Disclaimer: If I do own it, why am I working at a restaurant for minimum wage?
Chapter Ten
Red, Green, Black, and Blue
"Tell me tell me do you feel the pressure now?"
Born For This- Paramore
Today is the twenty-fourth of November, nineteen-ninety-four, and at one o'clock this afternoon, the first task of the Triwizard Tournament begins. The entire school buzzed with anticipation, unless you're Harry Potter, or Cedric Diggory, then, you paled by the hour.
It's extremely difficult to concentrate on your lessons, if all your classmates talk of nothing but the first task. The Slytherins hypothesised how Harry's going to die, and how long into the first task it'll take. I guess you could call it generosity if they think he'll make it to half an hour in. But they're also hoping he dies horrifically.
At lunch, all of the Gryffindors watched as McGonagall came over to our table. She walked over to Harry, and probably told him it's time for the first task, because they both left the Great Hall. The other champions had already left. We continued to eat, pretending nothing had happened, but you could feel the excitement and anticipation thickening in the atmosphere. About a half an hour later, Dumbledore stood up.
"I ask you now to follow Hagrid and make your way down to the grounds for the first task," Dumbledore said.
The usual banging and scraping ensued. The entire school filed out of the Great Hall excitedly chatting about what the first task would be. Hagrid led us past a tent to an enclosure, and we filed in the stands. We sat down about halfway up, and I realised the stands stood around an enclosure. And inside the enclosure is a silvery-blue dragon with long, pointed horns. Oh, well, if that's it.
"Dragons?" I said hoarsely. "They're asking teenagers to get past dragons?"
"It could be worse," Fred said.
"'It could be worse'?" I asked. "Aren't you glad it's not you facing the Swedish Short-Snout?"
"Just a little," Fred admitted.
"'Just a little'? They could die today," I answered.
"You worry too much, Kat," Lee said. "Dumbledore won't let anyone die."
"What's Dumbledore going to do?" I asked, though I don't doubt Dumbledore's power. "The Swedish Short-Snout's flame is so hot that it can reduce bone to ash like that." I snapped my fingers for emphasis.
A whistle sounded somewhere. Almost as soon as Cedric walked onto the field, I flinched in fear. As he darted forward, the Short-Snout emitted a brilliant blue jet of flame, threatening to engulf him, and reduce him to ash. He skidded to a halt, and dove out of the way, inches away from the fiery stream. The crowd cheered madly, relishing this form of deadly entertainment, not seeming to realise that he narrowly dodged death.
"Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow…" Bagman boomed, he seemed to be enjoying this too much for my tastes. My nails dug deeply into my seat, praying Cedric –or any of the other champions for that matter– don't die today. I bit my tongue as Cedric barely missed another stream of flame.
"He's taking risks, this one!"
I grounded my teeth in annoyance as cheers filled the stadium. I mean, HELLO?! He isn't exactly doing so hot at the moment. Wait. Hot is the last thing he wants to be right now. Hot equalled dead. He clumsily dodged another swipe as he stood up. Even from where I sat, I could see the beads of sweat trickling down his face.
"Shit," George cursed.
"What?" I said in alarm, following his gaze.
"Diggory's on fire!" I stared in shock to realise George is right. Cedric's robes are on fire, but the worst part is he hadn't noticed. I cursed under my breath as the little spark spread along his sleeve; I guess with a giant, horned dragon staring you in the face, being on fire isn't exactly noticeable.
With another flick of his wand, a rock flew past the dragon, but she wasn't even fazed. She issued another blast of flame, setting the ground ablaze. His eyes narrowed as he prepared to go careening through the conflagration. Then something struck him, he finally clued into his smouldering robe. Unfortunately, this isn't exactly the place for stop, drop, and roll.
He pointed his wand at his arm, and muttered something under his breath, and to my relief, the flamed was extinguished. Cedric kept his wand out, circling the peevish silvery-blue dragon. My mouth dropped as a flash of black fur emerged on to the enclosure.
"No way…" I murmured.
"Is that a dog?" Lee asked in sceptical amazement. "It looks like a Labrador."
"Actually…" I said, mesmerized by the barking figure, drawing the malignant beast towards it, "that is a rock."
"A rock?" George exclaimed. Yeah, no kidding, a frigging rock.
"Do you ever pay attention in Transfiguration?" I mused, rolling my eyes.
Lee cut in before George could respond. "Not while you're there, Kat."
George turned tomato red, and I opened my mouth to respond, but failed miserably. Instead, I turned my attention back on Cedric.
He made a mad dash for the egg, while the dragon's attention stayed fixed on the lab. The Short-Snout seemed to realise Cedric's plan, and let loose a jet of hot flame roasting the dog-rock, along with a bit of Cedric's face, but that no longer mattered. Cedric had grabbed his golden egg.
"Clever move– pity it didn't work!"
Fifteen minutes later, a roar of applause and cheers filled the stadium, nearly overbearing the excited cries issued from Bagman. Fred, George, and Lee are on their feet, waving their arms frantically. I watched, my heart still thudding, as they led Cedric off the field to be treated for his burns.
A buzz of excited murmurs filled the stadium as a dragon the colour of lush grass replaced the silver-blue one. A Welsh Green. I stared in wonder, contemplating the possibility of Harry facing this one. It would be easier (as easy as getting past a dragon can be, anyway) than the Swedish Short-Snout. The mottled brown flecked eggs were carefully arranged around the prized golden one.
"One down, three to go!" Bagman yelled. "Miss Delacour, if you please."
A whistle sounded, and Fleur Delacour emerged. She looked absolutely terrified, not exactly the best demeanour to come into this ring with, even though I could understand her sentiment. The Welsh Green eyed her tentatively, trying to discover what her intent is. She made up her mind, and started out with a sprint; the dragon emitted an enraged, yet enchantingly musical roar.
Its massive neck arched as it emitted an extremely thin jet of flame. Fleur stumbled to the ground, skidding onto a patch of singed grass, staining her clothes black with soot. I almost snorted, what would've possessed her to wear a skirt for a Triwizard task? Fleur tried to make a run for it, but suddenly the dragon's head blocked her path.
"Oh, I'm not sure that was wise!" Bagman shouted gleefully, as Fleur skidded to a halt.
When the dragon calmed a bit, Fleur raised her wand, and the dragon went into a bit of a sleep-like trance.
"Oh... nearly! Careful now..." Bagman boomed. Just then, the dragon snored, and a thin jet of flame shot out, lighting Fleur's skirt on fire. Breaking her concentration from the spell, she quickly put out the flame.
"Good Lord, I thought she'd had it then!"
Ten minutes more of running and dodging, Fleur succeeded. The stadium burst into applause. We patiently waited as the judges gave out their marks, I added it up in my head, thirty-five points. Not bad; certainly not great, but not too bad.
I watched as vivid crimson eggs flecked with gold replaced the mottled green ones. Ah, so a Chinese Fireball is next, is it? Sure enough, seconds later, a crimson dragon lined with golden spikes entered the stadium. Its squished face looked around menacingly, its protuberant eyes focusing on the tiniest details.
With the next whistle, the bulky figure of Krum darted into the stadium. He isn't wasting any time. The Fireball, completely caught off guard, emitted a massive mushroom-shaped cloud. Krum nimbly got out of the way. I have to admit, he is very agile, although I guess he'd have to be, if he is a Seeker for Bulgaria.
His wand at the ready, and as soon as the four-tonne dragon thrashed her long tail in the wrong direction, Krum pounced. "CONJUNCTIVUS!" he bellowed, and light flashed from his wand straight into the eyes of the Fireball. It roared in enraged pain as it staggered back, crushing its own eggs. I flinched. That was essentially the death of four baby dragons. They never had a chance.
"Very daring! That's some nerve he's showing —and— yes, he's got the egg!"
Krum seized the golden egg, and the match came to an end, applause filling the stadium. Bagman announced the deduction of points for damage to the eggs. I never stopped to think that the eggs were in as much danger as the champions. The crowd cheered as Krum was awarded a total of forty points, not bad. I idly wondered what dragon Harry will face.
I think the colour drained from my face when I saw the cement-coloured eggs placed in the field. I swore aloud, and glanced at Fred and George; both of them had gone pale. What is the Ministry playing at? My heart rate quickened as the lizard-like, jet-black dragon came onto the field. Bronze horns lined its long, muscular body, and particularly large ones protruded from its tail. Its yellow eyes glared menacingly at the flabbergasted crowd. The tent flap rustled as the whistle sounded, Harry's figure paced silently out to face his snarling opponent—a Hungarian Horntail.
Harry raised his wand, and shouted, "Accio Firebolt!"
The stadium went eerily quiet; we seemed to be holding our breath. The silence was cut by whistling air; then I saw the Firebolt hurtling towards Harry. The broomstick stopped next to Harry, hovering, waiting for him to mount. The noise level increased, Bagman shouted something as Harry kicked off from the ground, soaring upwards, leaving the crowd and dragon behind. I had been told by the twins Harry played Seeker for the Gryffindor team, and in mere seconds I learned why. He dived with the Horntail's head following him. Harry pulled out of the dive as the dragon released a jet of fire where Harry would have been had he not swerved. I stared, amazed.
"Great Scott, he can fly!" Bagman yelled as the crowd shrieked and gasped as one. "Are you watching this, Mr. Krum?"
Harry soared higher, flying in a circle. The Horntail still followed his every move, its head revolving on its long neck. The crowd gasped as Harry plummeted when the dragon opened its mouth, but Harry wasn't so lucky this time. He missed the flames —thank Merlin— but the tail came whipping to meet him instead, and as he swerved, a long spike grazed his shoulder, ripping his robes. The crowd shrieked and groaned, yet Harry continued on, zooming behind the dragon.
The dragon writhed and twisted, furling and unfurling her wings, keeping her eyes on Harry. She didn't want to take off, too afraid to move far from her eggs. Harry began to fly one way, then another, not enough to annoy the Horntail, but enough that the dragon saw him as a threat, and continued to watch him. The dragon's head swayed this way and that with her fangs bared. He rose a few feet higher, while the dragon let out a roar of exasperation. She thrashed her tail again, but Harry couldn't be reached now. The dragon shot fire into the air, which Harry dodged. Finally, the dragon reared, unfurling her leathery wings, and Harry dived. Before the dragon knew where he had gone, he sped towards the ground, to the unprotected clutch of eggs, and seized the golden egg. With a huge burst of speed, he soared upwards, over the stands, the egg tucked under his uninjured arm. The stadium screamed and applauding, almost loud enough to drown out Bagman shouting.
"Look at that! Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr. Potter!"
Dragon-keepers rushed forward to subdue to the dragon. Near the entrance of the enclosure, I could see Professors McGonagall, Moody, and Hagrid gesturing to Harry to land. He flew over the stadiums one last time, the crowd's roar of approval deafening. He landed, and exited the enclosure. I let out a shaky breath.
"Are you all right?" George asked. Swallowing, I nodded.
"Isn't that your brother, Charlie?" Lee shouted to the Weasley twins. The twins looked.
"So it is," they said together.
"Come on, Kat," George said as he and Fred stood up.
"But I want to see Harry's score," I protested, what he did was bloody amazing.
"You can see it from the ground," George said, sounding amused.
I sighed, before grumbling, "Fine."
I stood up, and followed the twins out of the stadium. We came to the gates that created the enclosure. A man with bright red hair noticed us, and came striding over. I noticed he was built similarly to the twins, and his face weather-beaten and freckly.
"Hey, Fred. Hey, George," he greeted. "Who's your friend?"
"Kat Wilkinson," I said, extending my hand, which he shook. I felt calluses and blisters.
"Charlie Weasley," he said. "You're new here, aren't you?"
"Yes, I transferred here from Canada," I said.
"Yet your accent is perfect," Charlie said. Oh, sweet Merlin, help me.
"My parents were British," I said simply. "Um, would it be all right if I asked one of your friends about the dragons?"
"Sure," Charlie answered. I walked a few feet away, still within earshot. I questioned a man, who had a heavy French accent, so I spoke in fluent French, though listening to their conversation.
"Out of your league," Charlie said almost immediately to George.
"Why does everyone keep saying that?" George asked, sounding exasperated.
"Because it's true," Fred said sniggering. I rolled my eyes.
"Well," Charlie said seriously, "do you fancy her?"
"Yeah," George answered.
"You might have a shot, then," Charlie told him.
I walked over. "Harry's tied for first place with Krum," I informed them.
"Really?" they asked together.
"Yeah, really," I said with a laugh.
"C'mon, Fred, I reckon it's time we get a party organised," George said.
"Yeah, I gotta go," Charlie said. "Bye, guys."
"See you later," the twins said.
"Bye," I said, before heading to the castle.
Later that evening, a party was well under way in the Gryffindor common room. Fred and George had nicked loads of cakes, and flagons of pumpkin juice and Butterbeer, which were everywhere. The room exploded with cheers and yells when Harry entered. Lee let off some Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous No-Heat, Wet-Start Fireworks, leaving the air thick with stars and sparks. A fourth year put up some impressive banners, mostly depicting Harry zooming around the Horntail's head on his Firebolt, but some showed Cedric with his head on fire.
"Blimey, this is heavy," Lee said, picking up the golden egg, and weighing it in his hands. "Open it, Harry, go on! Let's just see what's inside it!"
"He's supposed to work out the clue on his own," Hermione Granger said immediately. "It's in the Tournament rules..."
"Yeah, go on, Harry, open it!" several people echoed.
Lee passed the egg to Harry, and Harry prised it open.
Although the egg was hollow and empty, the common room filled with the most horrible noise, a screechy wailing. Immediately, I covered my ears.
"Shut it!" Fred bellowed, his hands over his ears.
"What was that?" another fourth year said, staring at the egg as Harry slammed it shut. "Sounded like a banshee... maybe you've got to get past one of those next, Harry!"
"It was someone being tortured!" another fourth year said. "You're going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!"
"Don't be a prat, Neville, that's illegal," George said. "They wouldn't use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions. I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing... maybe you've got to attack him while he's in the shower, Harry."
"Want a jam tart, Hermione?" Fred asked.
She looked doubtfully at the plate he offered her. Fred grinned.
"It's all right. I haven't done anything to them. It's the custard creams you've got to watch—"
Neville, who had just bitten into a canary cream, choked and spat it out.
Fred laughed. "Just my little joke, Neville..."
Hermione took a jam tart, before asking, "Did you get this all from the kitchens, Fred?"
"Yep," Fred replied, grinning at her. "'Anything we can get you, sir, anything at all!'" he said, imitating a house-elf. "They're dead helpful... get me a roast ox if I said I was peckish."
"How do you get in there?" Hermione asked innocently.
"Easy," he answered, "concealed door behind a painting of a bowl of fruit. Just tickle the pear, and it giggles and—" He stopped, looking suspiciously at her. "Why?"
"Nothing," she said quickly.
"Going to try and lead the house-elves on strike now, are you?" George said. "Going to give up all the leaflet stuff and try and stir them up into rebellion?"
Several people chuckled. Hermione didn't answer.
"Don't you go upsetting them and telling them they've got to take clothes and salaries!" Fred warned. "You'll put them off their cooking!"
Neville caused a diversion by turning into a large canary.
"Oh— sorry, Neville!" Fred shouted over the laughter. "I forgot— it was the custard creams we hexed—"
A minute later, however, Neville moulted, and after the feathers had fallen off, he looked completely normal, he even joined in laughing.
"Canary Creams!" Fred shouted to the excited crowd. "George and I invented them— seven Sickles each, bargain!"
At about one in the morning, the party ended. Exhausted, I gratefully climbed into bed, thinking about today. The four champions had survived the first task. Though, it made wonder what's next. And I thought of what George had said today. I had a feeling, but I couldn't be sure. Still, when he confirmed, it felt... strange. I dunno, maybe I just wasn't expecting it?
Author's Note: I'm sorry! I lost the pages that had Cedric, Fleur, and Krum battling their dragons, and my friend found them under my bed. But now, it is my summer holidays (two months of freedom, woohoo!), so I should update faster. My goal is to have this finished by October. I almost have chapter fourteen written, and you guys will probably hate me... as will my friend who reads this whenever I see her... Cheerio!