Pyotr had initially been terrified when Professor Aleksandrov had told them what the task consisted of. He couldn't brew potions to save his life, his strengths lying in Transfiguration and creating new spells. That was before he remembered the simple trick he had used to blitz all of his Potions exams in sixth year.
After the Headmaster had announced the beginning of the challenge, Jane had rushed off and determinedly started brewing a helplessly complicated antidote. She had obviously worked out exactly what the poison was and knew precisely how to cure it, and Pyotr couldn't help admiring her for it. He found remembering things like that incredibly hard. Pyotr had rushed over to the storage shelves immediately, ignoring his cauldron and equipment; he wouldn't need it if all went well.
Pyotr perused the displays, searching for what he needed. Come on, he thought. Every other Potions room in the school is stocked full of them. A few times he almost bumped in to Marcelle, who muttered 'sorry' with her strong French accent and hurried off, terrified. Poor girl. She looked so lost, she had no idea what to do. It seemed Marcelle didn't have much experience with potions.
Just as Marcelle curled up, hopeless, in the sunken windowsill, Pyotr found what he was looking for. Finally, he pulled the box off the shelf, relieved. Bezoars.
He knew that they didn't cure every poison, but they cured almost all and there was a fair chance it would detoxify the venom now coursing through his veins. Pyotr jumped as Marcelle thumped to the ground, unconscious, and scarlet blood dropped on to the floor from her mouth. The other champions immediately rushed to help, Jane turning slightly grey.
"Stop!" Headmaster Aleksandrov called. "The champions must not interact with each other! Get back to your work!" He scowled at the two, who had stopped short a foot away from Marcelle. They glanced at each other, then both returned to their tables.
Marcelle sat up, trembling, and wiped her mouth. Seeing the blood on the floor, she realized what had happened and leaned against the wall behind her, now shaking violently. Pyotr felt his heart twinge with sympathy, he felt so much pity for this helpless child. She was so young, he had no idea why she had entered in a bloodbath Tournament like this. There was talk of calling the entire event off because the death toll was so high.
Pyotr knew that their lives meant nothing to the Headmasters, no matter how many kind words they poured in to them in hope that their school would win. This wasn't about the champions, it was about them, and the glory they brought the Headmaster, not the school, not their families. The rivalry between the schools had grown to be monstrous.
If I don't do anything, she will die. I can't let anyone die, not in the first task. He resolved to help Marcelle, or at least keep her alive until the next task. As Marcelle stared trying to lift her weak body off of the floor, she started coughing again, huge wheezing bellows that sprayed blood all over her tiny body. He flinched and saw Jane's hand shaking over her potion and tears in her eyes as she tried to ignore it.
With a determined stroke, Pyotr knocked the entire box of bezoars to the floor with a crash.
"Sorry," He said gruffly to the air.
As he bent to pick them up he gently kicked some towards where Marcelle was trying to clean herself up while attempting to hold back another fit of coughing. She stared at the rolling abnormality as it came nearer to her, and in turn picked it up to examine. Pyotr caught her eye as he kneeled to scoop the rest in to the box, and behind the table mimed swallowing something.
She stared blankly back at him, clearly in shock that he was doing anything to help her, but after a while she recovered herself and nodded quickly to show she understood.
Smiling, Pyotr stood back up, all the stones packed back in to the box, and tried to ignore the suspicious stares of the judges. In an instant a complete felling of dizziness hit him, sending the room spiraling and him stumbling to the floor.
What was that? He silently asked himself as he got up, massaging his head. Jane was staring in concern. He noticed that her skin had turned an unusual color; partly green with splotches of grey and purple. Her fingers, with which she was dedicatedly stirring her cauldron, were butter yellow.
Pyotr grabbed on to the table for support as another dizzy spell hit him. I'd better hurry up with this bezoar. He didn't know if it would work, or if Marcelle would be able to keep hers down either with all that coughing, but it was worth a try and he guessed there wasn't much time left for anything else now. Just as Jane started measuring out her antidote in to a tiny clear flask, Pyotr put the bezoar in to his mouth.
Opening his eyes again, Pyotr picked himself up off the floor and spat the thing out in front of him. He felt much better, the poison must have been terminated. Yes! He thought, picking up the little stone and wiping it on his shirt. He was used to the side effects by now, most of the time something like this happened when using a bezoar.
Almost in unison, Marcelle gently placed the bezoar in her mouth and Jane swallowed her antidote with a grimace. Pyotr was sure the bezoar had worked as an antidote, he had no pain and all of the dizziness was gone. He had also stopped sweating.
"You have five minutes left!" Headmaster Aleksandrov announced as Jane took the flask away from her mouth and sighed with relief as her color returned to normal (which was still incredibly pale), and Marcelle stood up, rubbing her stomach and smiling, with a slightly wet bezoar in her hand.