Chapter 31: Dance of the Dragons

It didn't seem possible. It shouldn't be possible, but somehow it just was. There was one other person who was just as nervous, just as terrified-ten times more even-as Harry was for the first task. The same other boy whose named was tied to the creatures his best friend would be facing.

Dragons. Dragons?! Of all the animals, all the creatures the Champions could compete against, the idiots conducting the tournament had to pick dragons.

If it wasn't for the fact that his jaw dropped when Father delivered the news, Draco would have spat out his drink alongside Harry.

A small part reminded him that he had no reason to fear, no reason to be anxious. Well, actually, that part was thrummed tight with the emotion, but reminded Draco that they had a plan. A plan Father, Mother, even Lupin and Black crafted along with them during the rest of dinner, comparing and contrasting Harry's best strengths, coming down to flying, and then centering the plan for Harry outsmarting the dragon based off that ability with the help of a summoning spell and his Firebolt. That Harry spent the rest of the following days leading up to the event practicing the spell over and over again, summoning trinkets from their room whenever they were in the common room to summoning books from the library while they were all the way down the giant's cottage. That Theo listed out all the vulnerable parts in a dragon should Harry need to strike, despite the stupid rule that stated the Champions could only use one spell for the task. That no one could fly like Harry could, the broom practically an extension of his body, flying so fast it was hard to keep track of him.

Despite the reminders, despite his efforts, fear and anxiety tugged at his insides like strings.

Draco came to find that time moved by quickly, particularly during moments when one needed it to slow down. It seemed like just yesterday it was Halloween night and the goblet was spitting out the names of the competitors, the next Father dropped the dragon-bomb on them during dinner, and now, today was November twenty-fourth.

The day of the first task.

At breakfast, he forced himself to shove down spoonfuls of sweetened oatmeal that tasted like cement in his mouth and sips of pumpkin juice to keep his throat from drying up. He glanced over at Harry, who was staring down at his full, untouched plate like it was the dragon.

"You should eat." He realized it was a bit hypocritical of him to say since he was also struggling to keep down his own meal. The difference between the two was the fact Draco could afford to skip breakfast, Harry couldn't.

"Not hungry." Harry mumbled. His hands were balled into tight fists.

"You should really eat, Harry." Granger clucked like an annoying mother hen.

For the thirteenth time, Draco wondered why the hell the insect was sitting at their table, the Slytherin table where Gryffindork cubs and pests weren't allowed. His eyes went to the boy sitting beside him, the same one who continued to stare at his plate. Ah, that was why. Granger wanted to join Harry at breakfast before he went out to offer support and last-minute advice. Before Draco could send her away (or preferably swat), Harry welcomed her in, ignoring Draco and the rest of the Slytherins' bewildered looks. Draco had to push through his shock to order Theo to make room for her on the other side. If he had to endure her presence, then it'd be done from the opposite side from him. More importantly, the opposite side of Harry with a table separating them.

The only sour note, though, was that the insect was seated directly across from him.

"I'm with Granger on this one, Harry," Theo said. "You're gonna need all the help you can get, and that includes caloric energy."

Traitor, Draco scowled. He wasn't the only one who thought so. Pansy sent Theo, then Granger a look so harsh, he was surprised their skin hadn't melted off their bodies.

Their group effort, as nauseating as it was to witness, turned out to be helpful. A frowning Harry finally picked up the pumpkin muffin sitting on his plate and inhaled mouthful after mouthful. Draco was pleased to see he managed to get down five or so bites before he placed the muffin back on the plate.

"I don't know whether I'm more terrified of being picked first," he confessed. "or being picked last."

"Well," Theo said, rubbing his finger underneath his chin. "Being picked first does hold a certain advantage. First to start, first to end. Plus, it may play into favor with the judges since your performance would raise the bar for the other Champions."

"True," Granger said, angling her body towards him. "but being picked last is just as beneficial. Harry could see how the others handle their dragons and see which methods work best. A visual what-to-do, what-not-to-do guide."

"True." Theo drawled with a slight rise in his lip. One that matched Granger's own risen one-sided mouth.

Oh dear sweet Merlin. It was bad enough that Harry was attached to the insect, but Theo? Theo? Harry was excused (for the most part) since he was unusual, a trait Draco learned to live with just as Harry learned to deal with his less than favorable ones. But Theo was different. Theo was the rational one of the group, who knew how inadequate the muggle world was to theirs, who was aware of the corruption Muggle-borns brought into their world.

It seemed Draco wasn't the only one who repulsed by the smile exchange because Pansy sneered, "Why don't you two grab a bottle and a room so you can get more cozy?" She gave Granger a nasty, sweetly-sick smile. "I'm sure that will brighten your day, Granger, as well as Skeeter's."

The slight mouth lift on the insect's face crumbled into a tight, annoyed scowl. Despite Dumbledore's restraining order against the cockroach, forbidding her to be anywhere near school grounds, Skeeter still pestered about. She somehow caught Harry and the insect in the library, actually obtaining pictures of them standing close and locked in what looked to be an intense conversation, and turned the incident into a nasty love affair. Draco would have gotten his kicks since the article made Granger hated by half of Europe, who expressed their disapproval through malicious letters and Howlers, but he was too stumped, too annoyed by the "love" part.

As if Harry would ever consider-the idea alone was so sickening, almost to the point of him vomiting, that Draco shuddered and shoved the repulsive thought in the back of his mind.

"Why don't you-" Whatever Granger was about to say was put on hold as Severus came over to the table.

Cutting the insect with a glare that made her flinch, Severs said to Harry, "It's time, Mr. Potter."

Harry swallowed nervously as he gave a weak nod. Draco felt those spoonfuls of cement oatmeal weighting down on his stomach like stoned blocks. He pushed aside his plate and got up with Harry.

"Good luck, Potter." Blaise winked.

"We'll be cheering for you from the sidelines." Crabbe said. Goyle nodded in agreement.

"You'll be fantastic, darling," Pansy smiled. "I know you will."

Granger frowned at the pair. "Draco, you are aware Harry is the champion. Meaning, there's no need for you to follow him."

Draco returned the frown with a chilled smile. "Granger, you are aware you're the only one who likes hearing yourself talk. Meaning, there's no need for you to keep at it."

Harry grabbed his hand and walked out of the hall, just as Granger's frown sharpened to a glare and her curled hand reached for her wand. Draco had to give his best friend credit. Despite the nerves doubtlessly jumping inside him, Harry set his face to a cool, indifferent mask that would have made Father proud, and held his head high, his steps normal and steady. The only flaw that gave away the expressionless vision of unfazed was the tight clasp he had on Draco's hand.

Which suited Draco just fine since he was holding a grip on Harry's hand that was just as tight.

When they were several feet away from the tent where Draco could see the other Champions, Harry turned back to him and said, "Well I guess this is it."

Draco nodded. "So it seems." One side of his mouth then rose. "Try not to die out there, Potter. With you dead, I'll lose my great source of entertainment."

His words did the trick, causing a faint, exhausted smile to pull on those lips as Harry rolled his eyes. "Glad to know my sole purpose in life is to keep you entertained."

"And rich," Draco added. "Let's not forget the bet. Have ten gallons riding on you and I expect to get my money's worth."

"Prat." Harry lightly shoved him away.

"And proud of it."

Harry rolled his eyes once more. The look on his face softened as he glanced back at the tent, then back over at Draco. "I'll see you soon."

"Definitely."

Harry leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, knocking Draco's breath down his throat. He was pulling away and Draco couldn't let him go-not yet. Before he could draw another breath, his hands grasped onto Harry's face and his lips crashed onto his, landing a swift but rough kiss that was so hard, Draco's lips were stinging when he pulled back a second later.

Harry stared at him for a second or two, as if he was holding his breath forever and was told he was finally allowed to release it. Stunned, he took a shaky step back, then another, and finally turned around to walk to the tent.

"Potter!" Harry turned back. "You better come out of that pit the same way you went in."

He stared at him for a second or two, nodded, and disappeared into the tent.

Heart quivering underneath his chest, stomach curling into tight knots, lips still stinging, Draco swallowed down and straightened his shirt. He cleared his throat and went over to the main entrance of the stadium.

Walking through the front gates of the arena reminded him of the gladiator matches and chariot races that took place in ancient Rome with marble-stone benches for the audience and a higher boxed section hovering over them, plot in the center between the Slytherins and Ravenclaws, reserved for teachers and sponsors. It was a bit tricky to find his friends among the sea of faces, but he caught sight of two brunettes, one with one with chin-length hair, the other with a hardcover in his hand, snarling at each other while being held back by two thick-framed guys.

It seemed there was a benefit to Pansy and Theo's bickering after all: it made them easier to find.

"Honestly, Parkinson," Theo said. "If you kept your mouth shut for a good five minutes that would be considered a miracle. Better yet, one of the greatest presents you could give me. Eight days of Hanukkah rolled into one."

"Oy vey." Blaise muttered, smirking at the dark glare Theo shot him.

"I'm surprised you have a problem with me, Nott, when you're all buddy-buddy with a Gryffindork who couldn't keep her mouth shut if her life depended on it." Her lips twisted into a smile stuffed with so much sweetness, Draco felt cavities building in his teeth from looking at it. "Maybe the attraction boils down to your secret fetish of bedding animals. With her bushy hair and buck teeth, the darling makes such an adorable beaver."

Theo scowled at her. "Better a beaver than a pug-faced hyena!"

Poor Crabbe looked like he was struggling to keep Pansy in her grasp, her hands flinging wildly, trying to land a mark on Theo's face.

Scowling, Draco rolled his eyes and pushed the two apart. "If you two want to rip each other's heads off, do it in private. I should remind you that we are Slytherins." His glare slide from Theo over to Pansy, both who at least had the decency to look sheepish. "More importantly we're purebloods with an image and reputation to uphold."

The two traded one last glare before they took their seats, Crabbe and Goyle smacked in between them. A good thing too since Draco had a feeling they may be tempted to throw the other one down the pit.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Bagman's voice boomed around the arena. "welcome to the Tri-Wizard Tournament!"

The audience exploded into wild cheers and applause.

"The first task is designed to test the Champion's bravery. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important trait quality in a wizard. Plus, I believe it will be greatly entertaining to see how each Champion's wit fares during particular situations." A piss-poor attempt at a joke that was met with a few weak chuckles. "Each Champion must square off with a dragon hauled all the way from Romania, land of the mystic and the beyond. The dragon is safeguarding a nest of golden eggs, one of which the Champion must retrieve in order to win. They will be scored based on the amount of time it takes for them to complete the task and the method they used to retrieve the golden egg."

Even though Draco already was aware of the task, his stomach still churned, threatening to send back up the cement oatmeal he forced himself to eat at breakfast.

"The first Champion shall be Beauxbatons's Champion Fleur Delacour."

Draco had to hand it to Delacour for being so poised. There wasn't a falter in her step as she stepped out, as if she were walking on a fashion runway instead of a dragon pit, head held high, a sly smile curving her lips, and confidence buzzing around her body. Confidence that was well-earned since Delacour was a deadly-pretty face with even deadlier claws. Draco had the pleasure (and slight horror) of watching her nearly tear her opponents apart during defense classes at the hellish retreat.

Sunshine gleamed onto her light hair that was pulled into a low ponytail, shimmering like crystals. She wore a light-blue skintight suit that hugged every curve in her body, the short skirt fluttering by the wind, earning her cheers and praise from her admirers.

Unfortunately for the buffoons, Delacour didn't spare them a glance. She stared straight ahead at the opposite direction where Draco could hear from his seat growls that shook the ground underneath their feet.

At the sound of the horn, a pair of silver eyes glowed from the darkness of the cave before a pale-green, scaly talon that was fifty times the size of the giant oaf's body popped out. Followed by another talon, then another, until the dragon fully emerged from the cave, crawling out like a snake, a scowl marred onto its face, making it look even uglier than it already was. The dragon raised itself up till it was standing on its back legs, its' impressively tall height almost going past the pit and reaching up to the lower section.

"That's a Walsh Green." Theo breathed in awe.

"Is it as deadly as it looks?" Draco asked.

"Does Professor Snape hate Gryffindors?"

Letting that serve as an answer, Draco watched the scene from high above. Down below, the Walsh Green dragon spread out its wings that nearly filled up the space in the pit and fluttered them once; blasting strong gushes of wind that nearly blew audience members off their seats. It tilted its head back and let out a stream of fire that singed the air.

Delacour didn't look the least bit intimidated by the display of power. She stood perfectly still as the creature lowered its head and stared deeply into his eyes, examining it like it was a mouse she was dissecting before she slowly approached it.

"What on earth is she doing?" Pansy asked. "Shouldn't she be taking out her wand by now?"

Crabbe shrugged. "Maybe she's planning on using wandless magic."

Fiery orange glowed from the dragon's agape mouth. He glared at Delacour as he moved closer to her, but froze as a spark of ice-blue sheer came over the girl's eyes.

Draco snatched the binoculars hanging by Goyle's neck and peered through them, ignoring his friend's yelp of pain. He was too far away, too high up, to see exactly what Delacour was saying to the dragon, but saw that she was commanding it. Based on the repetitive pattern shaping her mouth, she was repeating the same command. Each step towards the dragon, Delacour's eyes glowed more and more until they were two pieces of bright turquoise. The words dripped from her mouth, the order repeated over and over again.

Until…during the last ten steps in, the Walsh Green dragon lowered itself onto the ground and stood still, as if it were a dog awaiting his next command.

What the-gasps and remarks bellowed from the crowd.

"How the hell did she do that?" Pansy gasped.

Even Theo who had an answer for everything and anything was stumped. "Maybe with a spell?"

Oh, she used a spell all right, but it was the type of spell that didn't need the help of a wand. All it needed was the steady, alluring gaze from a veela.

As much as it irked him, Draco had to credit cleverness when he saw it. It was an impressive move, one that played well in Delacour's favor.

Once the dragon was down, Delacour wasted no time running around the dragon to retrieve the egg hidden behind it. As soon as Delacour's eyes were off it, the spell was broken and the dragon sprung into action.

He whirled around to release a gush of fire, some of the flames catching onto Delacour's skirt, but it was too late. Delacour was already on the other side, holding the egg up high as if it were a trophy.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Ms. Delacour!"

The applause was almost thunderous, roaring with cheers. A few nits conjured up roses and threw them into the pit. Delacour accepted the praise with a pretty smile and a low bow.

"Shouldn't that count as cheating?" Pansy demanded. "She didn't even use a wand."

"Her Veela senses would still classify as a weapon," Theo replied. "And quit complaining, Parkinson. She was brilliant and you know it."

Pansy pointed at the right corner of her mouth. "You got a little drool. Right there. Quickly turning into a waterfall."

Theo shot her a dark glare.

The Champion next up was Krum. He strode into the pit like a soldier heading off to battle. He raised one fist up high that caused the crowd, particularly his school and fans, to go into a wild frenzy.

He was up against a scarlet-red dragon Theo explained was the Chinese Fireball that was twice the size of the Delacour's dragon and twice as deadly.

Krum didn't wait for the dragon to move, already unleashing a series of hexes from his wand that cut into the dragon's eye.

"What the hell is he doing?" Draco wondered out loud. Less than a minute in and Krum shot over twenty hexes, causing the dragon's irritation to rise more and more if its outraged cries had anything to say about it.

"This idiot just wants to get himself killed." Theo muttered.

Crabbe looked over at him and frowned in confusion. "Thought you said an eye was one of their weak spots?"

Theo groaned, rubbing his temples. "It is but there are better ones to target. More effective spots that Krum could hit, like behind the ear. Hitting a dragon in the eye is like poking the bear."

In other words, Krum was a dead man.

On and on the buffoon went, firing shot after shot. The dragon unleashed blasts of fire Krum barely escaped from, flames catching onto the hem of his shirt, spreading down to his pants. He dove and rolled onto the ground to extinguish the flames, oblivious to the dragon hovering over him, going in for the kill. Right as the dragon was about to lean in for the final blow, Krum shot up from the ground and fired another hex, a more powerful one, that cut right into the dragon's throat, breaking through skin, spilling streams of crimson that rained onto the ground.

The tactic worked since the dragon was injured and knocked back, but just as the dragon's skin was breaking apart, it was soon patching itself back together. Because the dragon was taken aback by the blast and distracted by the pain, it failed to see where it was going, taking several giant steps back and crushing the eggs Krum was suppose to catch.

Idiot, Draco scoffed.

Theo shook his head. "Offense is always a popular strategy, but it should be done away from the valuables."

The judges were dismayed by the turn of events, unsure what to do since Krum managed to defeat his dragon but damaged the property. In the end, no points were given, causing a flare of outrage from the audience.

"Foul!" one Hufflepuff screamed.

"That's totally unfair!"

"I call bullshit!"

Dear Merlin. Draco rolled his eyes. First Lockhart, now Krum? Were common sense and dignity so easily crushed by a pretty face?

"Tough luck," Blaise commented. "Krum was the popular vote as first-place winner. Daphne said one of the Weasley twins betted big on him."

"How big we talking?" Goyle asked.

"Half a thousand gallons."

Draco tried very little to hide his snicker. The Weasel clan was already in enough debt that would carry over to their great, great grandchildren. This financial bust was bound to be quite a blow.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have seen two very stellar performances from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang," Bagman announced. "And now we'll be treated to ones from prominent Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry starting with...Cedric Diggory!"

Clad in hideous bright-yellow, Diggory stepped out into the arena, tugging his gloves. His dragon, the Swedish Short-Snout, was slender, smaller than the previous two, and reminded Draco almost of a snake the way its body curled, lifting its head up slowly, opening its mouth to reveal sharp teeth that could cut the Hufflepuff into ribbons.

Unlike Krum, Diggory didn't spring into action. Unlike Krum, he didn't shoot countless hexes at the dragons. But, unlike Delacour, he didn't wait for the dragon to approach him either before making his way. He kicked one of the rocks by his feet towards the dragon, taking out his wand and changing the rock into a dog, a stunning Labrador with pale-blond fur. The dog barked and took off.

The dragon glared at it for a second or two before it stretched out its body and ran after it, leaving the golden eggs out in the open, unprotected. Coast clear, Diggory ran.

"Not a bad move." Theo remarked.

Draco almost agreed-until halfway through, the dragon paused and turned back. Seeing that Diggory was close to the eggs, it let out a vicious growl that shattered his eardrums.

The dragon leaped and the boy moved, running as if Satan was hot on his heels. Diggory got the egg, but barely, nearly having his head chopped off by a slash of the dragon's wing, then yelping in pain as a ball of fire was hurled at his head. One arm carrying the egg, the other trying to wipe the flames off his face, he sprinted and stumbled his way over to the other side.

"You have to admit that was creative." Blaise commented.

"And stupid," Draco dryly added, watching as a team of Healers descended on Diggory, casting the fire off his face and setting him down into a stretcher. Diggory waved a hand at his fans who cheered and applauded as their hero was being carried off. "If a dragon had the choice between a dog and an idiot, he'll go for the latter."

"Hufflepuff thinking for you." Pansy giggled.

At long last, it was time for the final Champion. Words fell on Draco's ears of whatever Bagman was saying, reassurance from his friends that the last dragon should be easy, that Harry prepared for this, that the plan was foolproof but they were all wasteful air. Nothing could pass through Draco's ears that were far too distracted by the roaring of his blood, the thundering of his heart.

The sound didn't settle until Harry finally stepped out, clad in his House colors. Sunlight sparked in his eyes, making them greener than before, brighter, more magnificent. To Draco's surprise, Harry didn't fidget. He took a few more steps as he looked around the stadium, eyes skimming through faces, searching for something.

As to what, the answer to that mystery was solved as emerald-green caught hold of stony-gray; a small lift touched the corner of his mouth before it touched Draco's.

Still in one piece, Harry's bright-greens said.

Draco arched one brow teasingly. But for how long?

Blaise interrupted the private conversation as he dug his elbow into Draco's side. "See, Malfoy? You were worrying over nothing. Potter's got this."

A loud, terrifying growl ripped through the air, one that shook the ground like a vicious earthquake, slashing cracks onto the walls and benches, one that caused Draco's heart to skid a few beats, one that caused hairs on the back of necks and arms to rise straight up. A terrifying sound that belonged to a terrifying creature. A gigantic, thick claw that was size of Diggory's dragon emerged from the shadows, the pitch-black blending in with the darkness, followed another, then another, and another. Until the dragon finally stepped into the light, the size of all three dragons combined times ten, so tall she nearly towered over the third row.

Dear…sweet…blessed God, creator of heaven and Hell. Dear sweet Merlin, master of magic and wonder.

"Potter's a dead man." Blaise croaked, stunned.

"That's a Horntail." Theo breathed.

"I take it that's bad?" Pansy squeaked.

"Bad was the Walsh Green. Bad was the Chinese Fireball. That?" Theo pointed towards it, his hand shaking. "Is the Devil's beast who could make those two its' dinner and have Diggory's dragon as a side-order."

Dear God, Dear God, Dear God. The words were a chant that played over and over in Draco's head like a song on repeat.

The dragon fixed its yellow eyes on Harry, who looked more and more like a helpless mouse trapped in a corner by the vicious cat. Draco pressed the binoculars closer to his face, ignoring Goyle's pained yelps. From his angle, he could see her mouth glowed bright reddish-orange, signaling an upcoming fire storm.

Harry stuck out his wand, "Accio Firebolt!" bellowing from his mouth.

The broom should be here, zooming through the air, landing in his hand. It should be there, like they practiced a hundred times. It should be grasped in Harry's hand.

But the only thing Harry grasped was thin air.

Dear God Almighty. Draco's heart skidded like slow, painful kicks to his chest. Where the hell was that blasted broom?

The dragon blasted a stream of fire that spread like a gigantic wave. Harry ducked for cover by the miniature rock mountain.

Draco jumped from his seat and ran over to the railing, gripping so tightly onto it; he could feel the bones stretching out his skin.

Harry was safe-for now. But the streams of fire were relentless as they were nearly endless, waves upon waves of flames, quickly searing through the stones.

Where the hell was that fucking broom?!

Just as the stone wall was seconds away from giving out and surrendering Harry to the flames, the Firebolt finally appeared as if God-sent. The crowd went wild over the surprise, but Draco paid no mind to it as did Harry.

All that mattered was the bloody broom was here-finally here-and it was in Harry's hand. All that mattered was that Harry was swinging his leg over it, that he was rising higher and higher until he was above the pit, then soon over their heads.

Harry dived. The Horntail's head followed him. Draco's breath clogged in his throat as a jet of fire had been released at the exact spot where Harry would have been had he not swerved away at the last second.

"Great Scott, he can fly!" yelled Bagman as the crowd gasped and shrieked. "Are you watching this, Mr. Krum?"

Harry soared higher in a circle; the Horntail still following him, its head revolving on its neck. Draco bit down on his lip when Harry missed the flames, but the tail came out whipping to meet him instead and as he swerved to the left, one of the left spikes grazed his shoulder.

"Harry!" Draco screamed. Even from the distance, he saw blood dripping from the torn fabric.

He knew from the grimace on Harry's face, it was more painful than it looked.

Despite the pain though, Harry still flew, first this way, then the other. It wasn't long before Draco figured out his plan. He wasn't near enough to make the dragon breathe fire, to stave him off, but still posed enough danger as a sufficient threat to ensure that her eyes were on him. Her head swayed this way and that, watching him with those hard yellow eyes, her fangs bared…

He flew higher. The Horntail's head rose with her, her neck now stretched out to the fullest extent, still swaying like a snake before its charmer.

Harry rose a few more feet and she let out a roar of exasperation. He was like a fly to her, a fly she was longing to swat; her tail trashed again, but he was too high to reach now. She shot fire into the air, which he dodged…Her jaws opened wide…

DearGreatStinkingMerlin. Dear Great Stinking Fucking Merlin! Underneath his chest, Draco's heart twisted and clenched, as if it were being squeezed into a ball by a tight, clawed fist.

The dragon then reared, spreading her great, black leathery wings and Harry dived. Before the dragon knew what he had done, or where he disappeared to, he was speeding towards the ground as fast as he could; towards the eggs-he taken his hand off the Firebolt-he seized the golden egg-

And with a huge spurt of air, he was off, soaring over the stands, the egg tucked under his arm.

Holy…sweet…Merlin.

"Look at that!" Bagman was yelling. "Will you look at that? Our youngest champion is the quickest to get the egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr. Potter."

The audience went crazy for Delacour when she finished, even Krum and Diggory got a rousing feedback despite their poor performances, but the love and awe over Harry was absolutely, unbelievably thunderous. Everyone in the stands, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, teachers and sponsors went crazy for him.

Crabbe and Goyle celebrated the victory with a double high-five. Pansy squealed excitedly and jumped into Theo's arms, holding him just as tightly as she was being held. Forgetting who they were hugging until they pulled back, wide-eyed, red-faced, and leaped a good five feet away from each other. Blaise put his fingers under his mouth and blew hard, blasting a sharp whistle that heightened the excitement.

"Potter did it!" he cheered. "I knew he could do it! Looks like you didn't need to worry after all, huh, Malfoy? Hey Malfoy? Malfoy?"

Draco didn't bother listening to the rest nor replying. He was already gone, quickly running down the steps, shoving and elbowing his way through the sea of people, heading straight to the hospital tent.

He found Harry sitting in one of the hospital beds, Madame Pomfey clucking her tongue and muttering to herself as she set his injured arm into a cast. Her irritation was only a small fraction of the massive, overwhelming anxiety shimmering inside Draco, panic tearing through his insides like a hurricane.

The hurricane didn't dim until Draco was a foot away and examined his best friend for bruises, finding a cut slashed onto his left cheek along with the cast. Didn't slowly break apart until Harry was in his arms, mindful of the cast, with Draco's face buried in the nape of his neck. Didn't settle until, underneath the fumes of smoke, he picked up the sweet, familiar scent of tart and cinnamon.

Only then did the thundering of his heart eased into a normal, steady pace. It was then he was finally able to draw another breath and let it out with little difficulty.

Draco inhaled the sweet scent of tart and cinnamon, letting the aroma overwhelm his senses, allowing himself to be drenched in it. He skimmed the curve of Harry's neck with his nose, taking another deep inhale. He skimmed it back again with his lips, feeling a fluttering beat trembling underneath the skin. Then, without question, overcome with a great need to taste, to mark that couldn't be swayed-that he wouldn't sway-he pressed his teeth against the skin and bit down hard. He felt Harry's body shudder from the sting before a sound slipped from his mouth that was too low for a gasp, almost too wondrous for a sigh, as his hand fell limply at his side and his head slightly eased back. Draco groaned, pleased, and bit harder.

Finally he pulled back and laid his head on Harry's shoulder, sighing happily.

"Well," Harry said a heartbeat later, his words almost coming out as a low rasp. "I managed to mostly come back the same way I went in."

Just for that, without releasing him from his arms or lifting up his head, Draco pinched him on his good arm, gaining a satisfying pained cry.

"Prat!" Harry hissed.

"You just love giving me a heart attack, don't you?" Draco pulled back a bit to look up at him.

"A question I often wondered myself over the years." Severus drawled, walking into the tent. He didn't even bat an eye at the tight hold they had on each other, a sight he came across countless times over the years. Draco had a feeling if they weren't in this position during stressful times, then it'd be a call of alarm for him. "Though reckless and at some points sloppy, overall I must congratulate you, Harry." A small hint of a smile touched his mouth. "That was impressive flying."

Harry's mouth curved into a smile, one that quickly changed into a frown as two unexpected (and unwelcomed) guests barged into the tent, heading over to them.

"Harry, you were brilliant!" Granger squealed. There were fingernail marks on her face; she must have been pulling at it during Harry's match.

As annoying as she was, Draco knew the insect wasn't the reason why Harry was frowning. That reason lay in the weasel standing behind her like a shadow, his face white as linen-sheets.

"Harry," he croaked. "whoever put your name in that goblet-I-I reckon they're trying to do you in."

There were a number of times when Draco was so shocked by words, a sight, a moment that he felt his jaw drop all the way down to the ground. There were a greater number of times when red clouded his vision, filling him with the great desire to turn the source of that anger into confetti. This would be the first were the two feelings slammed into him at once like a pair of fists pounding at both sides, shock slapping his jaw down to the ground, anger coloring his vision and calling his balled fists to punch, claw, and hex.

The longer he stared at Weasley, the same one who weeks ago called Harry-Draco's Harry-a snake and a glorified attention-seeker and a liar and treated him like shite, who was now looking at him as if he solved the greatest mystery of all time, Draco was leaning more towards the latter. His hands were dying to do the latter.

He wasn't alone in the feeling. Severus looked as if he were tempted to join Draco into making Weasley-bastard confetti.

"Caught on, have you?" said Harry coldly. "Took you long enough."

Weasley blinked, stunned, and then stared stupidly at Harry like a fish caught out of water. Granger's excited grin melted into a disappointing frown. At the same time, Draco's scowl lifted into a pleasing smile.

"Harry-" Whatever sorry excuse or pathetic apology Weasley had to say, Harry wasn't interested in listening.

He turned back to Draco, the left side of his mouth curving into a faint, tired smile. "Walk me back to the room?"

Pleasure flowed and thrummed inside Draco like a wonderful song. "Love to."

Draco held onto the golden egg, which felt ten pounds of steel, and followed Harry out. It wasn't a quick escape as the two hoped since Bagman gathered the Champions together to reveal the scores, with Harry coming close to first and Krum in dead last, and to inform them that the next task was in February and the key lay in their golden egg.

The pair then tried to make a hasty retreat, but were met outside by a cockroach clad in tacky, hideous acid-green robes.

"Congratulations, Harry!" Skeeter beamed, giving them both an unwanted view of her chipped teeth. "I was wondering if you could give me a quick word? How you felt facing the dragon? How do you feel now about the fairness of the scoring?"

"Yeah, you can have a word," said Harry savagely. "Goodbye."

Skeeter gawked. Harry smirked. Draco snickered. Then the two headed towards the castle.