'Have you got everything?' Hermione asked nervously, for perhaps the third time.
'He'll be fine.' Mordred assured. The knight lounged in McGonagall's chair in the transfiguration classroom, eyes closed and basking in the autumn sunlight. Hermione bit her lip, forcing herself not to reach for his magic through the sect bond. Whilst she'd always known intellectually that he was dead, and had been for centuries, she'd never really felt that he was. He was a sturdy and powerful presence through the bond with a distinct presence that stood out against the general feel of the undead members of the sect. But it was only since Harry had joined that she realised just how… dead… he actually was. Harry was vibrant, bright, the bond between them a pulsing, tangible connection. By contrast, Mordred was a ghost. The faded impression of his magic was a dark shade, lukewarm flames. He must have been earth-shatteringly powerful when he was alive, to still be so strong in death. It shouldn't surprise her; he'd been a mature wizard, practicing and exercising his magic since birth without a wand to use as a crutch. She wondered if it hurt him, to know how much he'd lost. Were they a reminder of what he'd been? Bright, alive, powerful. She'd always assumed that Mordred enjoyed being around them, but she'd remembered how Gorlois had introduced him to her; that this was his punishment. It was a topic that she didn't know how to broach, so she had ended up trying to subtly avoid him
The tournament officials had provided Harry with a uniform for the competition, to match Cedric Diggory. They'd forgone it in favour of something more to Mordred's taste - the cloak that Harry wore over his loose, black clothing was similar to one of the guardian's. Hugely voluminous, sweeping the floor behind him with every step and fastened with a silver brooch. But they'd added a hood, deep enough to fall to the small of Harry's back when it was pushed down, and instead of the symbol of the house, Hermione had carefully painted a rune onto the back of the cloak. A rune that she'd used once before, and now it shimmered with the silver that had been ground into the paint.
'Gloves?' Hermione checked. Harry pulled his dragon hide gloves from his belt, flapping them at her. She checked her watch again, then glanced towards the forest. A steady stream of students were making their way down the lawns and towards the large wooden stadium that had appeared overnight. She couldn't help but think it was slightly ironic that they planned to have dragons in a wooden stadium.
A knock on the door made her look up sharply, just in time to see Sirius make his way into the room.
'It's time.' Sirius informed them. Harry nodded and offered Hermione his arm. She took it, allowing herself to be escorted down a twisting, convoluted route through secret passageways to the grounds. They didn't join the other students, heading off to the right where a large pavilion had been pitched beside the stadium.
They were the last to arrive - Diggory, wearing the Hogwarts uniform, trimmed in purple now that Harry was wearing something different. Dumbledore was absent but Flitwick hovered at his elbow, looking even shorter than normal next to the tall seventh year. Krum offered them a quick bow of deference, which Hermione returned with a nod. His uniform was emblazoned with a massive Durmstrang crest and had clearly been designed like his Bulgaria quidditch robes, perhaps in an attempt to remind the other champions who he was. Fleur was alone in a relatively muggle costume, sensibly non-flammable and lacking in trailing ends which could snag, trip or be caught. The half-Veela waved to the young Hogwarts students from the shadow of her towering headmistress.
'Ah, Mister Potter.' Dumbledore swept through the flap behind them, twinkling eyes taking in Hermione, the Dark Knight at her back and Sirius Black. Umbridge followed in his wake, her mean little eyes fixing on the young duo. Hermione hadn't attended one of her lessons since Halloween, choosing to join Harry in learning from Berg and Sirius, but the professor had gone out of her way to attempt to assign them both detention. Hermione had so far managed to neatly evade them, but it wouldn't last forever. The headmaster ushered Harry into the circle that Crouch had already half formed.
The headmasters, Sirius, Hermione and the other officials crowded in close, peering over the shoulders of the champions and into the sack in Crouch's hand.
'Ladies first.' Crouch announced, holding it out to Fleur. Looking like she'd rather do anything but, Fleur reached in and a moment later withdrew a small figurine of a dragon. It came alive in her hand, letting out a screech and flapping its wings and displaying the number two on it's chest.
'The Welsh Green!' Bagman announced eagerly. If Fleur was relieved to have received the easiest dragon, she said nothing.
'The Chinese Fireball!' Came the announcement as Krum withdrew his own figurine. Diggory pulled out the Swedish Short-Snout a moment later, which left Harry with the worst of the dragons. The Hungarian Horntail was vicious even in model form - scratching his fingers with it's sharp spines and blowing plumes of fire into his face. Hermione heard Mordred's hiss of displeasure behind her, and Sirius had gone rigid. She laid a hand on Harry's arm in a way that she hoped was reassuring.
Gleefully, Bagman launched into an explanation of their task and like Hermione had expected, it was to steal from the dragon - but not it's treasure… Harry had to steal an egg.
'Hermione!' Rita Skeeter had arrived at some point, presumably whilst they'd all been distracted by the drawing of the lots. She already held a page full of notes and her quill drifted behind her, scribbling about Fleur's luscious locks. 'What an original cloak you've got your champion wearing. Any comment for witch weekly?'
'It's actually inspired by the traditional cloaks that my family guardians wear…' Perhaps sensing that she actually had very little to say on the matter, Rita moved onto Hermione's clothing, then Sirius'. It was thoroughly boring and the others in the room quickly stopped paying any attention to them.
'The article about your true relation to Grindelwald will be published just before Yule.' Rita muttered beneath her breath, as soon as Umbridge had turned away. Hermione blinked, realising that the reporter had staged the entire interview just to give her a warning. Gellert had been right; it was certainly worth it to cultivate Rita Skeeter's favour.
'Thank you.' Hermione replied sincerely, then after a moment of thought; 'Anneken has almost finished my Yule Ball dress. Perhaps you'd like to get some photographs of it before the ball. That should let you get them into the evening prophet.'
Rita Skeeter's lips peeled back into a smile as she accepted Hermione's offer, then made a token effort to actually ask the other champions some questions but was firmly rebuffed by the various headmasters. She didn't seem overly bothered, dictating some scathing comments to her quill about Dumbledore's beard and swanning out of the pavilion.
Immediately, the mood shifted. Or perhaps it had shifted earlier and the two youngest had only just become aware of it. Krum was pacing across the tent whilst Karkaroff glowered at everyone. Madame Maxime was in discussion with Dumbledore, under the watchful eyes of the ministry officials. Umbridge was floating around the minister like a satellite, simpering. From the occasional glance in her direction, Hermione knew that she was the subject of their discussion.
'You should head up to the stands.' Harry suggested. Unlike the other contestants, he looked calm and composed, and it wasn't just a facade. He completely trusted Hermione's runework and her ability to channel the sect to keep him safe. She found it utterly terrifying.
'Harry's right.' Sirius agreed, glancing at his godson. The Black patriarch looked almost as confident as Harry, but she didn't have a bond with him to get a read on whether he was using occlumency to hide his true feelings. Mordred fisted his hand over his chest, bowing slightly in Harry's direction. She'd seen the gesture, performed by Cwyllog before Mordred had duelled Lucius Malfoy but she didn't know the meaning. She gave Harry a final hug, wished him luck, then followed the two wizards from the pavilion.
Ginny, Neville and Theo had saved them prime seats - high enough in the stands that nothing would be obscured but not far enough to hinder their eyesight. The students that had been encroaching on the space cleared away as soon as they saw Mordred and Sirius Black; the general student populace couldn't seem to decide whether to admire or be afraid of the undead dark wizard and the ex-convict. Her friends greeted her warmly, and Hermione was oddly relieved that they seemed to be at least a little nervous, even if they hid it well.
She barely had time to sit down and settle her magic, which was already reacting to her nerves by making her hair frizz out of it's complex braid, before the three headmasters. Umbridge and Crouch filed out onto a platform built into the stands and took seats behind a table. Bagman, distinctive again in his bright yellow and black robes, took a place at an announcer's podium and cleared a magically magnified throat. An instant, excited hush fell.
Hermione ignored Bagman as he welcomed everyone to the first task, introduced the judges and explained what was going to happen. Instead, she focused on the bond between herself and Harry and the power of the sect. Mordred had known a fair bit about dragons - or at least how to fight them, and had been able to tell them what to expect. It had even been a bit of a rite of passage in the family - a sorcerer and a squib knight working together to kill a dragon. That was the method that they were going to try.
The first dragon was brought in, furiously roaring and snapping at the handlers until she finally caught sight of her clutch of eggs at the top of a rocky outcrop. With a final blast of fire in the direction of the closest wizard, she leapt up into her eggs, breathed fire over them to warm them, then curled up, still puffing smoke warningly at the handler that fastened the chain of her collar to a large spike in the ground. Bagman declared that the dragon was the Swedish Short-Snout, then summoned Diggory with a blast of his wand.
The first champion appeared on a small ridge, just above the level of the rocks that had been scattered around the arena. There was a straight path between his position and the dragon, but it may as well have been a minefield for all the use it offered with the dragon still on her clutch of eggs. Raising his wand quickly and barking an incantation, Diggory transfigured a boulder into a very large golden retriever, which barked loudly and started darting around across the enclosure. Irritated, the dragon tried to swat it with it's tail. The dog turned back to stone and Diggory, who was half way down the path to the eggs, quickly transfigured another. Unfortunately the bellowed incantation drew the attention of the dragon, who swatted him with it's tail before going after the dog again. The crowd cried out in dismay as Diggory was hurled across the arena, fetching up against a large boulder. Then they cheered as he clambered painfully back to his feet, inched up behind the dragon on his belly and managed to steal the egg.
The Hogwarts champion had to be helped out of the arena by one of the officials as the dragon was exchanged for the next one - a poisonous green beast with long, muscular legs and a powerful, whiplike tail.
'This one will be easier. The hide is less armoured, so a strong enough spell should still disable it. Shame Harry didn't get this one.' Mordred muttered. True enough, Fleur Delacour managed to put a powerful sleeping enchantment on the dragon, but unfortunately didn't realise that roosting dragons snort fire in their sleep to keep their eggs warm. The dragon's flame seared her thigh and singed her hair, but Fleur managed to get the rest of the way with little more trouble.
Then it was Krum's turn. The athlete dealt with his dragon with the kind of martial efficiency that Durmstrang prided itself on. He went straight for the dragon's best known weak spot with a conjunctivitis curse. The dragon bellowed in agony, surging to it's feet and storming to where Krum had stood. But the quidditch player had moved and the dragon ended up decimating the arena with long swipes of it's sinuous tail in a futile attempt to follow the echoing sounds of Krum's footsteps. It was only the star's fast reflexes that allowed him to dive back out of the nest just as the dragon's massive hind leg came down to trample him. The thick, rich scent of dragon eggs filled the air and the dragon howled in dismay; a heart rending sound that pulled at her heart despite the viciousness of the beast in the arena.
'He'll lose point for that, for sure.' Sirius observed. 'Asian dragons are rare.'
Then, as if time had sped up, suddenly it was Harry's turn and the Horntail was brought in. She hadn't been able to see it up close in the forest and the dragon books in the library hadn't done it justice. The tail was covered in savage spikes, like a giant mace and Hermione knew that a blow from it would be enough to easily shatter bone.
'The gullet is thicker.' Mordred pointed out. 'You'll get a bigger flame, but less intense.'
'Good.' Sirius replied shortly, watching intently as the dragon curled up defensively around it's eggs. She didn't know whether dragons communicated with one another, but something about the way it curled it's wings around the nest and whipped it's head around suspiciously suggested that it suspected something was going to happen.
Harry appeared in the exact same spot as the other champions, pulling up the hood of his cloak so that his face was entirely covered. The crowd took in a deep, anticipatory breath.
'Mr Potter, the youngest of our competitors… not sure what the strategy is here, ladies and gents.' Bagman commentated. Harry took a moment, eyeing the dragon as it swung it's massive head to face him. Hermione began sending magic towards him and Harry gathered and collected it as they'd practiced.
Then, he stepped calmly onto the path.
The dragon drew a deep breath and Harry pushed the magic into the rune on his cloak. It went quickly and willingly, flaring along the silver lines with bright white light. Burying his face into his armpit and crouching down, Harry braced himself.
'Oh! Mr. Potter has taken a direct hit from the dragon flame - the handlers… but what's this?' Bagman bellowed. Spectators surged to their feet with cries of horror as the officials stepped forwards hurriedly, raising their wands. Then they paused as the rune on Harry's cloak brightened even further, glowing like a star against the flame.
An eerie, ghostly figure, Harry stood, slowly, as if fighting against a hurricane. Beside her, Mordred placed a hand on her wrist on the wood of the stands, and a moment later took over control of the protection rune, pouring the sect's power into it. She hadn't even realised that her knuckles were white with fear and strain. She threw herself into lowering the temperature in the arena, working on the environment as she'd learned to do in her earliest lessons with Mordred.
'Somehow, Mr Potter is surviving the dragon's fire! Very impressive, but the dragon's going to realise it soon… yes, there it goes.' The bright flame cut off abruptly, but was followed up by a flare of blue light so bright that it left Hermione blinking. Harry had thrust his hand forwards, a spell tossed from his hand like a cricket ball.
'And he's frozen it! I don't believe it! A direct hit to the inside of the mouth by Mr Potter, with a remarkably powerful stunning spell. Quite something, these Gorlois children; must be something in the water at that castle of theirs.'
Through the bond, Hermione could feel Harry's exhaustion as he shook back his hood and picked his way across the rocks and beneath the frozen dragon's legs. Despite the power of the spell that he'd used, the dragon was already beginning to defrost - the ice across it's deep chest was beginning to melt and drip. Hermione continued to lower the temperature around the dragon, labouring to keep it frozen long enough for Harry to collect his egg and escape.
The freezing spell finally lost it's strength just as Harry escaped the arena, egg securely beneath his arm. The dragon roared furiously, surging after Harry and smashing it's tail against the rocks as if hoping that he was still there. The dragon tamers rushed forwards to subdue it.
The shocked spectators suddenly erupted into thunderous applause. Beside her, Sirius whooped and cheered enthusiastically. Mordred banged his fist against the table and Neville pulled her into a hug.
'He survived!' Neville cried.
'He won!' Ginny countered enthusiastically, throwing herself at Hermione and Neville and wrapping them both into a hug.
'And Mr. Potter, the youngest champion, is the quickest to get his egg! Remarkable magic, wonderful performance, this is sure to shorten the odds on the Gorlois Champion.' Bagman bellowed over the noise of the audience. Harry shot a quick thumbs up at them across the arena, then allowed himself to be used inside the tent, presumably to be healed.
He emerged a moment later, and the judges began announcing his scores - Madame Maxime gave him a ten, the score winding out of her wand in a long silver ribbon. Crouch was next, giving Harry a five, which earned boos from the crowd as Sirius called him a sour flobberworm.
'Of course the ministry wouldn't like unapproved magic.' Theo muttered mutinously.
The five was followed up by another ten from Dumbledore, then an expected low two from Umbridge before Karkaroff reluctantly awarded an eight. The last two scored brought on a round of incensed criticism from Sirius, but Hermione couldn't care less. Harry had survived the first task without even a scratch.