The First Task
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Hogwarts – Gathering Rooms
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It was the day of the first task. They had been waiting for this day, anxious and more than a little afraid of the dangers ahead. A couple of rooms had been prepared for the four champions and their families to give them an opportunity for a last moment meeting far away from the public's eye. Naturally, some of the journalists had tried to invade that privacy, infamous Rita Skeeter at the forefront of those vile scavengers. A couple of biting words and hole-drilling glares from Professor Snape had been enough to send them scurrying back into the shadows. For once, even Michael liked the dour potion master.
Viktor's father and grandfather were there, big hulking men with bushy beards covering their faces, their eyes twinkling in amusement as they watched Viktor being treated like a child by his mother. "Have you eaten enough? Do you need another jumper? You forgot the blue one when you left." Viktor rolled his eyes but endured it. The love and concern of his mother was holy to him, as was the hungry hug of his youngest sister, clinging to him like she feared to lose him forever. Even someone as annoying as Viktor appeared to possess a human side.
The Delacours behaved in a much more sedated and well-behaved manner. Apolline Delacour greeted her daughter by hugging her – it was a very lose hug, not one of those hugs Hermione had inherited from her mother – and kissing her cheeks, following up with a long scrutinizing look that didn't miss the slightest fault in Fleur's bearing and appearance. Her husband was even more distanced and Harry felt pity with the French girl. Being the daughter of an important aristocrat and politician had to be difficult. As the Delacours belonged to the Veela royalty, it certainly would be twice as arduous. At least Fleur's sister behaved like a real sister, and a young one to add. She screeched, cried, hugged her sister – all of it under the disapproving looks of her parents but to Fleur's obvious joy. "Hello, Gabby-sweetie, I missed you so much." Apparently, sibling bonds were the same in every country, Harry happily mused.
He turned around, nodding towards the Weasleys that surrounded Michael. Harry was thankful for them morally supporting his friend, emotionally battered as he was. Arthur, Percy – no surprise there – and that had to be Bill, the oldest son. The latter kept sneaking glances towards – Harry followed his eyes: Fleur Delacour. Harry grinned. So, the beautiful Veela caught his eyes. Understandable. Charlie had been there for a few minutes before he had to return to his dragons. Ginny was at Michael's side as well. He felt a bit stricken about that. On one hand, he was thankful for Ginny trying to support Michael after weeks of keeping her distance. On the other hand, he knew that Luna mistrusted the girl. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, he remembered the old saying. I'll be watching you, girl. He also noted the absence of the rest of the clan, especially Michael's – former? – brothers, who only would have to walk a short distance to visit him. Neither the Twins nor Ron had been willing to accept the changes and still treated the boy like a leper.
And his mother is missing as well. Molly Weasley's rejection of Michael's true nature had been a harsh blow to the emotional welfare of the boy. Therefore Harry hadn't told him about the letters he got from the Weasley Matriarch – telling him of her supposed friendship with his mother and how close they had been. A complete lie, as he knew from Remus. Lily Evans had never been in good graces with Molly Weasley née Prewitt. They had barely tolerated each other, Molly never missing a chance to criticize Lily and her motherly deficiencies. How a mother, by birth or adoption, could reject one of her children so easily was inconceivable for him. His own mother had been enraged. Luckily for Molly, she had been too far away for Michiko to rip her "a new one".
"Hello, Michael, I wish you luck." So, Michael's new "mother" had arrived as well. Despite her restrictive status as his teacher, Madam Longbottom had easily slipped into that role. She had tried to be a good godmother to Harry as well, but noticed quickly that he was well-cared for with Jenny and Paul, while Michael was in dire need of an adult carer. It certainly helped that he trusted her and shared her love for plants and anything alive. Wouldn't it be nice for Michael to live with Madam Longbottom instead of the Weasleys? It will certainly be quite awkward for him next break.
Harry leaned back in his seat, enjoying the warmth of his mother's arm around his shoulders. They were here for him, supportive and loving without being overwhelming. They even kept the embarrassment in check – apart from Marian. Jenny's friend hadn't missed the chance to kiss him on the cheek, ruffle his hair and to do everything to treat him like a cute, younger cousin. And she loved every second of it. Girls! Healer Marjenka was there was well, trying to convince him that a last medical check was in order. As if Paul would allow him to enter the task in anything but perfect health.
"Paul told me about his new acolyte," Marjenka mentioned. "He expects great things from this…"
"Gregory?"
"Yes, that's the name."
"It is not a done deal," Harry replied. "As far as I know his parents, especially his father, aren't very supportive of that kind of career."
"That's an understatement," Hermione grumbled. "He wishes for him to become a thug and murderer, not to heal and help people."
"So you know him?" Marjenka lifted a single eyebrow, instantly guessing something more than what was said from the intonation in the girl's voice.
"He's a… a good friend." Hermione blushed cutely.
She threw Harry a thankful look as he came to her rescue and changed the topic. "Where is Martin? I expected him to accompany you."
"He's down with the dragons. Examining them, asserting that they are ready for the task as well." Michiko looked thoughtful for a moment. "Apparently he got a message from a very old friend about this being a necessity."
"Martin knows someone around here?" Harry wondered.
"Martin knows someone everywhere around the world." Michiko responded with a smile. Unlike her children and Remus, she knew who Martin really was – and how old.
"Are you alright, son?" Remus asked more seriously. He looked quite unlike his real self today, with those black hairs and sun-burned skin. Harry remembered one of the woodcutters near his village looking like this. So, he got some hair from that guy for his Polyjuice.
Harry felt his mother tense up. She was really trying not to be the overprotective mother. "I'm alright. I have a plan and thanks to the girls at least a dozen backup plans. I'm prepared." Hermione glared. In her eyes, you can never be too prepared.
"Alright," Remus had difficulties to accept sending his son into that arena, but he tried as well. He threw Luna and Hermione a thankful look. He didn't have to glance towards Jenny to know that she was ready to rescue her baby brother in time of need. There had been some long letters between her and Michiko about Adept techniques – both for Harry and Jenny. And when push came to shove, there was always Floe. The Shephard dog had something everybody else missed: the natural ability to Dreamwalk. In case of need he would be the first and fastest to rush to Harry's side, bypassing any ward and barrier that had been erected.
Remus breathed deeply. He hated this mess, but for now they had done everything in their power to assure that Harry – and Michael – made it through alive. Now they had to wait and watch. And Merlin help Albus if anything happened to the boys.
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Hogwarts – Dragon Pen near the Arena
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"You are a disgrace to your profession. You should be the keepers of these dragons. You should protect them from any danger, be it some other creature, famine or disease, or a megalomaniac trying to use them for some mad scheme or the stupidity of the Ministry. That should have been your job. And you failed miserably. "
That had been Martin's core statement after he examined the dragons quite thoroughly, and the dragon-handlers shared a likeness right now: ears ringing from the scolding and cheeks flaming red in shame. This foreign man had waltzed into their camp, unstoppable even before he showed them the certificate that proved him to be a Healer of Paracritters rank four, issued by the Committee of Healers of North and Central America, subcommittee for magical creatures. Charlie hadn't even known there was a "rank 4", as rank 3 already included magical surgery on category XXXX-creatures like dragons, manticores and hippogryphs. And he had been right. They never should have allowed this to happen. Dragons weren't idle minded beasts; they were proud, exalted beings with their own minds and feelings. They were rare enough these days not to endanger them willingly and unnecessarily, without even mentioning the potential risk for their eggs.
They had been relieved to watch Professor Flitwick, Vektor and Babbling working together to prepare the nest in the arena, protecting the content from anything below the equivalent of a magical bomb. Even a direct hit of dragon breath or tail wouldn't be able to breach that rune-cluster.
They had been stunned and shocked, that neither Headmaster Dumbledore nor one of the other judges and organizers had initiated this protection, when the Head Matriarch of the Hogwarts House Elves had demanded it with no uncertain words.
Charlie looked up and glanced around the arena. Hundreds of visitors had already gathered and more arrived every minute. Some of them visited the souvenir shops before taking a seat, others tried to sneak a peek at those dangerous dragons, shuddering at the sight of the mighty claws and jaws. Officials and journalists from all over Europe and a couple from America and Asia had shown up. All students from Hogwarts in addition to the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, were ready to cheer for their champions. Teachers, friends and families and every wizard able to grab a seat were all anxious to witness this battle of gladiators. Additionally, thousands of wizards and witches around Britain listened intently to WWN, the magical radio. At last, dozens of photographers tried to find the perfect place to catch the most dramatic pictures.
The judges were set to arrive in a few minutes. They probably are with the champions now, Charlie assumed. They still had to pair the dragons with the candidates. Hopefully, Michael will get an easy one. He knew exactly how dangerous even the weakest one could prove to be in the arena, but there was still quite a difference between the Chinese Fireball and the Hungarian Horntail. At least, all four dragon mothers were a bit calmer now, thanks to this strange man. Somehow, Martin had been able to "tell" them that the eggs were in no real danger, noticeably reducing their aggression born out of motherly protectiveness.
For a short moment, Charlie felt himself relax and a smile creep onto his lips. Another group had arrived and was taking their seats on one of the higher ranks, those meant for the less important guests or those with the smaller purses. The dozen house-elves certainly caught some attention from the other guests. A pair of Centaurs and a small delegation from Gringotts were there as well. The arrival of the house-elves, some of them wearing some kind of uniform, with broad knives sticking behind their broad belts, produced the bigger effect among the human guests. Charlie greeted their leader with a small bow, feeling thankful for her concern about the dragons. There was another female house-elf at her side, small even for her kind, wrinkled and dragging behind an old canvas pouch that seemed too heavy for her to carry. She looked old enough to make Matron Mathilda appear like an elfling. I had no idea there could be house-elves this old, Charlie wondered.
"Please take your seats, the task will begin in a few minutes," the speaker announced.
"Best of luck, Michael."
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I hope you'll like my present, Barty Crouch thought at the same time. He followed the other judges to their seats. Only Ludo Bagman would stay with the champions until the task began. We wouldn't want the task to be too boring for you, would we, he tonelessly cackled. It had been easy enough to influence the pairings. While he wasn't interested in the dragons chosen for Delacour and Krum, he assured that the easiest choice would go to the real Harry Potter and the most difficult one for Michael Bain. Potter had to survive and Bain to die, or so he hoped. Yes, there were precautions to hopefully prevent any mortal injuries, now even more than before as that disgusting creature had dared to raise her voice. But none of them would protect a champion from a direct attack. Barty hadn't dared to charm the dragon itself in case somebody noticed it, but as far as he knew a Horntail was aggressive and deadly enough on its own.
Poor boy, he mock-grieved. His fate is so sad. He would die far too young. Barty rubbed his hands. Let the show begin.
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Tent of the Champions
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Michael was deathly pale and Harry stayed by his side in case his friend fainted. Gently he grabbed him by the elbow and led him to a seat. Without resistance Michael obeyed and sat down, the figurine of the Hungarian Horntail still in his hand.
"That's not as bad as it seems," Ludo Bagman babbled far too happily. "Certainly, you'll be able to… urgh." The judge with the penchant for questionable wagers felt himself pushed away.
"Leave him alone."
"But…"
"Shut your gob or I'll do it for you." There was no doubt that Harry would attack him physically if he didn't back down. Ludo had many talents, but bravery didn't belong to them. This boy was a head smaller than him but somehow scared him nonetheless.
Without hesitation, Harry returned to Michael's side and grabbed him by the shoulders. "You can do this, Michael. This pairing doesn't change anything." Michael stared him in the eye, still shocked that he got the most dangerous one by far. "Listen, Michael. Follow Luna's strategy. Avoid his attacks, distract him, get the egg and survive. No heroics."
"The little boy is frightened," Krum mocked.
For a moment, Harry felt a rush of anger hitting him, followed by a wave of pain, emitting from his scar. He breathed deeply, and blocked out Krum's further comments. At least Fleur had stayed silent, watching the exchange with deep interest. Hermione didn't like the French Champion very much, but so far, she had been surprisingly restrained towards Harry and Michael. Keeping silent and observe was a behaviour he certainly could live with. Viktor however had start taunting them whenever possible, for reasons that remained unclear so far.
"Leave it to the brainless idiots to go head on with the dragons," Harry continued, glancing to Krum for a moment. Viktor fumed, but like Harry he knew that this wasn't the time for a fight. "You never wanted to partake in this, and without Dumbledore you wouldn't have." Fleur's eyes widened. There was not a hint of doubt in Harry's voice and according to this Bain-boy's expression he believed it as well. "He'll happily dance a jig on your grave if you die today and you know it. Please, Michael, don't be stupid. Listen to Luna."
Fleur looked thoughtful, her own upcoming task forgotten for now. There had been rumours but this was the first time she heard about the matter first-hand so to say. She would have much to think about, later, after the task. But she wouldn't forget what had been said. The friendship forged between these two boys was certainly both unusual and interesting.
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"Over here, over here!"
The field medics accompanying the dragon handler team followed Madam Pomfrey's command and carried the young witch into her tent, Fleur's hands still clasped around the golden egg, her robe partially burned to ashes and her left leg a smouldering glob of raw flesh.
Her tactic had been successful – more or less. Having drawn the Chinese Fireball, she had been the first to enter the arena. Her sleeping spell had hit the dragon squarely in the face, the witch hiding between the rocks until her opponent was a snoring heap on the solid ground. Following up with another sleeping spell for good measure, she had only left her hiding place when it looked danger-free. Regretfully, her assessment had been wrong, or at least it hadn't been completely correct. She actually reached the nest and got her egg as the dragon stirred. Just then she woke up, shaking off the effect of Fleur's spell and looking infuriated. Before Fleur or the dragon handlers had a chance to react, the dragon breathed fire at the girl. With her standing by the nest, the rune-array protected her for the most part. Luckily, the task was officially over when she reached the eggs so this protection wasn't against the rules. However, one of her leg had been outside the array, the flames burning away robe and skin alike, the pain luckily making her lose consciousness within seconds. The handlers had been able to subdue the dragon, but her leg didn't look good.
"How is she? How is my daughter?"
For the first time since she arrived at Hogwarts, Apolline Delacour allowed her emotions to show. Even her aristocratic bearing had its limits. Gabrielle was there as well, nearly mad with concern while her father kept her away from the healers, not cold-hearted enough to scold his younger daughter here and then. This looked bad.
Apart from the Delacours the tent was filled with Madam Pomfrey, Madam Longbottom who was her assistant for the day, Paul Masterson and his future apprentice – one Gregory Goyle. His father hadn't been happy about his son's "detention", but his mother had convinced Goyle Sr. that "it could only be a good thing for the boy to see a bit of blood and broken bones from up close, hardening him up a little." Goyle Sr. certainly liked that idea.
"She has magical burns of the fourth degree all over her leg," Madam Pomfrey told them as Apolline and Gabrielle sobbed. "I hope we'll be able to rescue it, but there will be serious scaring for the rest of her live." Fleur's father narrowed his eyes. This was even worse than expected. Perfect appearance and a flawless body were important, not only around his social circle but even more among Veela aristocracy. Burn scars, especially visible ones, would gravely diminish Fleur's worth as a future bride. Especially for those Veelas he had in mind as potential future in-laws. As Apolline looked up from her beloved daughter, looking for moral support, she only found disappointment and disgust in her husband's eyes. For a moment she was confused. Then realization hit her like a brick. She stumbled back, shocked by her husband's reaction. I shouldn't be surprised. He had always been very callous about his daughters. She squared her shoulders, feeling an intense wave of hate rushing through her veins.
"Gabby," she called her daughter to her side. "Stay with Fleur." Gabrielle nodded meekly.
Apolline however approached her husband and whisper-shouted. "Leave!"
"Wh.. what?" He looked confused, obviously not understanding why his wife was angry with him.
To him, his thoughts are perfectly acceptable, she realized. This didn't diminish her rage one bit.
"Leave, now. Leave the tent, leave Hogwarts, and return to France. I don't want to see you again around here. In fact I don't want to see you in the foreseeable future."
"You don't understand…"
"Oh, I understand all too well. Now go, you disgust me." She had to clench her fists until her fingernails drew blood to avoid forming fireballs in them. At least, he was clever enough to obey.
Paul had calmly watched the exchange, and only stepped forward after Mr Delacour had left the tent with only a puny rest of dignity. "Madam Delacour, it would be possible to do something for your daughter's leg, but we have to do it now and I'll need your help."
Madam Delacour stared him in the eye, finding honesty and the wish to help her daughter. Why couldn't my husband be more like this? She glanced aside and got an approving nod from Madam Pomfrey. "Anything to help her!" She responded with conviction.
"Good," Paul smiled and put a hand on her arm. "then we should be able to cure her. She'll be able to dance again at the Yule ball. You have my word." He hastened to the tent's flap and opened it. "Firenze? We have to leave immediately. We'll need your help and that of your friend."
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The next champion got announced. With Viktor Krum drawing all eyes towards the arena, nobody noticed the small cavalcade leaving the healer tent towards the Forbidden Forest. Firenze and his friend actually allowed Paul to connect a stretcher to their behind and carried a comatose Fleur Delacour towards the small meadow he used for his lessons. The concentrated life energy of the place would make healing her easier. Paul had offered Apolline his arm for support, while Gaby – bravely trying to stop her tears – nearly crushed Greg's arm as she clung to him.
They had a girl to heal.
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Harry's Turn
Viktor had finished his task with ease. He was an arse but Harry had to admit that the Durmstrang Champion knew his spells and had the magical might to back up his annoying words. The Conjunctivitus, cast at the right moment and hitting dead-on, had blinded the dragon. Afterwards, Viktor had lured her away from her nest, dodging her as his steps got drowned out by some loud music spell, and fetched his egg. He was very fast too and would certainly get a very high score, not that Harry cared. The dragon had been raging, even against her handlers, until Martin stepped in and healed her eyes. Harry's friend looked quite angry, and he expected Martin to have some unfriendly words with Viktor Krum and the Headmaster of Durmstrang. Perhaps Viktor would be more careful and compassionate in the future. Martin could be very convincing, especially when unhappy.
Harry glanced around. Michael was looking better, less pale. He had his eyes closed. The thought had crossed Harry's mind to exchange the dragon statuettes, to allow Michael to fight the weaker and more harmless Common Welsh Harry had the luck to draw. But that would have been an insult to Michael, almost like telling him You're too weak to battle the Horntail. He actually was, in Harry's opinion. Even he would hesitate to go against that huge ill-tempered monster-dragon. But destroying the last ounce of self-respect in Michael's battered mind was certainly the wrong way to help him.
"See you later with the girls, Michael. We'll cheer for you."
Michael opened his eyes and grinned weakly. "See you. And best of luck!"
"To you as well," Harry nodded and left the tent. Here we go.
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The Common Welsh Green was a smaller type of dragon with – you guessed it – grass green scales. He was the smallest and tamest of the four dragons, but not harmless in any way. However, contrary to some of her kind the Common Welsh wouldn't attack humans on the hunt, as they lived mostly from sheep and other herbivores. Harry was slightly bothered that this dragon was the one he got to defeat, not that he would utter such an opinion around the girls. Was it pure coincidence? Or had someone messed with the pairing? Had someone wanted to increase the chance of Harry surviving the task all the while planning for a more sinister future for Michael?
Harry looked up and got the sign from Ludo Bagman to begin the task. The crowd cheered. He didn't search for the eyes of the girls, knowing exactly what he would find there. It would only distract him to know how disturbed they were despite trying their best to look unconcerned. Instead he concentrated on the dragon ahead. She was "only" around twenty-five feet long, thirty at most. Her breath, according to Hermione and Padma, had around the same range. The fire would take the shape of a stream line, not a cloud or cone, making it easier if not easy to dodge. He had to be careful, but it was doable.
I can't be reckless. Harry shuddered at the thought what his own mother would do to him otherwise. She didn't need a fire breath to be far more terrifying than the dragon could ever hope to be. Glancing around the big rock, he recoiled as the dragon exhaled a bit of fire, nearly playfully and certainly not at full strength. More cheering, blasted pack. There were certainly quite a number of spectators hoping for his miserable end. A grilled Canadian you won't get, not today. Trying to remember one of the spells he had learned from Luna and getting the casting right on the second try, he created a cloud of smoke to the left of the dragon. Grilled lamb, yummy. The dragon glanced there for a moment, but soon concentrated back on the rock where Harry was hiding. Not so easily distracted it seems. Some snickers from the crowd, mostly the Durmstrang students, could be heard but Harry ignored them. Time for a bit of Shamanism.
Summoning a trio of watchers - excluding Jerry as he wasn't certain the effect the dragon fire would have on him - he sent them in to create some mayhem. For a moment he had thought about recreating those quartet of vultures from the Jungle Book, laughing, cackling and telling bad jokes, but that was too complex and he didn't really need it, he only wanted something to distract the dragon and drive him mad a little, so he concentrated on a trio of huge seagulls. The birds had barely come into existence and opened their beaks for a little screeching when the dragon started to chase them around as far as his chain allowed it. In the meantime, Harry concentrated on a stunning bolt, pouring far more energy into this spell than he usually did. This one spell had to count. Hoping for the best, he jumping into the open and let fly, breathing deeply as he noticed that the dragon's attention was still on the birds. The bolt hit her on the left foreclaw, not only reducing her ability to hit Harry physically but also seriously slowing her down.
She roared in pain and anger, sprouting a long stream of flame towards him. Luckily, Harry wasn't there anymore. Running around like mad, dodging a couple more of her ill-targeted attacks, he used his magic to boost his chances to survive this daunting adventure. First, he increased his speed and agility, bettering the reaction time of his nerves and senses. Then he pulled a shroud of magic around his body. He really would like to avoid a grazing hit if his luck ran out. Only then did he begin to form another stunning bolt. He performed this entirely on the run, increasing the difficulty threefold at least, his training with Paul and Martin helping immensely. They expected something like this to happen even back then, he now realized. Mentally commanding his seagulls to use another distracting tactic, he waited for them to begin a barrage of small stones dive bombs onto the dragon. This barely counted as an attack, the pebbles simply bouncing off from the thick scales. But apparently it was annoying enough and the dragon turned its head around, its flames hitting one of the seagulls. A real one would be a roast chicken now but the watcher only dissolved into a cloud of magic.
Later, Harry would scold himself for falling for this trick. He should have known better. Never underestimate the intelligence of an opponent. However, in this moment, he actually saw a chance and wanted to exploit it. Increasing his speed another notch, he sprinted towards the nest. Luckily, his senses warned him in the nick of time. He changed direction and avoided the sweeping tail, which hit the nest instead. Again, the eggs got saved by the rune-array, while Harry cursed himself for falling for this ambush. He hadn't been able to completely dodge the attack, but his magical shield had absorbed most of the hit. Now, he was jumping and rolling around, the dragon luckily still a bit slowed down by the stunning bolt. Was there mirth in her eyes? Harry wondered.
The eyes, that's it. Harry dodged the next attack and waited for the right moment. Her dragon breath was certainly nearly ready to be used again. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that. The stunned claw was almost well again it seemed. He saw her test it. She'll use the claws for a surprise attack, he mused. Really, only a few seconds later the dragon bit in his direction only to follow up with a vicious sweep of her formerly stunned claw. Harry had expected the move and jumped in the air, far higher than any human should be able to. Ki-Fist! Hopefully, Martin was proud about the result of their dire training, if not about what Harry was using it for. I have to end this and soon. Over a distance of four, five yards, the magic of his ranged fist attack hit the dragon into the right eye, not enough to permanently injure it but it certainly hurt like hell. The dragon opened her mouth in reflex for a bit of screaming, only to get hit by the stunning bolt Harry had been keeping in reserve. Hitting her vulnerable gums while circumventing her magic-resistant scales was enough to knock her out for a few seconds. The dragon-mother came crushing down and moaned in pain.
With no idea of how long she would need to recover from that hit, Harry ignored the tumultuous applause from the crowd, rushed to the nest and got his egg. Without waiting for even a second, he continued his charge, barely allowing the judges to declare his success before he left the arena. He had no wish to wait for the dragon to get around and repay him for the pain, no, not in the slightest.
Only when he was really safe and secure, did he look up and searched for the faces of his friends and family. He had not only won but done so without a scratch. Now, he wished Michael would be able to accomplish the same.
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Michael's turn
It was worse for Michael right from the start and it went downhill from there in giant leaps – or drops.
Michael tried to use Luna's tactic in the beginning, he really did. He used spells to distract the dragon, to send her chasing around after phantasms and to hide his own presence. But he never got it right. Partially, it was nervousness. Michael needed several attempts for every spell, and even with them being stronger and far more accurate than they had been a month ago, they still weren't precise enough to deceive a fully-grown dragon, nevertheless a Hungarian Horntail.
However, the worst wasn't the fact his spells failed him. Far worse was that Michael was losing his nerves. With every spell not getting the result he had hoped for, Michael got more depressed, closer to admitting defeat to himself. With every minute the battle lasted without any noticeable progress, the crowd got more impatient. They started to complain, to ridicule Michael and call him a coward, a liar and a worthless Squib. Untrue as they were, the cusses got to him and undermined his self-confidence even more, the paltry remains of it that remained with his growing self-doubts scratching at his confidence. He so wanted to prove them wrong. He wanted to be Parvati's hero, to be worthy of Harry's friendship and make Madam Longbottom proud of him. Michael had no idea that he had achieved those goals simply by being him already. Instead, he felt utterly worthless.
"He's losing it," Harry cursed, clenching to Floe's neck with only his strong grip keeping back the yowling dog from running to the rescue.
I can't live like this, Michael sobbed, hastily wiping away the tears blinding him. I'll prove them wrong.
So, he got more and more reckless, immensely frightening his friends and family, as at least some of the Weasleys still saw him as one of their own. He didn't see how Percy sucker punched Ron after one brainless statement too many, didn't hear Parvati scream at Lavender until her former friend cowered under her seat or how Madam Sprout had to keep Alice back from jumping into the arena to save her favourite student. Nothing of that was on his mental radar. There was only space for the dragon, the egg and the endless laughter of the audience.
"Lancea!" The piercing spell hit the dragon but didn't even pierce the outer layer of its thick skin. Dancing around to his best abilities, he got more and more reckless, the desperation in his chest getting stronger with every spell failing to do more to the dragon than annoy him.
There! One of his piercing spells hit the thinner scales right beside the eyes. For the first time the dragon felt pain and Michael's heart soared. It lasted only for a second. For one precious second, Michael felt a sliver of hope. It all ended in the next with the might of a train hitting him. Michael heard screams, one of them being his own and he imagined to hear Parvati's voice as well. The dragon's mighty claw hit him and whirled him around like a child's toy. His side burnt were the claws had ripped his robe and slashed his skin, spilling blood and breaking ribs. A single hit ended the fight and every chance of him successfully finishing the task – but it didn't end the dragon's attack.
"NOOO!"
More screams, chaos and mayhem on the ranks, judges falling over each other to end the task and send in the dragon handlers. Nobody noticed Barty Crouch's evil, satisfied, smile. The pretender would die in the most bloody and public way. Nobody else than Ginny at least, who watched him with narrowed eyes. This deserved more investigation. While the real Ginny felt like screaming at the sight of her brother's suffering, Tom felt only slight annoyance that he had to change his plans again. Without the boy's help it would be more difficult to get to the bottom of the riddle around Michael Bain's real identity.
Michael saw and heard none of that. He only felt pain. He was on the ground, flat on his stomach, but still trying to stand up. Far away, Ludo Bagman gave the signal that ended the task. Charlie Weasley pushed the door open to get into the arena, a handful of dragon handlers close behind. On his elbows and knees now, his breath heavy and his muscles trembling from the attempt to stand up, Michael never saw the tail coming. A two feet spike that gave the dragon its name impaled his back, all through the chest until the tip broke through the skin of his breast. Hermione had to grab Parvati as the girl fainted. Luckily for him, Michael lost his consciousness at that moment, the pain simply being far too potent. The dragon lifted its tail, a bit irritated because of the soft glow that started to emit from the boy who was hanging from the tail like a butterfly impaled on a needle. Noticing the dragon handlers and fearing for its prey, the dragon turned around, keeping the tail and the boy out of their reach, opening its giant mouth to take a hearty bite, only to feel its mighty jaws hit some kind of barrier. The dragon handlers came to a stop as well, unsure how to react to the weird scene ahead. Several times further the dragon attempted to bite poor Michael like a boy scout would try to get bites from a sausage on a stick at a scout campfire. Every time the dragon failed.
"Enough of this, Catriona."
Four words only, but they were enough to gain the complete and utter silence of the arena and the stands surrounding it. Some… being… appeared in the arena not far from the dragon and its prey. It looked like a ghost or better like a mix of several ghosts. The voice was a mix as well, sounding like dozens of people were speaking at the same time. It was a caring mother, a judging father, a concerned sister and a protective brother all at the same time.
"You had to protect your children, Catriona. I understand this. It wasn't right to endanger them, to use them in this mockery of a true tournament. But you have won. Your children are safe. Now allow me to do the same for my child."
There weren't many in the audience who guessed correctly the identity of this being. Albus was one of those few and he didn't like it one bit. As Harry had guessed, he hadn't exactly planned for the boy to die today, but he wouldn't have grieved his death for long either. Now, the boy seemed to be under this being's protection and this wasn't something he had expected to happen. Hogwarts, the Castle Spirit as Harry called her unbeknownst to Albus, hadn't shown herself in generations of students visiting the school.
"Put him down, Catriona, and take care of your children."
The dragon seemed to think about it for a moment, before she put Michael down, surprisingly gently and even allowing the dragons handlers to pull him of the spike. Willingly she followed them as they grabbed the eggs and left the arena.
"Not this one," Charlie stopped one of his comrades from picking up the golden egg. "This one caused enough pain today." He was still a little stunned about this magical being knowing the dragon's name. Not many did.
"Take him to the Hospital Wing," Madam Pomfrey begged some of the helpers waiting for orders. A single glance had been enough for the experienced healer to know that even with Hogwarts' intervention it could possibly be too late for any help. Michael only had a chance because Paul cast a Stasis spell on the boy. Later, Madam Pomfrey would assess that Paul's spell had slowed down Michael's body functions by the factor 17, giving him an hour where he would have succumbed to his wounds within minutes.
"We'll do what we can," Paul tried to sound hopeful. He had returned right before Harry had left the arena, only to watch Michael's hopeless fight. The boy didn't deserve this.
Neither Madam Pomfrey nor Paul Masterson noticed the duo of elderly house-elves leaving the ranks as well, shouldering that old satchel and following them. Even they hadn't expected how fast and ugly the fight would turn, but they were prepared. "None of my students will die," Matron Mathilde muttered. She had lost one student thirty years ago. Never again!
.
"Lady Hogwarts," Albus Dumbledore strutted forward, or at least he would have if his physical shape would have allowed it. His eyes twinkling madly, an honest smile on his lips, he fully intended to capitalise on her appearance, exploit her arrival and try to gain a little political goodwill and reputation out of it. He was in for a bad surprise. "Your timely arrival…"
"Be quiet!" The dozen voices thundered. Snickers and gasps were to hear from the audience. "I'm only here because you didn't perform your duty."
"My Lady…" This didn't go as expected. She had to respect him. He was the great Albus Dumbledore.
"I said be quiet," the voice thundered again, this time even louder, loud enough actually to cow him and make everybody else back down. "This isn't the first time you neglected your duty, Albus Dumbledore. This isn't the first time a student's life was threatened while being under your care. Sometimes you can't help it. Sometimes accidents happen. But this was unnecessary. You had been warned. You could have prevented this from happening. But you didn't care. The welfare of the students isn't foremost on your mind as it should be."
"But my lady…"
"ENOUGH!" The crowd was shocked as the almighty Albus Dumbledore found himself on the ground, blasted from his feet by the sheer force of Hogwarts' voice. No one dared snicker right now. This being was simply too terrifying. Any doubt about the generation old rumours of Hogwarts being sentient came to a screeching end with the sight of this powerful being. Some adult who had visited Hogwarts themselves in the past had been dreaming about some whispers in the dark, some invisible entity that counselled the headmaster in his dreams and invisibly watched over the students. None of them however had expected to actually see and hear her.
"I'll give you one last chance, Albus Dumbledore. Use it well. Until the tournament ends, you are on probation. When the schoolyear ends, if the situation remains the same, I will suspend you. Hogwarts deserves better. Our students deserve better."
More gasps, cries of "can she do that?" filled the air. The sight of the broken headmaster however answered that question. Yes, she could.
"And Albus? Until then none of the house-elves will answer your calls. You didn't appreciate their work and wisdom in the past. Now prove that you deserve it in the first place."
No house-elves. No tea, no cookies and no new lemon drops. Albus saw a bleak future ahead.
.
Hospital Wing
.
They had barely been in the Hospital Wing for ten minutes and they already knew that even their combined knowledge wouldn't be enough to save the boy. Hell, there was a hole, straight through his chest, two inch in diameter at the breast and more than double that at the back. Out of sheer luck, it hadn't hit any organ but the shock and blood loss alone would be enough to kill him. The other injuries were harmless in comparison. It was a miracle that he was still alive, even with the Stasis spell working its wonders.
"We have to get him to St. Mungo's," Madam Pomfrey declared calmer than she felt but with no more hope than she saw in Paul's eyes.
"That won't be necessary," an old voice announced, interrupting their dark thoughts. Paul and Poppy whirled around. They had to look down to find the speaker, calmly walking through the room until she was standing at the statue of Helga Hufflepuff that dominated one of the corners of the Hospital, had been standing there for centuries before even Albus Dumbledore graced the corridors of Hogwarts with his presence. It was the elderly house-elf Paul had already noticed at the arena watching the task. Matron Mathilda was at her side and from close up the age difference was even more discernible. This other house-elf was truly ancient and a little otherworldly.
"Mathilda?" He asked with a low voice.
"She'll help," Matron Mathilda offered him a sad but hopeful smile.
Parvati hearing these words sobbed and clung even more to Hermione. The teenagers had followed their friend to the Hospital and tried to stay out of the healer's way as good as possible. Harry was watching the scene with his arm around Luna's shoulders, drawing strength from her, as the blonde was the only one around who wasn't desperate. She didn't seem to have the slightest doubt that Michael would survive, wherever that trust stemmed from.
The ancient house-elf patted the statue, her tiny size only allowing her to reach up to Helga's knee. "He really needs your help, Helga. He is one of your boys and got really hurt, and only because of that blasted…" What followed was a string of cusses that hadn't been heard since before the arrival of William the Conqueror. Even Poppy didn't understand a single word, but by the blushing of Matron Mathilda it wasn't anything nice or appropriate for teenager ears. Only the name Albus they didn't miss. One thing however Poppy stored away in her memory: He is one of your boys, Helga. Madam Sprout had mentioned her opinion more than once that Michael Bain was a Hufflepuff at heart and not a Gryffindor. After today's show of Michael's brashness, Poppy wasn't so certain anymore, but apparently this house-elf shared that sentiment.
"Sorry, Helga, for the outburst. I'm simply so angry about this nonsense." She glanced towards Michael and opened her satchel. "If it's okay Helga, I would like to give Poppy the means to help the boy. Are you alright with it?"
After everything they had experienced today, Poppy wouldn't have been surprised to see the statue come alive. Naturally, she did not, but somehow she seemed to answer the question. At least, the ancient house-elf nodded happily. "Thank you, Helga. Poppy won't disappoint you. You know it."
She turned around and walked to Michael's bed, pulling something out of her satchel and offering it to Poppy. The medi-witch nearly fainted as she realized the nature of the object. "Is this…"
"Yes," the house-elf simply confirmed. "You may use it, for him and him only. Nobody else than you may touch it. Only the boy may drink from it. I'll return to get it back after he gets better." Her ancient eyes drilled holes into Poppy. "Don't mess this up, Poppy. You're the first healer allowed to use her cup for three lifetimes of my folk."
"I won't. Thank you." With trembling hands Poppy accepted the cup from the house-elf – Helga Hufflepuff's cup. Now the boy truly had a chance.
.
Hogwarts – Arena stands
.
With two of the champions in the hospital ward, the annunciation of the task's result was somewhat lacking. At least, Fleur Delacour was back, her little sister trying not to cling too much to her as she was still a bit in pain. But she was standing again, only needing the support of her mother's hand when walking around. Nobody knew what had happened to her in the meantime outside the small group, and none of them would ever tell.
To Albus' relief, the magical being that all assumed to somehow be Lady Hogwarts – not that she had ever claimed to be – had departed, allowing him to recollect at least a modicum of pride and dignity. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, here is the result of the first task. While he didn't get the egg, Michael Bain showed a surprisingly broad arsenal of spells mostly from the category of distraction. For his failed attempt, he gets fifteen out of fifty points." With twenty-five points being reserved for actually getting the egg, his result wasn't all too bad. Albus assumed the other headmasters had been generous because Michael had been so seriously injured and in the end it didn't matter if he had five or twenty-five points. He was a dead-end anyway.
"Next we have Fleur Delacour, Champion of Beauxbatons." More than one wizard noticed that he hadn't called Michael Bain the Champion of Hogwarts. "Miss Delacour used a powerful charm to put her adversary into magically induced sleep. The spell nearly lasted long enough and she actually got the egg. However, she was seriously injured by dragon fire and she only used a very small number of spells in her attempt. Because of this, Miss Delacour gets 38 points." Meaning she actually got fewer points than Michael for her spell selection. Madam Maxime had disagreed with the subtraction as the injury had occurred after the official end of the task, but she had been overruled by the others.
"In the second place," the audience waited for the name with baited breath. "we have Harry Potter." The announcement earned him a mix of approval and catcalls. The boy had really impressed the masses, even if some of the conservatives had been unhappy about the boy's lack of wizard spells use. "He used a broad range of spells from the wizarding and shamanistic school in addition to his impressive physical abilities. A well-rounded champion, I may testify. We subtracted three points because he needed longer than Miss Delacour and Mister Krum." And there had been Headmaster Karkaroff and his admittedly dubious judging, assessing only one out of five points for spell selection. "In the end, Harry Potter earns himself 43 points for his admirable success."
"And last but not least, we have Mister Viktor, Krum, Champion of Durmstrang." Wild cheering followed. "He was the fastest to get the egg and was one of only two champions not injured in his attempt. We only subtracted three points for the small number of spells used," something Karkaroff hadn't been happy about, "leaving him with a stunning 47 point result." The crowd hooted and jeered.
"In February, we'll continue with the second task. Until then, the champions have the occasion to get some clues from the golden egg they retrieved." All champions aside Michael Bain at least, Albus mused. He hadn't heard from the boy so far. Had he survived? Certainly, Poppy would have told him otherwise. "With this, I conclude the day of the first task of this tournament." He carefully omitted the word tri-wizard, at it would only remind them of the humiliating start of the tournament.
At least, this day seemed to be over – more or less. For a while he would be allowed to relax and to recover, but without tea and cookies this time. Albus wasn't a happy headmaster right now.
.
Tom had watched the show and was deep in thoughts. The appearance of this being could complicate his plans. How much did it know? How far was it willing to influence the events at Hogwarts? At least, it seemed to be unhappy with the headmaster. He hoped that this meant it would allow him to continue with his plans to remove the Headmaster and destroy his political career forever.
We will see.
.
Barty Crouch was unhappy as well. The boy should have died. For a moment it had looked like the Hungarian Horntail would do its job, only to have this strange entity appear on the scene. There was nothing he could have done to prevent it. But now he knew what to expect. Next time he would be more careful. The second task was more harmless in nature than the first one. He had to make certain that the Mermen would kill the boy.
With a bit of luck Lady Hogwarts wouldn't show up again. He had three months to plan the boy's demise. He intended to use that time well.
.
A/N
A bit more about the Spirit and the ancient house-elf in future chapters; they won't turn out as "always around problem-solvers", only intervening this time because they really had to.
And yes, I used the name Catriona for the dragon again like I did in my trilogy.
About the Cup: remember that it isn't a Horcrux in this story.
Next Chapter:
Next chapter will be delayed a bit because I'm on holiday for a few weeks.