A/N: Hi, my name is Jade and I am happy that you have chosen my story to read. I would like to say that I have only a general idea where this is going to so if any of you have ideas feel free to share them with me by PM or a review.
This is a Time Travel Story. This story is AU. It has SLASH. It has underage sex later on. A lot of characters will be OOC.
If you cannot handle this then don't read this.
This will probably have infrequent posts so maybe you should follow it? School started and it is full of different happenings so…
… and one such hit like that just now. This is the last update for the next two weeks I think or a bit longer.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you can recognize!
Thank you for all the reviews, follows and favourites!
I hope you like this story and leave a review for me!
Wands and the First Task
If Harry had thought that matters would be the same as the last time around, Monday showed him how mistaken he was. He could no longer avoid the rest of the school once he was back at lessons - and it was clear that the rest of the school, just like the Gryffindors, did not think Harry had entered himself for the tournament. Unlike the last time, everyone seemed inclined to agree that this was the plot of someone else.
The Hufflepuffs, were as always on excellent terms with the Gryffindors. One Herbology lesson was enough to demonstrate this. It was plain that the Hufflepuffs felt that Harry hadn't stolen their champion's glory. In fact, they seemed cold towards Cedric and Harry found that very weird. He did not understand what was happening, but he liked it. Perhaps more than he should. Ron was talking to Harry and that was the main reason for why Hermione sat between them, making very forced silence, though both of them managed to hold a relatively silent conversation behind her back. Harry went so far as to draw a person chasing a snitch. He then made it fly towards Krum. Harry thought that even Professor Sprout seemed awfully cheerful. It was a lot different than the last time, especially since it seemed that everyone was so neutral towards him or even outright worried. He wondered for a moment if Vanmoriel had anything to do with it.
He would have been looking forward to seeing Hagrid under normal circumstances, but Care of Magical Creatures meant seeing the Slytherins too - the first time he would come face-to-face with them since becoming champion.
Predictably or not so, Parkinson arrived at Hagrid's cabin with her familiar sneer firmly in place.
"Ah, look, boys, it's the champion," she said to Crabbe and Goyle, who started following her around after Harry's announcement that Draco was a friend, the moment she got within earshot of Harry. "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. "
Crabbe and Goyle guffawed sycophantically, but Pansy had to stop there, because Hagrid emerged from the back of his cabin balancing a teetering tower of crates, each containing a very large Blast-Ended Skrewt.
oOoOo
Double Potions was something he hoped for since the school started, but these days it was nothing short of torture. Being shut in a dungeon for an hour and a half with Snape, who knew nothing of his feelings, and the Slytherins, all of whom seemed determined to punish Harry as much as possible for daring to become school champion, was about the most unpleasant thing Harry could imagine. He had already struggled through one Friday's worth, with Hermione sitting next to him intoning "ignore them, ignore them, ignore them" under her breath, and he couldn't see why today should be any better.
When he, Ron and Hermione arrived at Snape's dungeon after lunch, they found the Slytherins waiting outside, each and every one of them wearing a large badge on the front of his or her robes. For one wild moment Harry thought that he was seeing S. P. E. W. badges, even though he knew that they did not exist this time - then he saw that they all bore the same message, in luminous red letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage:
SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY-
THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!
The Slytherins howled with laughter when they saw him. Each of them pressed their badges, until the message POTTER STINKS was shining brightly all around Harry. He felt the heat rise in his face and neck.
"Oh very funny," Hermione said sarcastically to Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing harder than anyone, "really witty."
Ron was standing against the wall with Dean and Seamus. He looked positively murderous. Harry thought that perhaps only the arrival of Viktor Krum himself could calm the man.
"Want one, Granger?" said Malfoy, coming out of nowhere, holding out a badge to Hermione. "I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a Mudblood sliming it up. "
Suddenly, Harry could not control himself. He only heard that one of his own has hurt his friend. He had reached for his wand before he'd thought what he was doing. People all around them scrambled out of the way, backing down the corridor.
"Harry!" Hermione said warningly, knowing that Harry could get in trouble, but also knowing that he'd regret it later, after all it was Draco.
"Go on, then, Potter," Malfoy said quietly, drawing out his own wand. To Hermione it seemed as if Draco knew that Harry would break his carefully structured control.
For a split second, they looked into each other's eyes, then, at exactly the same time, both acted.
"Furnunculus!" Harry yelled.
"Densaugeo!" screamed Malfoy.
Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in mid-air, and ricocheted off at angles - Harry's hit Goyle in the face, and Malfoy's hit Hermione. Goyle bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up - Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth.
"Hermione!"
Ron had hurried forward to see what was wrong with her; Harry turned and saw Ron dragging Hermione's hand away from her face. It was just like the last time. Harry hoped hat Snape would react different this time, but h knew that it would be a long time before he managed to free the man of this cruel façade he wore.
"And what is all this noise about?" said a soft, deadly voice.
Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamoured to give their explanations; Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, "Explain. "
Malfoy just looked at him and Harry wondered if Draco would perhaps help him with Snape. He certainly hoped for it.
Snape, angry at Harry or perhaps Draco or even both, examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi.
"Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly.
"What about Hermione?" Ron asked, secretly hoping to see whatever Harry liked about him.
He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth - she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back.
Snape looked coldly at Hermione, and then said, "I see no difference."
Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight.
It was lucky, perhaps, that both Harry and Ron started shouting at Snape at the same time; lucky their voices echoed so much in the stone corridor, for in the confused din, it was impossible for him to hear exactly what they were calling him. He got the gist, however.
"Let's see," he said, in his silkiest voice. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions. "
Harry's ears were ringing. The injustice of it made him want to curse Snape into a thousand slimy pieces. He passed Snape, walked with Ron to the back of the dungeon, and slammed his bag down onto the table. Ron was shaking with anger and Harry wondered if perhaps he would have problems with them accepting Snape. He hoped not even if he knew that logically he should not even defend the man. Yet, here he was, thinking that his mate was unruly and that he would have to punish him. He did not understand why he was already feeling it, but then again he was not supposed to know his mates' identity before his fifteenth birthday.
"Antidotes!" said Snape, looking around at them all, his cold black eyes glittering unpleasantly. "You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one… "
Snape's eyes met Harry's, and Harry knew what was coming. Snape was going to poison him. Harry imagined picking up his cauldron, and sprinting to the front of the class, and bringing it down on Snape's greasy head -and then a knock on the dungeon door burst in on Harry's thoughts.
It was Colin Creevey; he edged into the room, beaming at Harry, and walked up to Snape's desk at the front of the room.
"Yes?" said Snape curtly.
"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs." Snape stared down his hooked nose at Colin, whose smile faded from his eager face.
"Potter has another hour of Potions to complete," said Snape coldly. "He will come upstairs when this class is finished."
Colin went pink.
"Sir - sir, Mr. Bagman wants him," he said nervously. "All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs… "
Harry would have given anything he owned to have stopped Colin saying those last few words. He chanced half a glance at Ron, but Ron smirked at him and mouthed something like celebrity which made Harry roll his eyes.
"Very well, very well," Snape snapped. "Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote."
"Please, sir - he's got to take his things with him," squeaked Cohn. "All the champions… "
"Very well!" said Snape. "Potter - take your bag and get out of my sight!"
Harry swung his bag over his shoulder, got up, and headed for the door. As he walked through the Slytherin desks, POTTER STINKS flashed at him from every direction.
"It's amazing, isn't it, Harry?" said Colin, starting to speak the moment Harry had closed the dungeon door behind him. "Isn't it, though? You being a champion?"
"Yeah, really amazing," said Harry heavily as they set off toward the steps into the entrance hall. "What do they want photos for, Colin?"
"The Daily Prophet, I think!"
"Great," said Harry dully. "Exactly what I needed. More publicity."
"Good luck!" said Colin when they had reached the right room. Harry knocked on the door and entered.
Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual and not talking to anybody. Harry wondered for a moment what would happen this time around for the Yule Ball. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation. Fleur looked a good deal happier than Harry had seen her so far; she kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.
Bagman suddenly spotted Harry, got up quickly, and bounded forward.
"Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come… nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment -"
"Wand weighing?" Harry repeated nervously.
"We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead," said Bagman. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet… "
"Maybe not that small, Ludo," said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Harry.
"I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry. "The youngest champion, you know… to add a bit of color?"
"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is - if Harry has no objection?"
"I do!" firmly said Harry.
She dragged him somewhere even though he said no. It was a broom cupboard. Harry stared at her like she was crazy.
"Come along, dear - that's right - lovely," said Rita Skeeter again, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing Harry down onto a cardboard box, and closing the door, throwing them into darkness. "Let's see now… "
She unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out a handful of candles, which she lit with a wave of her wand and magicked into mid-air, so that they could see what they were doing.
"You won't mind, Harry, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally… "
"Yes, I will mind it!" said Harry.
Yet again, she ignored him.
"Testing… my name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter."
Harry looked down quickly at the quill. The moment Rita Skeeter had spoken; the green quill had started to scribble, skidding across the parchment:
Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, who's savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations -
"Lovely," said Rita Skeeter, yet again, and she ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her handbag. Now she leaned toward Harry and said, "So, Harry…what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"
Harry stayed silent knowing what would happen.
An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes -
"Ignore the quill, Harry," said Rita Skeeter firmly. Reluctantly Harry looked up at her instead. "Now - why did you decide to enter the tournament, Harry?"
"I didn't," said Harry. "This is the plan of Voldemort's yearly let's destroy Harry Potter campaign."
Rita Skeeter raised one heavily pencilled eyebrow.
"How do you feel about the tasks ahead?" said Rita Skeeter. "Excited? Nervous?"
Harry just raised an eyebrow.
"Champions have died in the past, haven't they?" said Rita Skeeter briskly. "Have you thought about that at all?"
"Of course, you've looked death in the face before, haven't you?" said Rita Skeeter, watching him closely. "How would you say that's affected you?"
"I'm here, am I not?" harry asked sarcastically.
"Do you think that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Do you think that perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because -"
"I didn't enter," said Harry, feeling irritated.
"Can you remember your parents at all?" said Rita Skeeter, talking over him.
"No," said Harry.
"How do you think they'd feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?"
Harry was feeling really annoyed now. How on earth was he to know how his parents would feel if they were alive, even if he did talk to them shortly before seeing Vanmoriel? He could feel Rita Skeeter watching him very intently. Frowning, he avoided her gaze and hooked down at words the quill had just written:
Tears fill those startlingly green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember.
Before Rita Skeeter could say a word, the door of the broom cupboard was pulled open. Harry looked around, blinking in the bright light. Albus Dumbledore stood there, looking down at both of them, squashed into the cupboard.
"Dumbledore!" cried Rita Skeeter, with every appearance of delight –and before she could hide the paper and the quill they caught flames and disappeared.
"How are you?" she said, standing up and holding out one of her large, mannish hands to Dumbledore. "I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"
"Enchantingly nasty," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat."
Rita Skeeter didn't look remotely abashed.
"I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that many wizards in the street -"
"I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita," said Dumbledore, with a courteous bow and a smile, "but I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if one of our champions is hidden in a broom cupboard. "
Very glad to get away from Rita Skeeter, Harry hurried back into the room. The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door, and he sat down quickly next to Cedric, looking up at the velvet-covered table, where four out of five judges were now sitting - Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman.
"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges' table and talking to the champions. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."
Harry wondered if he would make any comments about him owning to very dangerous wands or if he would be wiser than that.
"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.
Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.
"Hmm…" he said.
He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it chose to his eyes and examined it carefully.
"Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches… inflexible… rosewood… and containing…dear me… "
"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," said Fleur. "One of my grandmuzzer's. "
"Yes," said Mr. Ollivander, "yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands… however, to each his own, and if this suits you… "
Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, "Orchideous!" and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip.
"Very well, very well, it's in fine working order," said Mr. Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. "Mr. Diggory, you next."
Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her.
"Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" said Mr. Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Cedric handed over his wand. "Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn… must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches… ash…pleasantly springy."
Mr. Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric's wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, "Mr. Krum, if you please."
Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duck-footed, toward Mr. Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.
"Hmm," said Mr. Olhivander, "this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I… however… "
He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes.
"Yes… hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" he shot at Krum, who nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees… quite rigid… ten and a quarter inches… Avis!"
The hornbeam wand let off a blast hike a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.
"Good," said Mr. Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. "Which leaves… Mr. Potter. "
Harry got to his feet and walked past Krum to Mr. Ollivander. He handed over his wand.
"Aaaah, yes," said Mr. Ohlivander, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember. "
Mr. Ollivander spent much longer examining Harry's wand than anyone else's. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Harry, announcing that it was still in perfect condition.
"Thank you all," said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges' table. "You may go back to your lessons now - or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end -"
Feeling that at last something had gone right today, Harry got up to leave, but the man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat.
"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" cried Bagman excitedly. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"
"Er - yes, let's do those first," said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes were upon Harry again. "And then perhaps some individual shots."
The photographs took a long time. Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand far enough back to get her into the frame; eventually she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl; Krum, whom Harry would have thought would have been used to this sort of thing, skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front, but Rita Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging Harry into greater prominence. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions. At last, they were free to go.
Harry went down to dinner. Hermione wasn't there - he supposed she was still in the hospital wing having her teeth fixed.
oOoOo
Harry felt oddly separate from everyone around him, whether they were wishing him good luck or hissing "We'll have a box of tissues ready, Potter" as he passed. It was a state where he wondered whether he mightn't just lose his head when they tried to lead him out to his dragon, and start trying to curse everyone in sight. Time was behaving in a more peculiar fashion than ever, rushing past in great dollops, so that one moment he seemed to be sitting down in his first lesson, History of Magic, and the next, walking into lunch… and then, Professor McGonagall was hurrying over to him in the Great Hall. Lots of people were watching. In this weird time, he focused on one thing. Lucius would be there. He hadn't thought about him in a while. He knew he would be able to do everything connected to his task and yet, something nagged him in the back of his mind. What if he had already changed something and things won't go how he thinks they will?
"Potter, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now… You have to get ready for your first task. "
"Okay," said Harry, standing up, his fork falling onto his plate with a clatter.
"Good luck, Harry," Hermione whispered. "You'll be fine!"
"Yeah," said Harry in a voice that was most unlike his own. He thought how Ron wasn't here even though they did not fight this time around.
He left the Great Hall with Professor McGonagall. She didn't seem herself either; in fact, she looked nearly as anxious as Hermione. As she walked him down the stone steps and out into the cold November afternoon, she put her hand on his shoulder.
"Now, don't panic," she said, "just keep a cool head… We've got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand… The main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of you… Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Don't worry," Harry replied calmly wondering for a moment if he should tell her about what has happened with Vanmoriel.
She was leading him toward the place where the dragons were, around the edge of the forest, but when they approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, Harry saw that a tent had been erected, its entrance facing them, screening the dragons from view.
"You're to go in here with the other champions," said Professor McGonagall, in a rather shaky sort of voice, "and wait for your turn, Potter. Mr. Bagman is in there… he'll be telling you the - the procedure… Good luck. "
"Thanks," said Harry, in a flat, distant voice. He knew that he was the Master of Death. He wondered if that was the reason for why he was itchy and why the time seemed to flow differently. Who knew, perhaps Vanmoriel would show herself? Was this the feeling he got? Or was it the fact that for the first time Lucius and Severus would be at the same place as he, at the same time?
Fleur Delacour was sitting in a corner on a wooden stool. She didn't look nearly as composed as usual, but rather pale and clammy. Viktor Krum looked even surlier than usual, which Harry supposed was his way of showing nerves. Cedric was pacing up and down. Harry didn't know who told him about dragons this time. Last time it was him, but no matter how much he did not like the boy this time around, he wanted to stop his death.
"Harry! Good-o!" said Bagman happily, looking around at him. "Come in, come in, and make yourself at home!"
Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, standing amid all the pale-faced champions. He was wearing his old Wasp robes again.
"Well, now we're all here - time to fill you in!" said Bagman brightly. "When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag" - he held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them - "from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different - err- varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too… ah, yes… your task is to collect the golden egg!"
Harry glanced around. Cedric had nodded once, to show that he understood Bagman's words, and then started pacing around the tent again; he looked slightly green. Fleur Delacour and Krum hadn't reacted at all.
And in no time at all, hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet could be heard passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking… Harry felt as separate from the crowd and there was a cold feeling in the air. Almost like Dementors, but certainly like Vanmoriel. And then - it seemed like about a second later to Harry - Bagman was opening the neck of the purple silk sack.
"Ladies first," he said, offering it to Fleur Delacour.
She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon - a Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck
Krum pulled out the scarlet Chinese Fireball. It had a number three around its neck. He didn't even blink, just sat back down and stared at the ground.
Cedric put his hand into the bag, and out came the blueish-grey Swedish Short-Snout, the number one tied around its neck. Knowing what was left; Harry put his hand into the silk bag and pulled out the Hungarian Horntail, and the number four. It stretched its wings as he looked down at it, and bared its minuscule fangs.
"Well, there you are!" said Bagman. "You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I'm going to have to leave you in a moment, because I'm commentating. Mr. Diggory, you're first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now… Harry… could I have a quick word? Outside?"
"No," said Harry blankly. He did not wish to listen to anyone, but Vanmoriel right now. Perhaps, she will show herself after the task?
A whistle had blown somewhere. Harry went back inside to Fleur and Krum. Seconds later, they heard the roar of the crowd, which meant Cedric, had entered the enclosure and was now face-to-face with the living counterpart of his model…
It was worse than Harry could ever have imagined, sitting there and listening, even though he had already went through all of it. The crowd screamed… yelled… gasped like a single many-headed entity, as Cedric did whatever he was doing to get past the Swedish Short-Snout. Krum was still staring at the ground. Fleur had now taken to retracing Cedric's steps, around and around the tent. And Bagman's commentary made everything much, much worse…
"Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow"…"He's taking risks, this one!"…"Clever move - pity it didn't work!"
And then, after about fifteen minutes, Harry heard the deafening roar that could mean only one thing: Cedric had gotten past his dragon and captured the golden egg.
"Very good indeed!" Bagman was shouting. "And now the marks from the judges!"
But he didn't shout out the marks; Harry supposed the judges were holding them up and showing them to the crowd.
"One down, three to go!" Bagman yelled as the whistle blew again. "Miss Delacour, if you please!"
Fleur was trembling from head to foot; Harry felt more warmly toward her than he had done so far as she heft the tent with her head held high and her hand clutching her wand. He and Krum were left alone; at opposite sides of the tent, avoiding each other's gaze. Last time he had avoided it because he was a bit afraid of him, but this time it was because he could not look at him without seeing Ron's face and that would make him laugh which in turn would make him even more of a lunatic then before.
The same process started again.
"Oh I'm not sure that was wise!" they could hear Bagman shouting gleefully. "Oh… nearly! Careful now… good lord, I thought she'd had it then!"
Ten minutes later, Harry heard the crowd erupt into applause once more… Fleur must have been successful too. A pause, while Fleur's marks were being shown… more clapping… then, for the third time, the whistle.
"And here comes Mr. Krum!" cried Bagman, and Krum slouched out, leaving Harry quite alone.
He felt much more aware of his body than usual; very aware of the way his heart was pumping fast, and his fingers tingling with fear… yet at the same time, he seemed to be outside himself, seeing the walls of the tent, and hearing the crowd, as though from far away. He did not think that it would affect him this hard again.
"Very daring!" Bagman was yelling, and Harry heard the Chinese Fireball emit a horrible, roaring shriek, while the crowd drew its collective breath. "That's some nerve he's showing - and - yes, he's got the egg!"
Harry could swear that he understood the dragon which made him wonder if Parseltounge evolved somehow because of Vanmoriel. Or maybe it was her presence?
Applause shattered the wintery air like breaking glass; Krum had finished - it would be Harry's turn any moment.
He stood up, noticing dimly that his legs seemed to be made of marshmallow. He waited. And then he heard the whistle blow. He walked out through the entrance of the tent, the panic rising into a crescendo inside him. And now he was walking past the trees, through a gap in the enclosure fence.
He saw everything in front of him as though it was a very highly coloured dream. There were hundreds and hundreds of faces… and there was the Horntail, at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her yellow eyes upon him, a monstrous, scaly, black lizard, thrashing her spiked tail, heaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground. The crowd was making a great deal of noise, but whether friendly or not, Harry didn't know or care. It was time to do what he had to do… to focus his mind, entirely and absolutely, upon the thing that was his only chance.
He raised his wand and that's when he heard it.
"Don't hurt me, touched by Death." The time slowed down, the people stopped moving and suddenly a female's, Vanmoriel's, voice rang through the air, "He won't Mighty One. It is not yet your time. He shall call for something to aide him in flying, and you shall play with him, but he is not to be hurt."
"Understood!"
And everyone could move.
"Accio Firebolt!"
He heard it, speeding through the air behind him; he turned and saw his Firebolt hurtling toward him around the edge of the woods, soaring into the enclosure, and stopping dead in mid-air beside him, waiting for him to mount. The crowd was making even more noise… Bagman was shouting something… but Harry's ears were not working properly anymore… listening wasn't important… Vanmoriel has said enough.
He swung his leg over the broom and kicked off from the ground. And a second later, something miraculous happened…
As he soared upward, as the wind rushed through his hair, as the crowd's faces became mere flesh-coloured pinpnicks below, and the Horntail shrank to the size of a dog, he realized that he had left not only the ground behind, but also his fear… He was back where he belonged…
He looked down at the clutch of eggs and spotted the gold one, gleaming against its cement-coloured fellows, residing safely between the dragon's front legs. "Okay," Harry told himself, "diversionary tactics… let's go… "
He dived. The Horntail's head followed him; he knew what it was going to do and pulled out of the dive just in time; a jet of fire had been released exactly where he would have been had he not swerved away… but Harry didn't care… Vanmoriel said that he was not to be hurt… he'll trust her…
"Great Scott, he can fly!" yelled Bagman as the crowd shrieked and gasped. "Are you watching this, Mr. Krum?"
Harry soared higher in a circle; the Horntail was still following his progress; its head revolving on its long neck - if he kept this up, it would be nicely dizzy - but better not push it too long, or it would be breathing fire again -
Harry plummeted just as the Horntail opened its mouth, but this time he was less lucky - he missed the flames, but the tail came whipping up to meet him instead, and as he swerved to the left, one of the long spikes grazed his shoulder, ripping his robes -
He could feel it stinging, he could hear screaming and groans from the crowd, but the cut didn't seem to be deep… Now he zoomed around the back of the Horntail, and a possibility occurred to him…
The Horntail didn't seem to want to take off; she was too protective of her eggs. Though she writhed and twisted, furling and unfurling her wings and keeping those fearsome yellow eyes on Harry, she was afraid to move too far from them… but he had to persuade her to do it, or he'd never get near them… The trick was to do it carefully, gradually…
He began to fly, first this way, then the other, not near enough to make her breathe fire to stave him off, but still posing a sufficient threat to ensure she kept her eyes on him. Her head swayed this way and that, watching him out of those vertical pupils, her fangs bared…
He flew higher. The Horntail's head rose with him, her neck now stretched to its fullest extent, still swaying, hike a snake before its charmer…
Harry rose a few more feet, and she let out a roar of exasperation. He was like a fly to her, a fly she was longing to swat; her tail thrashed again, but he was too high to reach now… She shot fire into the air, which he dodged… Her jaws opened wide…
"Come on," Harry hissed, swerving tantalizingly above her, "come on, come and get me… up you get now… Vanmoriel could have told you to move not to play! Damn it!"
And then she reared, spreading her great, black, leathery wings at last, as wide as those of a small airplane - and Harry dived. Before the dragon knew what he had done, or where he had disappeared to, he was speeding toward the ground as fast as he could go, toward the eggs now unprotected by her clawed front legs - he had taken his hands off his Firebolt - he had seized the golden egg -
And with a huge spurt of speed, he was off, he was soaring out over the stands, the heavy egg safely under his uninjured arm, and it was as though somebody had just turned the volume back up - for the first time, he became properly aware of the noise of the crowd, which was screaming and applauding as loudly as the Irish supporters at the World Cup -
"Look at that!" Bagman was yelling. "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!"
Harry saw the dragon keepers rushing forward to subdue the Horntail, and, over at the entrance to the enclosure, Professor McGonagall and Hagrid hurrying to meet him, all of them waving him toward them, their smiles evident even from this distance. He flew back over the stands, the noise of the crowd pounding his eardrums, and came in smoothly to land, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks…
"That was excellent, Potter!" cried Professor McGonagall as he got off the Firebolt - which from her was extravagant praise. He noticed that her hand shook as she pointed at his shoulder. "You'll need to see Madam Pomfrey before the judges give out your score… Over there, she's had to mop up Diggory already… "
"Yeh did it, Harry!" said Hagrid hoarsely. "Yeh did it! An' agains' the Horntail an' all, an' yeh know Charlie said that was the wors' -"
"Thanks, Hagrid," said Harry loudly, so that Hagrid wouldn't blunder on and reveal that he had shown Harry the dragons beforehand.
"Right then, Potter, the first aid tent, please… " said Professor McGonagall.
Harry walked out of the enclosure, still panting, and saw Madam Pomfrey standing at the mouth of a second tent, looking worried.
"Dragons!" she said, in a disgusted tone, pulling Harry inside. The tent was divided into cubicles; he could make out Cedric's shadow through the canvas, but Cedric didn't seem to be badly injured; he was sitting up, at least. Madam Pomfrey examined Harry's shoulder, talking furiously all the while. "Last year Dementors, this year dragons, what are they going to bring into this school next? You're very lucky… this is quite shallow… it'll need cleaning before I heal it up, though… "
"Perhaps, it will be Voldemort himself, Madam" Harry mumbled.
"Wasn't that your first year Mr Potter? Call me Poppy. You are often enough in my presence."
"Ministry, then?" he asked her sarcastically.
She looked at him exasperated and cleaned the cut with a dab of some purple liquid that smoked and stung, but then poked his shoulder with her wand, and he felt it heal instantly.
"Now, just sit quietly for a minute - sit! And then you can go and get your score. "
She bustled out of the tent and he heard her go next door and say, "How does it feel now, Diggory?"
Harry didn't want to sit still. He was too full of adrenaline. He got to his feet, wanting to see what was going on outside, but before he'd reached the mouth of the tent, two people had come darting inside - Hermione, followed closely by Ron.
"Harry, you were brilliant!" Hermione said squeakily. There were fingernail marks on her face where she had been clutching it in fear. "You were amazing! You really were!"
"Barking mad. Did she think you wouldn't manage to do it?" said Ron, shaking his head. "Harry, c'mon, they'll be putting up your scores…"
Picking up the golden egg and his Firebolt, feeling more elated than he would have believed possible an hour ago, Harry ducked out of the tent, Ron by his side, talking fast.
"You were the best, you know, no competition. Cedric did this weird thing where he Transfigured a rock on the ground… turned it into a dog… he was trying to make the dragon go for the dog instead of him. Well, it was a pretty cool bit of Transfiguration, and it sort of worked, because he did get the egg, but he got burned as well - the dragon changed its mind halfway through and decided it would rather have him than the Labrador; he only just got away. And that Fleur girl tried this sort of charm, I think she was trying to put it into a trance - well, that kind of worked too, it went all sleepy, but then it snored, and this great jet of flame shot out, and her skirt caught fire - she put it out with a bit of water out of her wand. And Krum - you won't believe this, but he didn't even think of flying! He was probably the best after you, though. Hit it with some sort of spell right in the eye. Only thing is, it went trampling around in agony and squashed half the real eggs - they took marks off for that, he wasn't supposed to do any damage to them. Though, he definitely looked hotter than you"
Ron drew breath as he and Harry reached the edge of the enclosure. Now that the Horntail had been taken away, Harry could see where the five judges were sitting - right at the other end, in raised seats draped in gold.
"It's marks out of ten from each one," Ron said, and Harry squinting up the field, saw the first judge - Madame Maxime - raise her wand in the air. What looked like a long silver ribbon shot out of it, which twisted itself into a large figure eight.
"Not bad!" said Ron as the crowd applauded. "I suppose she took marks off for your shoulder… "
Mr. Crouch came next. He shot a number nine into the air.
"Looking good!" Ron yelled, thumping Harry on the back.
Next, Dumbledore. He too put up a nine. The crowd was cheering harder than ever.
Ludo Bagman - ten.
And now Karkaroff raised his wand. He paused for a moment, and then a number shot out of his wand too - seven.
"What?" Ron whispered confused.
But Harry didn't care, he wouldn't have cared if Karkaroff had given him zero; Ron's confusion on his behalf was worth about a hundred points to him.
"You're in the first place Harry! You have three points more than Krum!"said Charlie Weasley, hurrying to meet them as they set off back toward the school. "Listen, I've got to run, I've got to go and send Mum an owl, I swore I'd tell her what happened - but that was unbelievable! Oh yeah - and they told me to tell you you've got to hang around for a few more minutes… Bagman wants a word, back in the champions' tent. "
Ron said he would wait, so Harry re-entered the tent, which somehow looked quite different now: friendly and welcoming and warm. He thought back to how he'd felt while dodging the Horntail, and compared it to the long wait before he'd walked out to face it… There was no comparison; the wait had been immeasurably worse.
Fleur, Cedric, and Krum all came in together. One side of Cedric's face was covered in a thick orange paste, which was presumably mending his burn.
"Well done, all of you!" said Ludo Bagman, bouncing into the tent and looking as pleased as though he personally had just got past a dragon. "Now, just a quick few words. You've got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth - but we're giving you something to think about in the meantime! If you look down at those golden eggs you're all holding, you will see that they open… see the hinges there? You need to solve the clue inside the egg - because it will tell you what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Sure? Well, off you go, then!"
Harry left the tent, re-joined Ron, and they started to walk back around the edge of the forest, talking hard; Harry wanted to hear what the other champions had done in more detail. Then, as they rounded the clump of trees behind which Harry had first heard the dragons roar, a witch leapt out from behind them.
It was Rita Skeeter. She was wearing acid-green robes today; the Quick-Quotes Quill in her hand blended perfectly against them.
"Congratulations, Harry!" she said, beaming at him. "I wonder if you could give me a quick word? How you felt facing that dragon? How you feel now, about the fairness of the scoring?"
"Yeah, you can have a word," said Harry savagely. "Good-bye."
And he set off back to the castle with Ron.