"Why couldn't Lockhart teach us like that in our second year?" Ron demanded as they headed back to the common room. "I actually learnt something from him. I'm shocked."

"I suppose because during our second year, all he talked about was himself," Dean said. "No, listen—all of his classes were about his books and what he did."

"Bragging," Ron supplied.

"Exactly," said Dean. "He was more focussed on looking good ..."

"Or trying too," Ron interjected. "Because he didn't look good. At all."

"Ok, trying to look good," Dean agreed. "So his lessons were all about him trying to show off how good he was. Here, he actually wanted to teach us something rather than brag about himself."

On the morning of the first task, Dudley woke up feeling nervous. Try as he might, he still couldn't answer riddles very well. He just hoped the offensive magic he had been practicing would be enough to see him past the Sphinx.

Classes were to end at middday to give the school time to get to the arena. Dudley's nerves settled a bit throughout the day as many students stopped him in the corridor or came over to the Gryffindor table at breakfast to wish him luck.

"I've had a 10 galleon bet with Harold Dingle that you win the tournament," Roger Davies announced. "I remember last year, you beating Malfoy in a duel. I have faith."

Cedric Diggory came over personally to shake his hand. "I'll be rooting for you and Neville," he promised. "Look, some in my house don't like you," he said. Dudley knew who he was referring too. "But I think we all want a Hogwarts victory. You'll do fine."

Dean Thomas, who was good at drawing had prepared a banner showing Dudley Dursley casting a spell which Hermione had animated so it moved around. He had also prepared one for Neville so that both flags could be flew in support of the Gryffindor students.

"Go and do Gryffindor proud, Dud," Angelina Johnson said.

Dudley felt buoyed by the show of support and the comments rather than phased. It did him good to know that most of the school was firmly behind him.

The opposite could be said for Neville. Despite his bravado about wanting to win the tournament, on the day itself, he looked faintly green and merely nodded when people came to support him—as if he didn't trust himself to speak.

"Nev's not looking too good," Ron whispered to Hermione.

"He'll be fine—we've gone through everything he needs to do. Assess the threat. Identify a weakness. Use simple but useful spells."

"Are you sure you don't want to know what it is?" Dudley asked.

Hermione looked tempted, but shook her head. "No, Neville wants to win this thing by himself. He has a lot to prove."

At lunch, Luna too came over to wish him luck.

"I've prepared a lion hat," she announced. "I'm not wearing it now because it is a bit big. But you'll hear it during the event. It actually roars."

"Cool," Dudley said.

"Good luck, Dudley," Luna said. "I'll be cheering for you the loudest."

A few minutes later, McGonagall waved for him to come over. Neville Longbottom was with her.

Dudley stood up to join them, only to see Malfoy sidling over his way. Surely he wasn't going to wish him luck, too, was he?

"What do you want?" Dudley asked, giving Malfoy a glare as if he was something he had found on the bottom of his shoe. Malfoy was wearing his Durmstrang badge.

"It's time to tell yu my little secret," he said with a smirk.

"What secret?" Dudley asked, bemused.

Malfoy's smirk grew wider. "Sirius Black was innocent," he said smugly.

"What?" Dudley demanded.

"It's true, my father told me," Malfoy said. "Just thought you'd want to know, you sent an innocent man to receive the Dementors kiss."

Dudley stared after him, trying to process what he had just heard. Sirius Black innocent? How can that be? Black had betrayed the Potters. He had murdered 13 people with one spell. How could he be innocent? Malfoy must be lying.

"Dudley Dursley, will you please hurry up!" McGonagall called.

Dudley gave a quick shake of his head and hurried over.

"Alright, Nev?" he asked.

Neville looked less axious now. His jaw was set and he had a determined look in his eyes. He gave a small nod in acknowledgement, and they both followed McGonagall out of the Great Hall.

She seemed as anxious as Dudley had ever seen her. As she walked him down the stone steps and out into the cold November afternoon, she put her hand on his and Neville's shoulders.

"Now, don't panic," she said, "just keep a cool head...We've got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand...The main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of you...Are you all right?"

"I'm good," Dudley replied. "I have a plan." In truth, lurking at the back of his mind was Malfoy's news about Sirius. He must be lying, but a nagging doubt of Dudley's kept saying 'what if he isn't?' He recalled that Dumbledore had wanted to interrogate Black and fill some of the holes in the story.

"Me too," said Neville.

She led them towards the Forbidden Forest where a tent came into view.

"You are to both go in here, the other champions are waiting," McGonagall said. "Mr. Bagman will tell you ... the procedure. Good luck. Do Gryffindor proud."

"Thanks," Dudley and Neville said.

Dudley closed his eyes and took a deep breath, putting all thoughts of Sirius Black out of his mind. Malfoy must have said it just to put him off.

Fleur Delacour was sitting in a corner on a how wooden stool. She didn't look nearly as composed as usual, but rather pale and clammy. Viktor Krum looked even surlier than usual, which Dudley supposed was his way of showing nerves.

"Neville, Dudley, glad you're here!" Bagman said, cheerfully. "Make yourself at home, we'll proceed soon."

Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, standing amid all the pale-faced champions. He was wearing his old Wasp robes again.

"Well, now we're all here - time to fill you in!" said Bagman brightly. "When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag" - he held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them - "from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different - er - varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too...ah, yes...your task is to collect the golden egg!"

Varieties? Dudley didn't know there were different types of Sphinx. Still, he supposed they would all be similar—attempt the riddle, if not, hex them.

Now that it was time for the task, Dudley was suddenly feeling nervous again. Judging by the looks on the other's faces, he wasn't the only one with the jitters.

After a while, Bagman went to check that the audience was seated and returned holding a purple silk sack.

"Ladies first," he said, offering it to Fleur Delacour.

She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon - a Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck.

Dudley's mouth dropped open.

No! No! No! No! No!

The first task was meant to be a Sphinx! Lockhart had been so sure! He had been adament that he would be facing a Sphinx.

As Viktor Krum pulled out a scarlet dragon with the number three around his neck, Dudley suddenly thought of Lockhart the way Ron did—what a prat!