Pyotr had been overjoyed at being picked as a champion. He had exuded total and utter confidence when he had strolled in to the chamber off the hall and listened to Professor Aleksandrov's mind numbing speech about the first task. As he walked back to his dormitory, nodding goodnight to Jane, all he could think of was how happy his father would be when he heard that Pyotr was in the draw to win 1000 galleons and bring honor and fame to their small family.

Pyotr ignored the shouts and taunts of all of the students in the common room and went straight to bed. He lay awake for a long time, thinking about the Tournament, trying to guess what the first task would be. I have no idea, he thought. Our Headmasters are some of the most powerful and imaginative wizards in the world.

And if he won, his father could never say a bad word against him! Or, if he did, it would be to critique his performance, not to offend him. He will love me again, he told himself. Like he did before…

And Pyotr became young again, only a toddler. They were in Athens. The sun was shining through the branches of the trees that stretched over the clearing his family sat in, happily eating their picnic. His mother was Greek and had always wanted to take him back to her home country. Pyotr had loved it, even as a fickle toddler. There he was sitting now, playing with the crust of the sandwich his mother had gotten him to eat part of, while Pyotr's mother and father sat happily next to each other, hand in hand, comforted by the gentle breeze and the warm sunlight on their backs.

Suddenly Pyotr heard a noise in the forest behind him. It sounded like footsteps, pawsteps maybe. To a toddler it was the gentle padding of a new friend. He carefully got up, his parents immersed in conversation, and crept away from the picnic towards the creature, whatever it was.

He followed the crackling of dry leaves through the sunlit forest, until he came to another clearing. This area was darker, and bigger than the one he had left. He scanned the bushes, his tiny eyes longing to see the familiar faces of his mother and father. Pyotr walked out in to the middle of the clearing and turned in a full circle. Then, across the clearing from him, something emerged from the bushes.

It stepped lightly, its huge hooves making barely a sound on the bare forest floor. To Pyotr, this beast was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It threw back its gigantic head and shook out its mane, and Pyotr looked in to its pure white eyes. They almost seemed to be glowing, enticing the child closer.

Its long dragon-like tail swished menacingly, but the child continued to step forward, enchanted. Pyotr reached up to touch the creature, ignoring the strange sounds behind him. Pyotr's mother ran forward in to the clearing, shouting for her tiny son.

The beast's razor-sharp teeth were bared, but to the Pyotr it looked like it was smiling, happy to meet its new friend.

Just as the Chimaera reared, ready to devour its new prey, Pyotr's mother jumped in front of the creature, shielding her young child. It grabbed her with its mighty lion's jaws and dragged her off in to the woods. Pyotr's father crashed in to the clearing just in time to see his screaming wife pulled in to oblivion by the savage beast and his small son standing by, unsure what had happened.

The poor man fell to his knees and wept. His one and only love had been stolen from him, and it had been the fault of no-one but his son and that horrid mongrel of a creature. From that moment on his only happiness came from spite, and in the sweet revenge he felt every time he slayed a Chimaera. He could never bring himself to love his son, when he was the one who brought around his beloved wife's destruction. And Pyotr had always blamed himself for her death, taking a lead from his father. Their lives had both been made hollow. And neither thought they could do anything about it.

Pyotr wiped his eyes, determination finally setting in over the elation. His father had never been proud of him, no matter what he did, but this was something he couldn't ignore. Pyotr knew he had to win. There was nothing else he could do.