry."

Harry heard them leaving and bit his lip in order not to cry. He would not cry, not because of the bloody Dursleys, and not because his memories of that time always turned up so at the most inept moments. He should be euphoric right now, he had managed to complete the Task and was in the lead now although he realized that he didn't even know how many points he had received.

Ron and Hermione didn't know, so they couldn't understand why he would never hurt someone – or something – that had nothing done to him – that was more Dudley's style, really. He wished they would understand, but he didn't want to tell them about his past, he felt incredibly embarrassed by his own weakness and he didn't want anyone to know, really, that he had lived in a cupboard and that he had been treated like a House Elf and… he just didn't want to think about it.

Slowly, he drifted off to sleep, his thoughts still circling around his time at the Dursleys.

When he awoke, he felt almost recovered and yawned so deeply his jaw cracked audibly. The Hospital Wing was bathed in soft pink light from the sun setting and Madam Pomfrey hurried over to him, checking his pulse and temperature. "It seems you are almost recovered," she said, smiling. "Are you feeling well again, Mr. Potter?"

"Yeah," Harry said and he did – the pain from the night before was no more than a hollow throbbing and though his left was still wrapped in bandages, it didn't hurt anymore. "Wounds taken from dragon scales take quite a long time to heal," Madam Pomfrey explained when she saw his glance. "It is because they are highly magical and a magical acceleration of the healing process might worsen the wound significantly. It should be gone in three or four days, though."

"Oh, okay," Harry said, frowning at his hand – at least it was his left and not his right so he wasn't completely limited.

"I expect you would like to have dinner – I ordered the House Elves to prepare something for you; it should already be at Gryffindor Tower. I suppose you preferred your friend's company for eating over mine."

Harry blushed. "That is, um, very nice, Madam Pomfrey. Though I wouldn't mind eating in your company."

"Such a polite young man!" she gushed and Harry blushed even further. "And you do not hurt anymore?" she asked, sitting down on his bed.

Harry edged a bit away from her – it was not that he didn't like her, he was just not that comfortable with people coming that close to him. "Um, no. I'm fine."

"That is nice to hear. If you ever have any kind of… problems, please come to me, Mr. Potter. Should you ever be hurt, mentally or physically, please do not hesitate to speak to me."

"Okay," Harry said, a bit embarrassed, "I will… um, if I… um, need to."

"Very well, if there is nothing else, you surely wish to join your friends for their celebration in Gryffindor Tower?"

"Yeah," Harry said though he didn't feel like celebrating all that much. "Thank you, and bye." He practically ran from the Infirmary, but he stopped when Madam Pomfrey called his name. "Yes?"

"I would not have wanted to hurt the dragon, either," she said, smiling. "I do understand you, Mr. Potter."

Harry just nodded and fled.

In front of the Common Room, the Fat Lady was the first to congratulate him, raising her glass of pink champagne to him. "Well done!" she cried and downed the champagne only to refill it again. "No password needed for you today!"

"Um, okay," Harry said slowly when the portrait opened – it didn't seem very safe to him to just let someone in without a password. But any thoughts on security were immediately gone from his mind when he was greeted by an ear-splitting uproar. About ten people at once tried to jump at him, but the Weasley twins were fastest and successfully tackled him to the ground. Fred shouted something into his ear, but it was drowned in George's roar of triumph. "Brilliant, mate!"

He didn't know how, but after a few minutes in which he was hugged by what seemed like every single Gryffindor, Ron and Hermione managed to save him and tow him towards his favourite place by the fireplace. He thought he must surely be deaf by all the screaming and shouting and he felt incredibly hot for at least twenty Gryffindor scarves were wrapped around his body.

A tray with steaming food sat on a table where Dean and Seamus were already waiting to congratulate him. "No one allowed here except friends while he eats!" Ron bellowed, easily drowning out the hullaballoo – surely he must have inherited his mother's voice, Harry thought with a small smile.

Neville, who had managed to squeeze through the students, looked crestfallen at Ron's announcement, but his whole face lit up when Harry waved him over. "You flew really great, Harry," he said shyly.

"Thanks," Harry said between mouthfuls of food while he tried to fend the Weasley twins off who tried to dose him with something that was most certainly not butterbeer, but strangely not even Hermione seemed in the mood to scold them. He waved Neville closer who approached him with a hopeful expression on his face. "Hey Neville," he said quietly, his voice drowned out by Seamus, Ron and the Weasley twins chanting a rather off-key version of "The Dragon That Stole the Witch".

Now that his horrible embarrassment and acute anger had faded, he felt rather bad about the way he had treated Neville this morning. "Sorry about this morning," he mouthed at Neville. "I was kind of… y'know, I had fucked up pretty badly… anyway, I'm really sorry."

"It's fine," Neville said with a smile, patting Harry's shoulder a bit awkwardly. "Um… I guess you don't want to talk about it?"

"I'd rather not," Harry said, shoving any thoughts about Flint very far from his mind. "So, how many points did I get anyway?" he asked Ron when he had finished his dinner after a lot of fumbling because he couldn't really use his left hand, but he refused Ron's help.

"You don't even know?" Ron asked incredulously, almost dropping a bag of suspicious sweets, courtesy of his brothers, on Neville's head, but then he remembered: "Oh right, yeah, we didn't tell you… so, Maxime and Crouch gave you nine, Dumbledore and Bagman ten and Karkaroff gave you only six, that slimy little –"

Hermione cleared her throat pointedly. "Well, what matters is that you are in first place," she said smiling. "I don't think anyone would have thought that."

"Well, I certainly didn't," Harry said grinning. He felt so relieved without the death threat of a dragon pending above his head – his fear hadn't been exaggerated, however. "I thought I'd not even survive."

"Mate, you are the Boy-Who-Lived," Ron said, "surely that title refers to dragons, too, doesn't it?"

Their chat was interrupted by a few Firsties who began coughing and spitting smoke and sparks, one of them setting Neville's cloak on fire. Neville yelped and Harry hastily put out the fire with a quick "Aqua!" and checked the crowd for his suspected culprits.

"FREDERIC FABIAN AND GEORGE GIDEON WEASLEY!" he already Hermione's yell. He and Ron broke into snickers ("always to the rescue, Harry, aren't you?" Seamus yelled, pounding his back) whereas Neville tried to calm down the Firsties, one of whom had begun to cry – because she hadn't received any of the sweets.

Harry didn't even know when they went to bed that night, but it had been a really good party – Fred and George had managed to escape Hermione's wrath, leaving spiked butterbeer (that made you speak backwards for half an hour) and some leftover Dragon Candy (and this time, it was Neville himself who set his cloak on fire); Seamus had distributed punch – that contained considerably more alcohol than Hermione would approve of – whenever she wasn't looking, and there had been a short pandemonium after Neville had dropped the golden egg and horrible screeching sounds had emerged until Ron had managed to close it again. In general, Harry had a really, really good time.

So good it made him forget everything about Flint and he only remembered when he was in bed, trying to fall asleep despite Ron's snoring. He pulled the curtains close to shut out at least some of the noise and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep. But he couldn't prevent the memories from Thursday night haunting his mind. Flint, kissing him, his large, rough hands roaming over his body, making every nerve of his tingle with pleasure; and Harry himself, asking Flint to fuck him; and Flint thrusting into him, every thrust making him groan and writhe in pleasure; and Flint's dark eyes fixed on his face, his gaze so intense it still made Harry shudder; and – he could only imagine that – Flint carrying him to his bed, through dark and lonely corridors; and Flint's arm and leg draped possessively over him, and that wonderful feeling of being enveloped in security…

Harry groaned and punched his pillow. If it went on like that, he would never fall asleep.

xXx

During dinner the next day, waves of whisper surrounded him and people stared at him and pointed their fingers openly. Most of it didn't sound very friendly (except for groups of Gryffindors, most of them with dark circles beneath their eyes, breaking into random cheers) and Harry felt increasingly uncomfortably. "What are they going on about?" he asked Ron quietly.

Ron just nodded to Hermione's Evening Prophet. "It's the article about the Task. Apparently you only won the Task 'cause you're famous."

"Well, I didn't," Harry said, somewhat annoyed, "and besides, why do they care?"

"Well, you're not exactly popular at the moment, remember?" Ron asked. "I guess everyone wanted bloody Diggory to be the best."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not like I asked for it."

Ron placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know mate, but you know what people are like, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do," Harry said bitterly, stabbing at his toast with his fork. Suddenly he wasn't hungry anymore and his mood didn't improve when someone addressed him from the side. "Harry?"

"What?" he barked, whirling around and scowling at the intruder – it was Cedric, who looked at him with a sheepish smile, his arm bandaged and the left half of his face covered with an orange paste.

"Sorry," Cedric said, clearing his throat, "I only wanted to congratulate you. You were brilliant yesterday, and you're in first place now! So, congratulations for defeating Hogwarts's honour and all that!" He had spoken considerably louder during his last sentence and the hostile murmur from the Hufflepuff table died down a bit.

"Oh," Harry said awkwardly, "I didn't mean to yell at you. Thank you. Would you like to sit with us?"

"Um, that would be lovely… but I was wondering if I could talk to you privately?"

"Why, sure," Harry said, stuffing his toast into his mouth and frowning at Dean and Seamus who were snickering openly. Seamus even made kissing sounds until someone – Hermione, probably – kicked his shin.

"Don't come back too late," Ron said, "Fred and George mentioned something about having a second party tonight… what d'you say?"

"Yeah, fine," Harry said, shrugging, and followed Cedric outside the Great Hall, and then onto the Grounds. "I hope you don't mind," Cedric said, "but I don't like being watched… and neither do you, isn't it?"

"Not particularly," Harry agreed, "I've gotten used to it over the years, though. What happened to your face anyway?"

"Got a bit roasted by the dragon," Cedric said casually and touched his face, but he winced and hastily put his hand down again. "My reflexes aren't as good as yours, obviously."

Harry blushed and mumbled something incomprehensible.

"Yeah, so…" Cedric stopped and cleared his throat again. "I wanted to thank you. For telling me. About the dragon, I mean. Yeah, I wouldn't have stood a chance without you and would have embarrassed myself even more."

"Oh," Harry said, surprised. "It's no big deal. I mean, the others knew, too, so I thought it wouldn't be fair if you didn't, you know?"

"Still," Cedric insisted. "I bet most wouldn't have done it. How did you find out, anyway?"

Harry grimaced. "You don't even want to know." Cringing, he remembered Flint telling him – alright, he did not want to think about Flint right now – and the awkward date between Hagrid and Madam Maxime.

"I'd like to," Cedric said with a smile.

"So, it was kind of a date between two people I know," Harry said. "I just happened to, uh, follow them… well, I didn't mean to, but I did. Anyway, not very romantic, is it? Watching dragons during a date?"

Cedric laughed. "Not really, no. But what would you like to do for a date?"

"Dunno," Harry said, shrugging, "maybe go for a walk, without dragons, preferably? Or have something nice to eat? Or just sit by the fire and chat?"

"Well, that sounds nice," Cedric said and smiled at Harry and it slowly dawned on him that Cedric might take that the wrong way – besides, was Cedric trying to ask him for a date? Were Flint – and Hermione – actually right about him? "So, you dating someone?"

Okay, so he was trying to ask him for a date. "No," Harry said slowly, a fierce blush creeping up his neck. Well, Cedric was sweet and nice and handsome, and Harry most certainly was not dating Flint, but still, Cedric didn't seem to be all that exciting whereas just thinking of Flint made goose-bumps run all over his body; the way he stared at him with his dark eyes, every gaze of his so very intense it burned on Harry's skin.

"Ah," Cedric said and he was blushing, too. "So, maybe you'd like to hang out with me some time?"

"Yeah… maybe," Harry said; he didn't want to tell Cedric no though he knew he probably wouldn't hang out with him – he almost snorted at the thought of Flint asking him if he wanted to hang out – he didn't ask, he took what he wanted and Harry kind of liked that… more than he wanted to admit to himself. But he had asked Harry about… well, best not think about it. "So, I've gotta get back, Ron mentioned something about a party earlier…"

"Right," Cedric said, giving his shoulder a short squeeze. "It was nice talking to you, Harry. Have a nice party and I'll see you around."

"Yeah, see you, too," Harry said, relieved that this really awkward conversation was over and hastily headed back to the castle.

He was just carefully stepping over a trick step on the very last step on the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower when someone addressed him from behind. "Potter."

There was no way he wouldn't recognize that dark drawl. "What do you want, Flint?" he asked, but Flint had already grabbed his shoulder and turned him around.

"We need to talk," Flint said shortly, fixing Harry with his dark eyes.

"And you dared going right into lion's territory?" Harry asked pointedly. "My, must be an important thing to talk about."

"It is," Flint said, scowling. "Follow me." He led Harry back down the stairs and unlocked a door to an unused classroom – from what it looked like, this one hadn't been used for a few decades. "Prefect's privilege," he added at Harry's raised eyebrows.

Inside, Harry dusted a table off with a swish of his wand and sat on the table, pulling Flint towards him. Played long enough, he thought and grabbed Flint's collar to pull him down to his height. Without saying a word, he kissed him, enjoying the warmth and taste of his mouth, moaning quietly, when Flint bit his lower lip carefully. He moaned again, with disappointment this time, when Flint interrupted the kiss way too early and looked down at him with a way-too-sincere gaze.

"Talking, Potter," he reminded him, "not snogging."

"Oh, so you actually wanted to talk," Harry said, somewhat surprised and disappointed at the same time. He knew that they had to talk about Thursday night, surely, but… maybe not today. Today he only wanted to enjoy himself, and having awkward talks with Flint took no part in that. "Do we have to? I'd like to…" He trailed off and played with Flint's messily knotted tie, trying to take it off.

It was only then that Flint seemed to discover the bandages on his hand. "What's that?" he asked grimly, a dark scowl on his face.

"I cut myself on the dragon's scales," Harry said absent-mindedly. "It doesn't hurt anymore, though."

Flint made a growling sound. "This shouldn't have happened." In an oddly tender gesture, he took Harry's hand, stroking along his wrist and Harry shuddered; he was sensitive there… He closed his eyes and let his head loll back, enjoying Flint's caresses; his fingers wandering along his wrist, and his forearm, and up to his throat…

Suddenly, Flint stopped and let go of him. "Talking, Potter. Stop distracting me."

"If this is about Thursday night…" Harry didn't want to talk now; he wanted nothing but to enjoy Flint's touches.

"No," Flint growled. "I have to tell you something – something I'm not proud of." He looked down at his hands and breathed deeply – it was the second time Harry remembered seeing him nervous – the first time had been two nights before. "You remember I believed you when you said you didn't put your name into the Goblet?"

"Yes," Harry said slowly. "Do you know –"

"I put your name into the Goblet."

xXx

A/N: OH FLINT, HOW COULD YOU.

Haha, I hope I managed to surprise you there! Congrats to Idriss Pukka for figuring it out after the fourth chapter already! So maybe Flint hasn't been as sneaky as he thought… anyway, what did you think of this chapter?