Someone cleared their throat, the sound nudging me into consciousness. "Er... I suppose we have our first place winner."

The first thing I noticed were the people. Far too many people for my liking, staring unblinkingly at me, as though expecting me to jump up and do a backflip while reciting Shakespeare. There was something undeniably creepy about others watch me while I slept, it left me feeling vulnerable, and more than a little paranoid. What if I sleep talk?

Someone had propped me up in a regal high-backed chair that looked more comfortable than it actually was by half. Beside me, in their own chairs at the front of the Great Hall for everyone's viewing pleasure, were Nikolas and Frey, although both still slept. Nikolas' brows furrowed into a deep frown, even in sleep, and everyone once and awhile the muscles in his arms would tense, his fingers digging into the wood arms of the chair. Frey, on the other hand, maintained the outward appearance of serenity, leaning heavily to one side.

"Winner?" I repeated dumbly, sitting up straighter in my seat and wishing I hadn't when my stomach threatened vicious retribution.

The Headmaster climbed the two steps up to our raised platform, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Congratulations, Miss Lovett. I always knew you'd do Hogwarts proud."

Something wasn't adding up. Nonetheless, I nodded along, pretending I knew what the hell was going on.

He continued, "If we may ask, for judging purposes, Of course, how did you figure it out?"

Figure what out? But I couldn't just ask him and out myself as an idiot. As the seconds marched on and my desperation peaked, I looked past the headmasters and the Minister and everyone else until my gaze caught on familiar flaming red hair. Sensing I was in crisis, Abiel met my gaze and sat up straighter in his seat, mouthing, "the mask, you idiot. The mask!"

He could have excluded the whole "idiot" part.

If possible, though, I grew even more perplexed, hoping it didn't show on my face. What in the world was this boy talking about? Mask?

Evidently, I didn't hide my befuddlement well enough, because he rolled his eyes and whipped out his wand. Glowing letters popped out of the tip, one after another, there and gone in seconds.

T. A. S—

Oh.

I blinked.

The second task?

That was the second task?

I thought back, considering the last few week, as well as my last conversation with Nikolas before we passed out. He'd said something along the lines of how he "slept" on it and knew the answer in the morning... Could he have meant that literally?

Now that I thought about it, I'd had nightmares every single night since I obtained the clue, and Frey had mentioned in passing the same morning that we got news of Damon's mother's passing that he was exhausted, practically sleeping atop the table, because he'd been having nightmares, too. And Abel, in the last few days while he spent day and night searching for what the clue could be, looked like he hadn't slept at all. Unlike Nikolas, who probably flagged the abnormal number of nightmares he was having as out of the ordinary, I was already used to having trouble sleeping most nights. It only seemed natural that it might get worse after being poisoned, not to mention nearly becoming the cockatrice's lunch.

Clearing my throat, I lied through my teeth, "Oh, I... um... just noticed that the number of nightmares I was having lately seemed a bit off, and once I knew it was a dream it didn't really matter what I did to win."

Although I hoped my words didn't sound as uncertain to their ears as they did to mine, they still sounded a world better than "I only just figured out that was a part of the tournament like three seconds ago, so I'll get back to you on that."

I was saved from elaborating, luckily, by a rejuvenated yawn to my left. The judges quickly lost interest in me and swarmed a pleasantly surprised Frey, giving me time to examine our surroundings.

The Great Hall was organised just as it normally was, but with two notable exceptions. The first, obviously, were our three chairs spread across the area where the staff table usually resided. The second lay behind us. I turned just in time to witness a hazy picture, seemingly made of thick, condensed mist, dissipate above Frey's head. To my right, over Nikolas, floated another of these bizarre clouds, except this one didn't fade on me. Within it, I was looking down on a little girl. Her round face gave away her youth, perhaps younger than ten, draped in expensive dusty pink silks and her own blood running in rivulets like tears down her cheeks.

She mouthed something I couldn't decipher, the vision mute, but the betrayal in her eyes was clear.

"How could you, Nik? How could you let me die?"

A cold feeling eating it's way through my stomach, I tore my eyes away. This was personal, too personal for me to be privy to. Then, I felt a flash of white, hot anger bubbling its way through my stomach. No one here had the right to his worst nightmares, nor mine or Frey's. Our innermost fears and thoughts should have been private, and privacy was breached — for what? Entertainment? A meaningless competition? The longer I spent as a part of the Triwizard Tournament the more I grew to resent it, not that I was ever particularly fond. People die for it every few years, yet it means nothing. What good was "glory" anyway? I'd rather have my life.

The worst part was that I was pretty sure I knew what Nikolas was seeing. That's what made me so sick to my stomach. He replayed his sister's death in his head and blamed himself for not going to save her from the revolutionaries. No reality could be worse than the tortures his own mind could conjure. Imagination, in this case, was a vile curse.

I didn't wait to hear their verdict about who earned the most points, or for Nikolas to awaken. With one last sweeping look around the room, I pushed to my feet and made the long walk down from the head table, through the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, and out the doors to the Great Hall. I hated this. I hated entertaining the thought of this. My brother could die! This wasn't some petty game!

I felt the force of dozens of curious gazes follow my brief trek, although none made to stop me, probably because the task was still in progress and the judges too preoccupied to notice my absence.

Just when I thought myself free, I felt a warm hand clamp down on my shoulder, drawing me back.

"Alice, wait."

I slowed, the doors to the Great Hall swinging shut behind us.

"I suppose you must be quite proud of yourself," I said, not looking up to meet his eyes. "Must be nice to know all your hard work paid off. This task was your doing after all, wasn't it?"

I wasn't sure how I hadn't seen the truth earlier. I'd helped create the very potion used in this task months ago, before the tournament even began. The memories of having to resuscitate Professor Aragon over and over during my month-long detention marathon seemed so long ago, considering all that had happened since then. Myself: poisoned (twice), nearly eaten, unwillingly drafted. My brother: pushed over a banister, comatose.

Professor Aragon grinned, rubbing the back of his neck guiltily. "Couldn't have done it without you, little champion."

Somehow, that didn't make me feel any better.

"Thanks, sir."

I made to pull away again, but he sidestepped, blocking my path.

Eyes soft, he said, "It may not seem like it now, but it was for your own good."

My lips pressed into a thin line, but somehow I managed to quirk them up at the edges and lie, "I'm sure it was, sir."

Obviously not buying it, he said, "The Triwizard Tournament is designed to be dangerous, but it's draining watching my kids kill themselves over a few galleons. I suggested this because was the safest task I could think of."

That made his betrayal a little better, if I could call it that. It seemed too melodramatic, but the way it stung definitely felt personal.

I arched a skeptical brow. "I'm sure it had absolutely nothing to do with testing your potions on unsuspecting test subjects."

He shrugged, holding up two fingers in a V. "Two birds, one stone. You can't blame me for using this opportunity for my research."

Despite my bitter mood, I laughed. "You almost had me fooled, sir. I nearly thought you cared about my welfare."

He blinked owlishly. "You? This competition must be going to your head, little champion. It's doing wonders for your ego." With that said, Professor Aragon turned to head back into the Great Hall. "If anyone asks, I failed to catch you from fleeing in my old age. I'm sure your coconspirators will be happy to share with you how you did after judging."

I bit back my smile at the image of Lyra, Damon, and Cass as anything serious enough to be considered coconspirators. They're all too scatterbrained to create any real trouble.

"Thank you, professor," I said. "For everything."

And I meant it.