A/N: The chapter for the first task was so sloppily written, it's astounding. Very little detail is supplied, which I've endeavoured to rectify here.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Task One

Approximately ten days before the first task, Harry stopped her en route to dinner and asked her to teach him the Summoning Charm.

"Why?" she wondered.

"I'm gonna summon my Firebolt and outfly the dragon."

"Why?"

"What d'you mean why?"

"Why would you need to outfly a dragon? D'you know what the task is actually about?" Maybe he had his own sources outside of Hagrid.

"Well, no," he stammered, adjusting his ill-fitting glasses. "But there's nothing else we can think of doing, and Moody says to play to my strengths, so we were thinking he had some intel about the first task."

"You're close with Moody?" she surmised, eyebrows raised. Well, she supposed it wasn't too much of a shock; they were both fiercely anti-Voldemort.

"Not really. He overheard me, Hermione and Ron discussing the task during class, and spoke to me after the lesson."

Alex clicked her tongue in irritation. You'd think he'd help her, too, considering her mum was a co-worker of his in the same department.

"Will you help me or not?" asked Harry, bringing them back on track.

"Sure. But you could just shrink and unshrink your Firebolt instead – it's much more reliable than waiting for your broomstick to fly towards you while a fire-breathing dragon is right in front of you, ready to pounce at any moment." Her eyes grew unfocused as she pictured the scene with vivid clarity.

"Uh, right." Harry shuddered lightly. "Thanks."

"You would know all this if you joined the Charms Club," she said suggestively.

"I'm good. I could help you with your flying in exchange?"

Alex snorted. Though she'd be practising on her own in the Room of Requirement, her flying left a lot to be desired. "Yeah, I doubt I'd get good enough to manoeuvre around an agitated dragon by then. I have my own plan, thanks."

"What's that?"

She smiled. "You'll see."

Her sly confidence was all a bluff, of course; Alex had a faint idea of a plan, an outline really, one that included the usage of fire-proof clothing constructed from dragonhide. It had devastated her savings account, but if she played her cards right, it wouldn't matter in the end.

Sure, she had a handful of dragon-defeating theories, but they were rudimentary at best. Dragons were notoriously difficult to handle, and though Charlie had been kind enough to share with her some of his trade secrets via letter, it wasn't enough to guarantee her success.

Alex ended up turning to Cedric for advice. In another world, he was the one who was supposed to have gone up against a dragon. If anyone had valuable insight, it'd be him.

"I'd distract the dragon," Cedric claimed once he got over his shock. They were in the student lounge in preparation for the prefects' meeting. "Transfigure something into a dog or a horse, get its attention that way. A hundred horses if I could help it."

She winced. "I'm shite at transfiguration." Still, distraction was a smart tactic.

"Bet you regret joining the tournament now, hey?" he said, smiling weakly. Was it or her, or was there a tinge of ruefulness colouring his voice?

"No," she replied seriously. "I don't."

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. "I'll be cheering you on."

She smirked. "What about Krum?" Though he wasn't on the same level as Ron, Cedric still idolised his fellow student-slash-seeker.

"I'm sure he's a nice bloke and all, but he's not you."

For some reason, Cedric's light-hearted comment rendered her speechless. Alex swallowed away the sudden dryness of her throat and directed her gaze to the chipped polish on her nails.

"Thanks," she finally said in the ensuing silence. "I'll need all the help I can get."

The meeting started shortly. Within a minute the lounge was filled with prefects who were eager to get things over and done with. They were in luck, however, as there was little to report on due the amount of homework keeping everyone busy as well as the impending first task occupying everyone's minds, even if they weren't linked to the participants whatsoever.

"And if you're going to swap shifts with another prefect, do let us know beforehand," the head boy concluded wearily.

Everyone shifted as they sensed the impeding wrap-up.

"Before you leave," interjected the head girl with a bright smile, "we would like to wish our favourite champion good luck for the first task in just over a week."

"I wouldn't say favourite…" whispered a sixth-year Gryffindor. He was promptly elbowed in the gut by his partner.

All eyes turned to Alex. Some held warmth while the others were indifferent. Still, she appreciated the good wishes from her fellow prefects, her cheeks growing pink with the positive attention.

"Make us proud," the head boy told her as he got up. He clapped her on the shoulder before leaving the room.

"I will," she called after him.

"Doesn't that make you feel pressured?" Cedric asked her once everyone had left.

"My life is already at stake," she reminded him with a scoff. "Compared to that, their expectations don't weigh a single iota in my mind."

She and Cedric spent the rest of night brainstorming on how to evade or get past a dragon. After considering Harry's plan, she figured he had the right idea: dragons were notorious hoarders who were fiercely protective of their treasures — coins, gems, and anything shiny really. They were a lot like crows that way. Giant, scaly, fire-breathing crows. Dragons were similarly vigilant when it came to their eggs; she figured that was where the golden egg came into play.

The daunting realisation made her slump back in her chair with an audible groan. "I'm gonna have to steal a bloody egg from a bloody dragon, aren't I?"

Cedric winced. "You could always forfeit."

"And risk the wrath of those disappointed spectators?" She grimaced. "I'd rather take on a dragon."

Several days later, she was severely regretting her proclamation.

The day of the first task dawned bright with sunshine, which was honestly quite grating considering their geography and Alex's personal situation.

"D'you think all this sunlight will have any impact on the heat of a dragon's fire?" she asked Spitfire before she went down for breakfast.

Her cat continued to doze on obliviously. She envied his stress-free life.

Next time, she promised herself as she left the dorm, I'm being reborn as a cat.

The ambience of the Great Hall was an odd mix between a funeral and a festival when she got there. Most of the students were in a joyous mood as they anticipated the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. It was basically all people could talk about, and the stares directed at the four champions were intense enough to burn holes into them. Though Fleur and Krum seemed accustomed to the attention, their stiff and nervous dispositions were definitely a result of their knowledge of what they were about to face up against. Their respective heads must've warned them.

Katherine and Agatha greeted her grimly as she took her seat between them, making her feel like she was attending her own funeral. Zubair and Jacob were almost thrumming with excitement as they speculated on what was to come.

"Maybe you'll have to duel the other champions," suggest Jacob as he cut into his eggs.

Zubair shook his head impatiently. "They'd definitely save that for the last task."

"Or they could do a melee in the first task, kick the loser out from the tournament, and have a threeway duel in the second task." He paused to grin at the word threeway. "Then the third task will be a dramatic one-on-one duel."

"That actually sounds fun," Alex admitted, her eyes skyward as she waited for the mail.

A flock of owls came swooping in a beat later. Students hastily cleared the tables in preparation for the haphazard arrival.

"Think Richard's head will get shat on again?" Katherine asked, smirking.

If she was trying to make Alex feel better, then it was working. "Considering he's always wearing that shit-eating grin of his, it'd be rather poetic."

Agatha shrugged. "He isn't that bad."

Alex and Katherine shared a meaningful look.

A school owl clumsily dropped down onto the open space in front of Alex, weighed down by the sizeable package tied to its foot. Standard procedure was to apply a Feather-Light Charm on owl-deliveries—both to keep from burdening the poor couriers as well as to speed along the process—but Alex supposed the spell had worn off by now.

"More dungbombs?" Agatha asked wearily. "You really should have your mail monitored by the professors."

"But the death-threats amuse you all so greatly," Alex said, her tone wry but her words truthful. Even now the other three—Katherine, Zubair and Jacob—were eagerly tearing into the letters that clearly weren't from Alex's confidants. There were fewer than before, at least, though there would probably be a sharp increase after the first task today.

Alex forcefully pushed the looming event out of her mind and fed the impatient owl sitting atop her parcel. She lured it off with a muffin, allowing it to peck away at the treat as she opened what seemed to be goods from her parents.

Inside the cardboard box was an assortment of homemade snacks and dishes. Warmth blossomed in her chest as she rifled through them all. She immediately went for the cappuccino biscuits her dad made; they went exceptionally well with tea or coffee. After passing the box of biscuits to her friends, Alex read the letter that came with it. Much like the first one she received several weeks ago, her parents expressed their concerns but wished her luck regardless. Interestingly enough, business at the shop was rising thanks to her notoriety. If all went well today, her dad was even going to set up a cardboard cut-out of her for her fans to take pictures with,

I have fans? Alex shook her head. Well, as long as it made more money for them.

When she finally received her container back, there was only one biscuit left.

"I hate you guys," she told the pigs around her.

"Consider it payment," said Jacob, gesturing to the letters in front of him.

"Please," she scoffed. "The entertainment is payment enough."

Katherine sighed as the letter she had been reading burst into flames. "I don't envy your life," she informed her, neatly collecting the ashes with her plate before they could fall into her lap.

The same thought would enter the minds of almost every other student in a few hours' time.

The champions were collected halfway through lunch. Professor McGonagall had the honour of leading the children to the gallows; Alex gave her some trouble by not being where she was meant to be. The Transfiguration professor had begun to make her way to the Slytherin table, paused when she noticed the absence of a certain student, and scanned the rest of the hall in search of her. Alex was sitting at the Ravenclaw table, avidly listening to the asinine advice Luna was giving her, before the professor strode over and warned her it was time.

"Wait!" Duncan scrambled to grab something from his bag. When he finally got hold of it, he let out a triumphant squawk and basically tossed it into Alex's awaiting hands. It was a shiny, silver thing, made of a surprisingly supple and dexterous metal that almost felt elastic. More importantly, its design was that of an ouroboros.

"It's a hair-tie," clarified Grant when he picked up on her bemusement. "To keep your hair out of the way during the task."

"It's a good luck charm," Duncan said brightly as she stretched out the gift. "Luna was the one who suggested it."

Said girl smiled and waved her Hogwarts flag from her seat beside Grant.

"I love it," Alex said earnestly, and maybe a little teary-eyed. "Thanks, you guys."

Professor McGonagall released a small, polite cough that basically translated to: hustle your bustle. She dutifully followed, tying her hair back in the meanwhile. It was getting long; she was going to have to cut it soon. Usually Alex liked to keep it trimmed at a reasonable length so that no one could yank it like that one arsehole had done in her first year, but recently she'd been too busy to bother.

Not only was it difficult to deal with—it got tangled practically every time she moved—the threat of Polyjuice scared her enough to be wary of any loose hairs. Not to mention the shorter her hair the more it resembled Spitfire's fur, the more it threw off any would-be impostors. Hermione's debacle with Millicent and her cat almost always haunted the back of Alex's mind.

The other champions were waiting in the entrance hall, looking worse off than when Alex had spotted them at breakfast. Fleur was even sweating – Alex hadn't even known veelas could sweat. A low blow to the girl's image, she was sure.

"You ready?" Harry asked her as they left the castle. His hands were shaking.

"Nope," she replied honestly. "You?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Surprisingly, they were led to the quidditch pitch. Alex marvelled at the completely obvious yet unexpected choice of venue – it had the perfect design, capable of holding hundreds of spectators who would have a safe but clear view of the events below.

More specifically, they were ushered into the locker rooms. Krum and Harry seemed utterly unfazed by their destination—though was Krum even capable of emoting?—but Alex glanced around, managing to feel curious even through the churning of her stomach.

Before she left, Professor McGonagall wished them luck, appearing almost as nervous as they did. No doubt she was imagining the backlash the school administration would face if the Boy-Who-Lived was roasted alive right under their noses.

"Welcome, champions!"

Alex flinched at the burst of noise that came from a disproportionately bright Ludo Bagman. His face, flushed with excitement, was a stark contrast to the shadowy and pale features of the students around him.

He didn't seem to notice – or if he did, he didn't care. "Come in, come in!" he said jovially, as though he was ushering them into a party or some other similarly festive event. "Make yourselves at home."

"I doubt our homes would be this sparsely decorated," Alex muttered, running an eye over the nearly empty tent. From her peripheral vision, she could see Fleur crack a smile.

"Well, now, let's get started," chirped Bagman. He shoved a small, purple silk sack in their faces; Alex shuddered when it writhed. "When the audience has assembled, you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face from this bag! There are different…varieties, you see. And your task is to collect the golden egg!"

Here Bagman paused, beaming, as though expecting them to puff up like chickens in preparation for the exciting task ahead of them. He deflated slightly as Fleur placed a hand against her mouth, looking somewhat sick.

Alex, meanwhile, was feeling a contradictory mix of satisfaction and nausea. She'd guessed correctly, but part of her wished she'd been wrong.

Harry bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

Krum's glower was so fierce it could burn holes into the ground.

Fleur was swallowing back her fear.

Alex strangled the life out of the strap of her bag. In it—along with her usual school things—was the dragonhide cloak and gloves she'd purchased, as well as one particularly useful potion.

She was in the midst of revising her plan when the stadium began shaking with the footsteps of hundreds of people. Judging by the clock hanging over the doorway, lunch had just ended. Their audience was arriving.

No matter what, Alex couldn't mess up. Not only would it thwart her overall plan and result in some serious pain, she couldn't stand the thought of embarrassing herself in front of the entire student body like that. She would almost rather die than face that sort of humiliation.

"Seems like everybody's getting settled," Bagman noted once he finished popping his head out the opening of the tent. "Right-o. Time for the drawing of the d— models."

Bagman was giddy with excitement as he handed the purple sack to Fleur, citing, "Ladies first."

Fleur dipped a shaky hand into the bag and yelped. She almost knocked the entire thing from Bagman's grip as she withdrew a leaving, breathing—albeit tiny—model of a dragon. It had a little sign around its neck that said '2'.

"The Welsh dragon," declared Bagman, grinning. "Not a bad choice."

Fleur stared at the green dragon as it prepared to take a nap right there on her palm.

It's kinda cute, thought Alex. She was distracted from the dozing dragon when Bagman shoved the bag beneath her nose.

Breathing deeply, Alex placed her fingers inside the sack. She shuddered in disgust at the feeling of all the writing creatures within, suddenly sympathetic towards Fleur and her instinctive reaction. Just as Alex was about to close her fingers around of them, it bit her. She cussed and grabbed a different one instead.

Alex knew at first glance which dragon she had gotten. It was the only dragon in existence without wings – the Chinese Fireball. Scarlet red and sinuous, it had an uncanny resemblance to a worm at this size.

"The Liondragon," Bagman said for the sake of everyone else. "Watch out for its flames – they're the hottest of the lot."

Great. At least she was going third; hopefully people would be too distracted by the first and last ones to be too invested in her round.

Krum was next. He shoved his hand in and yanked it back out with equal velocity, demonstrating none of the hesitation the girls had shown. Alex wondered how much of that bravado was genuine and how much of it was for show.

"Swedish Short-Snout," said Bagman, eyeing the blue-grey dragon with the number one hanging around its neck. "You're first, then, Mr Krum. A deserving opening to the show, eh?"

Krum responded by retreating to his corner.

Since Harry was the last one, there was no point in him going through the whole process of anxiously inserting his hand into the sack and fumbling about, but Bagman made him do it anyway instead of simply dumping out the last dragon into his hands.

"Ooh. The Hungarian Horntail." Bagman was practically vibrating with excitement. "You definitely know how to pick them, Harry."

Harry stared at the spiky dragon. It unfurled its wings and hissed at him.

"Now, now, don't fret," assured Bagman as he threw an arm around Harry. "It may be the most aggressive of the four, but you'll be going last, my boy, which means you have more time to plan. Come on outside with me, Harry, get some fresh air."

Alex watched on suspiciously as Harry allowed Bagman to manhandle him towards the exit. A terrible thought occurred to her.

What if Bagman was the one who arranged to have Harry's name thrown into the Goblet? While he didn't seem like the type to plot such an ordeal, he might've had a hand in it while he aided someone else. Someone like Karkaroff.

A whistle was being blown somewhere outside the tent. Krum rose with a grunt and trudged towards the opening of the tent, his fists clenched. Alex was tempted to wish him good luck, but her vocal cords didn't seem keen on functioning at the moment.

Harry passed by Krum as he returned. He didn't appear affected by his little excursion with Bagman, but Alex checked up on him just in case.

"What did he want?" she asked, watching distractedly as his dragon tried to pick a fight with hers.

"Uh, to give me some advice," admitted Harry, bemused. "Since I'm the 'underdog' and all."

"That title should be mine," she pointed out indignantly, "unless I've slain any Dark Lords I don't know about."

"Those incidents don't hold a candle to this." Considering the first time he was up against Voldemort he was a baby and the second time he was an eleven-year-old who used his weird, burning touch against the apparition, yeah, she could see his point.

Screams of excitement filled the air as the crowd no doubt spotted Krum. As soon as the cacophony died down, Bagman's booming voice warmly greeted the audience.

"Welcome, all, to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament! It has been more than two centuries since these very words were announced, and I'm pleased to note that we have a brilliant spectacle to commemorate the revival of the tournament."

Bagman continued to drum up the spectators' anticipation by drawing out what the first task entailed. He paused dramatically as the Dumbledore, Madam Maxine and Karkaroff undid the illusionary charms placed on the dragon, eliciting a roar not from the creature itself but from the audience.

"Y'know," sighed Alex as she stretched herself out on the chair she was lounging on, "if our friends really loved us, they would've stormed the place and gotten the task cancelled by now."

"Ron actually offered to do something like that," replied Harry with a small smile. "Hermione suggested some strongly worded letters to the ministry instead."

"Talk is cheap," she scoffed. "Direct action is what's needed."

"Our first champion is one whose reputation precedes him," declared Bagman over the clinks of the dragon's chains. "The youngest seeker to ever join an International Quidditch team, Bulgaria's most admired student, seventeen-year-old Viktor Krum!"

Thanks to his fame and quiet personality, Krum was objectively the most popular champion of the four. He didn't have Alex's bad reputation, Harry's illegitimate submission, nor Fleur's pride, so it made sense that the crowd went absolutely wild following Bagman's introduction.

Things got real boring after that. Since the remaining competitors were forbidden from sneaking a peek as to what was happening outside—to prevent unfair advantages—all they could was listen as Bagman narrated what was happening. Alex tried gleaning as much information as possible based on what she heard, but all she learned was that there were boulders scattered throughout the grounds, which Krum ducked behind when his dragon grew annoyed and decided to lash out at him.

Alex was distracted from watching Fleur's non-stop pacing when she felt something slither up her arm. She flinched and hastily rolled up the sleeve of her robes, relaxing when she realised it was just Krum's mini-dragon. As she pulled it out from her sleeve, though, an idea struck her.

It looked like she needed to do some last-minute plan modifications.

Draco dormiens numquam titillandus. Never tickle a sleeping dragon.

Alex had thought it a weird choice for a school slogan, but she reasoned that it was a magical school, so different rules applied. It was a convoluted warning to not provoke those that could pose a threat to you – not exactly the "safe respectful learners" slogan muggle schools boasted of. Probably because Hogwarts was devoid of such upstanding students.

Now that it was her turn to face a dragon, Alex could appreciate the wisdom of the saying.

The Chinese Fireball, also known as the Liondragon, was native to China and was said to be the inspiration for the nation's colours due to its brilliant red and gold scales. It was the only dragon in existence to breathe actual balls of fire—hence the name—while the rest shot streams of flames from their mouths intensely if infrequently.

Alex eyed the dragon's nostrils apprehensively as the crowd, backed by Bagman, urged her to finally do something. That was easy for them to say – they weren't the ones being watched a three-ton creature officially classified as one of the most dangerous beasts in the magical world.

The Liondragon flicked its tail idly as it watched her, the only other living thing in close proximity. It didn't seem threatened by her—why would it?—and seemed content just to keep an eye on her lest she approach it and its eggs. As it waved its tail back and forth, Alex caught a glimpse of the golden egg in its nest.

The sight of it filled her with some sorely needed motivation. Adrenaline began to pump through her veins, chasing away the last dregs of fear and replacing her with a sort of recklessness more suited to a Gryffindor than a Slytherin. Alex plunged her shaky right hand into the left inner pocket of her dragon-hide cloak and pulled out a small, slim vial that reminded her of a test tube. She uncorked it with her thumb and swallowed the transparent liquid in one go at the same moment she relinquished her hold on the spell she'd set up in the tent.

What seemed like several hours later, four blurs shot out of the corridor she and the other champions used to walk into the pitch. The model dragons—now the size of smalls cars—took to the air with roars and bursts of fire, revelling in their freedom now that Alex cut off the Binding Spells she had wrapped around them before leaving.

Hysteria ensued. Alex allowed herself a moment to laugh and drink in the chaos her little trick was causing as everyone was torn between excitement, terror and confusion — including the Liondragon.

Sufficiently distracted, Alex slunk past the dragon, wary of its tail as it whipped it around while it tried to communicate with the model dragons she had enlarged during her time in the tent. It had taken her ages to get all the proportions right, and while Alex would have liked to make the pseudo-dragons the same size as the real thing, she simply didn't have the time or expertise to do so. Still, it seemed to suffice. Good thing, too, because her original plan was simply to trap the dragon with chains that would shoot out of her wand – a messier alternative that wasn't nearly as interesting.

Alex was roughly a metre away from the nest when one of the small dragons drifted over to her general vicinity. Naturally, the Liondragon glanced their way in case there was a threat to its eggs. Its reptilian eyes narrowed dangerously when they landed on Alex.

Shit, she thought, forgetting to breathe. She had approximately five seconds before the dragon reared its head back and spat out a fireball her way. With that image seared in her mind, Alex dashed towards the nest and yanked the golden egg from its place from the middle of the nest just in time for a fireball to come shooting out of the dragon's mouth.

With her egg-less hand, Alex grabbed a fistful of her cloak and threw it over her head the same moment she ducked and rolled to the side, just barely missing the core of the fireball. The edges still caught her, though, and while it didn't crush her like the immense weight of the whole ball would've, it still hurt like a bitch even through the back of her dragon-scale cloak.

The Liondragon released a ground-shaking roar in frustration at having missed her target. Using its incredible reflexes, it slithered down onto all fours and scurried towards her with intent to kill.

Biting back a scream, Alex worked on instinct as primal fear overtook her. Of the few spells that would actually work on a creature as tough and wily as a dragon, one had always stuck out to Alex – it was the only charm she could pull off effortlessly no matter how many times she tried.

Alex brought her wand-arm back and swung it forward, bellowing, "Lorum inretio!" As soon as the last syllable fell past her lips, a blue-white whip of pure magic emerged from the tip of her wand and ensnared the dragon around its snout.

Snarling furiously, it tried to throw its head back and knock off the leash, but Alex had both hands wrapped around her wand, her golden egg tucked between her elbow and chest while she dug her heels into the ground and held on with all her might. She grit her teeth and poured all her anger and frustration and determination into her wand as her all her magic pooled into her hands. Alex matched the dragon's paralytic glare with a fierce one of her own.

The dragon-keepers who were supposed to jump in minutes ago finally got around to doing their job. The wizards and witches tasked with the delivery and care of the dragons leapt onto the pitch and, with practised ease, shot several Stunners at the Liondragon.

"You can let go of the Charm now," Charlie Weasley informed her cheerily while his colleagues trussed the dragon in chains.

Alex grimaced – at both Charlie's cavalier response to the fact that literal children had been tossed into an arena and told to steal something from a dragon, and that said dragon was being treated dishonourably behind his back. Merlin, and the fact that such regal creatures were being used for entertainment like this?

Her eyes skirted to the edge of the pitch where the dragons were being locked up in cages. For a split second she considered letting them loose and having them raze the schoolgrounds. Alex hastily bottled up that thought. Instead she redirected her attention to Charlie as she let her spell fizzle out, freeing the Liondragon's snout only for a metal muzzle to take its place.

"Your mum's gonna murder you when she finds out you helped endanger Harry like this," she informed him.

The freckles dotting Charlie's face grew more apparent as he paled in realisation. Alex turned on her heel and walked away from him before he could even think of formulating a reply. The further she distanced herself from the pitch, the more she became attuned to reality. Now that the blood was no longer rushing through her, she could clearly hear the cheers of the crowd as Bagman drew their attention the scores she received courtesy of the school leaders.

An 8 from Madame Maxime, as well as Barty Crouch. A 9 from Dumbledore—wow, generous—and a 9 from Bagman also. Karkaroff gave her a 6.

Alex rolled her eyes. Why were ex-Death Eaters so keen to be hated?

41/50. Not bad.

Satisfied, Alex tried to head back from the direction in which she came, but Madame Pomfrey ambushed her. She tutted and tsk'd at her the entire way as she led them into the makeshift sick bay set up alongside the locker rooms.

"First Miss Delacour, now you," Madame Pomfrey muttered as she made Alex shed her layers behind the curtained-off partition. "You're both lucky you didn't suffer more serious burns."

Alex bore the lecture with minimal sass as the mediwitch surveyed her bare back.

"No pain? Or tightness around this area?" she asked, pressing lightly on her skin.

Alex shivered at the contact. "I'm fine," she murmured, hastily throwing her robe back on. "The cloak protected me."

Madame Pomfrey hummed. "Well, take this anyway," she said, handing her a small tin of ointment. "For the cuts and scrapes on your skin."

"Thank you."

Once Madame Pomfrey left, Alex sat on the uncomfortably hard bed and popped open the tin. She dipped her fingers into the green paste, absently noting the faint scent of mint, and smeared it along her arms and legs. Who knew the quidditch pitch was so rough?

"You missed a spot."

Alex peered up from her leg. Fleur was almost completely tucked into her bed, the sheets covering the lower half of her body while she rested against the headboard. Her hands were coated in a shiny, peach-coloured cream.

"That thing was boiling hot when I touched it," Fleur explained, nodding at the golden egg sitting innocently on the small table beside her. "The Welsh must have warmed it up before I faced it."

"They should give you bonus points for that," Alex replied wryly.

The corner of Fleur's mouth twitched upwards. "Even more so for humiliating myself in front of everyone like that." She shifted slightly so that the sheet covering her legs slipped down; most of her robes had been burned off so that they now reached mid-thigh instead of grazing her ankles like they should've.

Pity pooled in Alex's chest. It was bad enough that it even happened at all, but especially so to a girl who was treated more like a decorative ornament than a person.

Alex swiftly wiped the leftover ointment on a nearby rag and palmed her wand. "May I?" she asked, nodding at Fleur's ruined robes. At Fleur's silent acquiescence, Alex moved closer and murmured a charm that would return the hem to its original length. It was still burned at the end, and discoloured to boot, but at least her dignity would be salvaged.

"That's the best I can do," Alex admitted with a frown. She stepped back from Fleur's personal bubble, stumbling slightly at the sudden wave of dizziness that crashed into her. The hell?

"Thank you," Fleur said warmly. Her expression faltered as she glanced at Alex's countenance. "Are you all right? You're looking—what is the word?—pale."

"Miss Fortescue!" screeched Madame Pomfrey as she returned with Harry in tow, his arms full with both the egg and his broomstick. "That better not be your wand in your hand!"

Alex discretely tucked her wand back in its holster. "No?"

She wasn't fooled for even a second. "No wand-waving or spell-casting for the rest of the day," she said firmly, pointing at each of the champions present. Krum was conspicuously absent. "And that goes for all of you. You've exerted far too much magic today. Honestly, what were they thinking, pitting a bunch of children against dragons…"

She continued to grumble and gripe even as she checked on Harry. He appeared rather taken aback but otherwise fine – not a single scratch on him. Alex tried not to dwell on the sharp spike of anger that stabbed into her when she noticed his flawless state. The relief that washed through her soon after was a great distraction.

"How'd you go?" she asked, making her way towards him.

"Good," he said. He seemed surprised, as if he'd expected things to go awry. "Things went exactly as planned. You?"

Alex smiled. "Great. Did the dragonologists take forever to knock out the Horntail or…?"

"It was pretty much instant – as soon as I snagged the egg, they came swooping in."

How interesting. "And you, Fleur?" she asked, turning to the Beauxbatons champion.

She shook her head. "They intervened after I took the egg as well."

Alex's frown deepened as she pondered why the dragon-keepers took their sweet time with the Liondragon. Perhaps because the enraged creature hadn't been done with her yet? Or maybe they had been that much drained dealing with the previous dragons?

"What's wrong?" asked Harry, well accustomed to her scheming face. When she revealed her train of thought, he shrugged. "It was probably the latter. No way would Charlie keep you in danger like that."

"Why not?" she said without thinking. "I'm not you, Harry – why would he care for my wellbeing?"

Harry gave her a judgemental look. "Because he's a good bloke? All the Weasleys are. You're just over-thinking things as usual."

Were she any less tired, Alex would've chewed him out for his dismissiveness. As it was, she decided she had enough for today and returned to the bed where her cloak and gloves were thrown onto. With a dramatic flourish, Alex threw the curtain closed, blocking her view of Harry and his of her.

"Alex, c'mon," he said pleadingly.

"I hope you get eaten by the next dragon," she replied petulantly.

Fleur gasped. "There are more?"

"She's joking," assured Harry. "I think."