Chapter Twenty Four

The First Task

"And what do I define in this theory of yours?" asked Dream.

"Reality, Perhaps," replied Destruction.

From Brief Lives

The school was buzzing with the approach of the first task. Harry felt more detached than ever during this time, he knew that there wasn't really anything he could do to prepare for it. And he also knew that his instincts were sharp, and that he was very good at coming up with sudden inspiration, which is all he really needed. On the other hand, less than half of his magical schooling was complete and he was an average student, the odds were not in his favor.

He thought the nervous energy in the air gave him a bizarre sort of focus. It was an odd thought, but then again, Harry wasn't entirely sane. Charms class introduced the Accio Summoning charm, which Harry had great success with. And Harry found that Moody's class was a great distraction from the numerous mutter's and darting glances, as Moody would hex people's ears during lectures. So it was with great relief to Harry that the twenty-fourth arrived.

Professor McGonagall pulled him out of the Great Hall early, and guided him to a tent off to the side.

"You're to go in here with the other champions and wait for your turn, Mr. Potter. Mr. Bagman will be telling you the procedure. Good luck," McGonagall said in a shaky voice. Harry felt a prickle of apprehension; her nerves were a bad omen, though he tried to give her a reassuring grin.

"Thank you. You know what they say; 'desperate people do desperate things.' I hope it doesn't come to that." McGonagall gave him a long look, then nodded and wobbled off.

The other champions were already inside, all three of them looking spectacularly unhappy. Cedric looked ill, Fleur was pale, and Krum was surly. Oddly enough, their misery made Harry feel relaxed, as he didn't have anything to prove to anyone. In fact, Harry was thinking that he might just twist the competition around and try to fail spectacularly. He gave a cheery wave to Bagman, whose old Wasp robes stood out against the pale-faced champions.

Bagman waved him over and explained the rules.

"And I have to tell you something else too…ah, yes… your task is to collect the golden egg!"

Harry frowned. In some fairy tales, there would be a goose that could lay golden eggs, these stories were often lessons in greed. He could do that; he wasn't a very greedy person. In fact, one could even say Harry didn't desire anything at all. Bagman signaled for Fleur dip her hand in the bag first, and Harry swore loudly when he saw what was in her hands, it was a miniature dragon. Krum grunted, and Fleur gave him a look of disdain, while Cedric said nothing.

Harry dimly registered that he was the only one worried about the dragons, before shoving that thought aside. He shut his eyes tightly at his mistake; he had to wrong idea. Everything seemed to be going for him wrong these days. In mythology, there were golden apples, and heroes were challenged to retrieved them, displaying wit and bravery, the very things Crouch had warned them this task would focus on. Harry withdrew his model, and noted with resignation, the particularly sharp spikes on its tail.

Oh god, he wouldn't even have to try to fail spectacularly.

"Mr. Digorry, you're first, just go out when you hear a whistle, all right? Now… Harry… could I have a quick world? Outside?"

"Er… yes," said Harry, trying to remember all the myths he had read about dragons. So far, the overwhelming connection was the hero chopping off the dragon's head with a sword.

"Feeling all right, Harry?" Anything I can get you?"

"What?" said Harry, the question had knocked him out of his daze. Champions were forbidden from receiving help; surely Bagman knew that. "I- no, unless you know where I can get a sword somewhere?"

Bagman blinked. "Well, there's swords at the castle, but you don't have to kill the dragon, Harry. Just get past it. You're the last one up, and the underdog, I don't mind sharing a few pointers. No one would know, Harry." Bagman winked, and Harry frowned, this man acted far to friendly with him, it was extremely irritating.

"If you'll excuse me, I have the finer details of my plan to work out." Harry said shortly, entering the tent once more. His heart was pounding in his chest; he hadn't the faintest idea how he was going to do this. He looked at his fellow champions, and noticed the determination lined on their faces, and felt indignation crawl in his stomach as pieces of the puzzle clicked.

They hadn't been caught by surprise because they already knew.

He marched over to Cedric, knowing that his Hufflepuff tendencies would probably bend the easiest , they did represent the same school after all.

"You knew. You knew that we were facing bloody dragons, and you didn't say a thing!" he hissed. "The first task was supposed to be about bravery and intuition, and you all knew beforehand!" Cedric looked up, startled and guilty, but the other two champions had unapologetic looks. "You know, I was going to participate in the tasks, but I wasn't going to try to win. This was your show, your honor. I might not have cared before, but I do now. Congratulations, you now have new competition." Harry heard a whistle blow, and Cedric walk out of the tent. Krum grunted narrowing his eyes at Harry, while Fleur just gave a derisive laugh.

"You only 'ave a few minutes to plan for zis task, good luck to you," she said sweetly. Harry gave her a glare as he exited the tent, and broke out in a full run back to the castle.

Some of the school thought he put his name in the cup. Fine.

They said he had to compete. Fine.

But finding out that the other champions already knew, and he was the only one really tested, after he was so gracious. Now that just made him mad.

He hadn't been angry in a long time, the meditation that he practiced so often kept him calm. They had been lucky, and Harry hadn't practiced any of the magic he had learned as a child. It was the magic of intuition and time. He wasn't lying to McGonagall when he said he never practiced accidental magic as a child, because all of it had been intentional.

But now he was feeling reckless, and he found his concentration slipping away for the first time in years.

There was the incident, that one incident two weeks after Harry was rescued at the age of nine, that caused the guardian to teach Harry meditation. Harry wasn't trapped anymore, but he wasn't really free either. The guardian placed him in a school southern France, giving Harry the taste of normality.

On his way to the castle, he saw a something zooming to the stands, and cursed Cedric's name under his breath, he had summoned a broom to help him complete the task. It was a clever idea, and Harry wished he had thought of it. His magic hummed in his body, and he ran as fast as humanly possible, as if his entire life was dedicated to this task, like a star marathon runner.

On his second day, the students were playing outside, and an older student pushed Harry down. Annoyed, Harry did a cartwheel on his way down, lifting his leg up to kick the boy in the chest.

And even though the castle was still at a distance, Harry knew that he was going to make it in time. In fact, he was never late, a small part of his magic was always aware to the time, not in terms of hours and minutes.

Time to wake up. Time to run, to go to class, to be late, the possibilities were Endless, and a small voice in his head whispered,

"Time to cheat."

He slammed open the castle doors, and darted up the stairs, and ducking under a bench near the top. The wall was nonexistent at the bottom, and there was a small landing where the hallway was separated by a staircase and a slide, which led directly to Slytherin entrance.

He had discovered this secret passage on the map, and when trying it out with Blaise, they found it cut travel time in half when using the stairs; the slide made it thirty seconds. He landed at the foot of the stairs, and pushed the wall in front of him forward to open the door. It swung open, and Harry was careful not to push it too hard, as a suit of armor was attached directly to it. He said the password, and the door was only half open when Harry darted in the Common Room.

"The time was Fleur o'clock."

Rummaging through his trunk, he found it what he came for, the bag of sand. He withdrew a handful, and hesitated. Should he do this? Was this silly little competition worth the use of such a precious resource? And the sand was unpredictable. It had done something differently every time, but Harry knew there was a pattern of sorts, and even now he could sense it. His heart beat once, twice, and he made a choice.

It became a small series of confrontation that progressed as time went on, until Harry convinced the boy to go up on the school roof one day, and pushed him off. The teacher's called it a tragic accident, but Harry's guardian wasn't fooled, and promptly removed him to teach him some control.

Harry raised his hand in the air, and the sand sprinkled on him as he created a story.

"Once upon a time, there was a young man who was made to face a dragon. The elders of the castle desired the golden egg that it guarded. The young man did not wish to take the journey, but the elders gave him the option of seeking the egg or death, so he went. There were a great many people who went to see him face the dragon, some cheering him on, and others hoping for his downfall. There were three others who were given the same task also, and hoped he would fail so that they could claim the glory instead. The young man was successful, and the spectators were not hurt, but they did learn that the glory of success could be have a high price."

(A page in Destiny's book turned.)

Grabbing his Firebolt, Harry exited the common room, and got on. As he zoomed out the doors, he could feel the sand settle, and reality bend to his will.

"It was a quarter past Krum."

He reached the tent. He veered off to the broom shed, and deposited his Firebolt there, resolving to pick it up later. Walking back to the tent and heard the spectator's burst out in cheers. He waited for the whistle to blow and then jogged down the path, his heart still pounding from his earlier run. Passing through the entrance he saw the faces of the crowd, and the glowing yellow eyes of the Hungarian Horntail in the distance. He believed there was power in stories. The stories had kept him strong when he was young; they had given him hope, and now would be placing his life with them once more.

But has he took another step forward, the dragon breathed fire at him, and he thought, that maybe it wasn't a good time to act like an idiot either. He dove behind a rock, and felt the heat of the flames from his small hiding place, and mulled his options.

A Ravenclaw would know the weakest point of a dragon. Too bad he hadn't asked Charlie Weasley about that over the summer.

A Hufflepuff would probably be patient and wait for the dragon to fall asleep. He didn't have that sort of time.

A Gryffindor would attack with a spell, or maybe they would happen to have a sword handy. He wished he had a sword.

That only left one option.

Harry emerged from his hiding place once more, and ran forward, aware of the gasp of the crowd, and Bagman's shout of surprise. Time to stop. The tail slammed down an arm's length away from him, sending some rocks flying. Harry caught sight of the judge's table behind the dragon, and a small smile darted across his face.

A Slytherin would get someone to do it for them.

He raised his wand as he avoided the tail sweeping towards him, and concentrated with all of his might on the bolts holding the judge's platform up.

"Accio."

If the tumbling platform didn't attract the dragon's attention, Karkaroff's girlish scream certainly did.

Harry stood on the lake, and stomped on the frozen surface, cracking some of the ice. He sloshed inside, the frigid water up to his shins, and cupped his hands inside the water for a handful, wiping off some of the soot on his face. The rest of the school hadn't noticed him yet, something he was grateful for, he had a feeling they would be angry.

A few of them had 'pulled a Diggory' and summoned their broomsticks to escape from the inferno. There were still people flying to the ground, each broomstick weighed down by several people on each one, some clinging on by the bristles. Others had wisely escaped early, noticing that Harry wasn't overly concerned with following the rules. Among these people were Harry's friends, all whom were soot free. Harry saw Ron at the edge of the crowd, and approached him, the golden egg tucked under his arm.

"Good thing I went last isn't it?" He asked with a laugh. The heat from the stadium and the cries of fear had made him feel more alive in years. Ron said nothing at first, pointing at the large ball of flames in front of him. It was on his fourth attempt at speaking did words come out.

"You're mad, completely insane. You know that?" he asked faintly.

"I've been told. What did…?"

"HARRY POTTER! COME HERE THIS INSTANT!" He heard McGonagall scream. The judges and teachers were gathered near the front of the crowd, their faces sooty and grim. He noticed Charlie Weasley and four other dragon keepers taking off on a broomstick and conjuring water from his wand high in the air. Harry wiped the smile off of his face and approached them with caution.

"You called Professor?"

"You endangered the students on purpose!" McGonagall cried, holding her ruined hat in her shaking hands. Harry looked at her aghast in horror.

"I most certainly did not!"

"No? You deny that you broke the scaffolding of the judge's table to use them as bait, and encouraged the excitement of the crowd to create a distraction? A distraction that would allow you to successfully retrieve the egg without the dragon noticing as it attacked the crowd in the stands?" questioned Snape who was angrily pointing at the flaming Quidditch stadium behind him.

"Oh, no. I admit to that," Harry said serenely. "I just didn't endanger them."

"And how exactly is encouraging the dragon to attack not putting them in danger?" asked Dumbledore, who looked unamused.

Harry gave his Headmaster a surprised look. "Professor McGonagall told me there were wizards standing in case if it got out of hand. Everything was in perfect control," he said slowly.

Dumbledore had done a cool bit of magic on his way down that made the judges land harmlessly on the ground. But the dragon must had shaken Dumbledore up more than Harry thought, if he forgot something so obvious. And it wasn't as if Harry could explain the sand, or the story created which prevented the spectators from getting hurt.

Although, he thought belatedly, noting Karkaroff's hairless face, the judges were not given that protection.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Be that as it may, Harry, the role of a Champion is to represent their school to the best of their ability, not use them as dragon bait." The annoyance had faded from Dumbledore's face.

"I didn't sign up for this, I didn't know that was an obligation. The only thing Mr. Bagman told us was that our job was 'to collect the golden egg.'" He pointed at the egg that he had set by his feet. "He didn't say we had to be honorable about it. And I wasn't representing Hogwarts, that's Cedric's job. I was representing me, and that's all. Apparently, my representation likes making fire," he mused as a spark of fire as large as Hagrid popped out from the main inferno.

"Zis is ridiculous, I award 'im no points," said Madame Maxine.

"I second that score," Karkaroff said, dabbing an orange paste that Madam Pomphrey had given him onto his face.

Harry's jaw dropped, and he snapped back at them.

"You know, what's ridiculous? The challenge was supposed to be a test of daring and quick thinking. And yet, Fleur wasn't surprised when she reached in that purple bag and pulled out a dragon. Neither was Krum and neither was Cedric. There was nothing on their faces but determination." Madame Maxine eye's widened and Karkaroff became very interested on the side of the forest.

"The other's had time to prepare, and I didn't. They say desperate people do desperate things. Look, I don't care that they found out anymore, and I understand if you want to dock points for the mess." Snape snorted at this. "But, all I know is that of the four names that came out of the Goblet of Fire, I'm the only one who was unprepared when I reached in that bag." He crossed his arms and waited for their verdict. There was a pause, and Mr. Crouch spoke up.

"Cheating's a traditional part of the tournament and always has been, although I had hoped that the staff would have risen above the temptation. Be that as it may we cannot overlook the damage done in his attempt. I propose that we give Mr. Potter half marks, it puts him in last place, but he will have sufficient opportunity to make up for it in the next two tasks. Mr. Potter, you have had your warning, next time you will not be so fortunate." After a few silent glances, the judges all nodded.

The other three Champions approached, and Harry noticed they approached him with more caution now, so he couldn't resist and gave them a dark grin. Fleur's flinch gave him great satisfaction. Receiving the instructions for the next task, the group headed inside, following the large group of spectators in the castle. Harry hurried over to Blaise, falling into step with him halfway there.

"So… fire?" Blaise asked.

"Fire," Harry replied solemnly.

8 8 8 8 8 8 8

There was a painter standing in a field, placing his paintbrush onto a canvas with entirely the wrong color, on entirely the wrong spot. A few hundred years ago people called him Destruction. A large dog trotted up to him.

"Don't put your brush there, it will make the… ah, too late now. Just make sure you don't show anyone that painting, you might blind him or her when they look at it." The man gave a fierce glare to the dog next to him, before bursting out in deep laughter.

"Very funny Barnabas, did you only come out here to insult me?" the man asked, pausing his hand.

"You know that room you have in the back is making an awful lot of noise. What does it do?"

"There is a pond in the back, it warns me when trouble is coming, a visit from a family member," the man replied. His paintbrush was hovering over a wide array of colors, as he tried to determine which hue would be the most appropriate for an ocean.

"Well, it keeps bubbling, and splashing, and making all sorts of an awful racket," observing his friend dip the brush into a blob of grey.

Destruction frowned, put down his brush and headed inside.

"Perhaps it would be best if I go look," he said.

He opened the door to the back room and stepped in front of the bubbling pond. The water frothed back and forth, and but settled when he stood in front of it. Through the surface of the water he saw a familiar boy. Barnabas trotted up next to him.

"All your family's names start with 'D,' so who's he? Dirty?" Barnabas asked, watching Harry Potter wipe some of the soot off of his face.

"Hahaha! no I'm afraid not Dog." The broad smile off of his face faded away "No, this is someone different. I've met him once, although I don't think he knew who I was at the time. This is very disturbing that he showed up in the pond. It's only supposed to warn me if family is coming. He shouldn't be affecting it." His eyebrows furrowed, and Barnabas twisted his head to the side.

"So, what does it mean?"

"It means that some of my family did not listen to the final words I gave them when I left. It means that I may have to involve myself in the family business once more," the man replied with a sigh, shutting the door to the room.

"I don't see what's so bad about a family visit," Barnabas replied, stretching himself along a patch of sun.

"That, Barnabas, is because you have not met my family," the man replied, painting the cloud on his canvas purple.