Chapter 6

The First Task

Harry's entire focus has been on practicing the Summoning Charm with Hermione and Tom. It was hard work in such little time. They stayed in an empty classroom where Harry tried with all his might to make various objects fly across the room towards him. He was still having problems at times. The books and quills kept losing heart halfway across the room and dropping like stones to the floor.

"You must concentrate Harry," Tom said.

"He's right, you have to Concentrate."

"What'd you think I'm trying to do?" Harry said angrily. "A great big dragon keeps popping up in my head for some reason!" He realized what he said and immediately shook his head. "Okay, try again…"

Tom sighed and glanced at Hermione before pulling Harry to the side. "Remember my mask," he hissed softly in Parseltongue. "Losing your nerve like this, getting angry, is a sure way of getting yourself killed, Darling."

"You try doing this," Harry muttered angrily. "You try perfecting a spell knowing you might get eating by a dragon tomorrow!"

Tom Frowned and looked at the desks on the other side of the room. "Accio!" he hissed in Parseltongue and an entire row of desks cam buzzing towards them, stopping just before they could crash into the two wizards. Hermione gave a small, shocked noise. "What was that?" she demanded.

"A lesson on how to keep your cool," Tom said idly. "I know you can do this Harry, do not disappoint me." He waved his wand and the desks all moved back. "Now, again."

They practiced until after midnight. Harry wanted to continue further but Peeves turned up and, pretending to think that Harry wanted things thrown at him, started chucking chairs across the room. The three left in a hurry before the noise attracted Filch. Tom left them, giving Harry a knowing look as he separated to head to the Slytherin Common Room while Harry and Hermione made their way to Gryffindor Tower.

On the way, Harry's thoughts were on his mask for Tom. He had ideas on it, small pictures of how he wanted it to be, but he did not start to actualize it. It involved Parseltongue, and an ease to speak it. It was something that he can relax in, something he can wear in order to be Tom's Darling. Something that he can be sure to hide his deepest self from. A self that he only can see in his small moments of calm. He can almost picture it.

A mirror right in front of me. That's where I find, an empty glass reflecting the sad truth.

He shook his head and pulled himself from these thoughts. He needed to focus. Not only because the whole school expects him to fail, but because his friends expect him to succeed. They practiced until two in the morning. Harry stood near the fireplace, surrounded by heaps of objects: books, quills, several upturned chairs, an old set of Gobstones, and Neville's toad, Trevor. Only in the last hour had Harry really got the hang of the Summoning Charm.

"That's better, Harry, that's loads better," Hermione said, looking exhausted by very pleased.

"Well, now we know what to do next time I can't manage a spell," Harry said, throwing a rune dictionary back to Hermione so he could try again, "threaten me with a dragon. I ought to make sure to tell Tom that, I'm sure he'll be pleased. Accio Dictionary!"

The heavy book soared out of Hermione's hand, flew across the room, and Harry caught it.

"Harry, I think you've got it!" Hermione said delightedly.

"Just as long as it works tomorrow," Harry said. "The Firebolt's going to be much further away than the stuff in here, it's going to be in the castle, and I'm going to be out there on the grounds…"

"That doesn't matter," Hermione said firmly. "Just as long as you're concentrating really, really hard on it, it'll come. Harry, we'd better get some sleep … you're going to need it."

Harry just nodded; he didn't know why he didn't think of telling Hermione about the Parsel-Magic. Maybe because he was still scared to use it. Maybe because he was scared of Hermione's reaction. Either way, he had a feeling he could do both now. His intended plan of summoning his broomstick, and if that doesn't work, if he is left with no choice, he knew he had to be mentally prepared to put on Tom's mask.

All the fear and anxiety that seemed to go away during practice came back the next morning. The atmosphere in the school was one of great tension and excitement. Lessons were to stop at midday, giving all the students time to get down to the dragons' enclosure—though of course, they didn't yet know what they would find there.

Harry felt separate from everyone's excitement. People kept wishing him good luck or hissing that they have a box ready for him, and yet Harry found that he couldn't react to any of it. It was as though on that day, he has forgotten his masks, forgotten them completely, and walked around in a neutral haze that looked to the untrained eye as extreme nerves.

After lunch, which seemed to come too quickly in Harry's opinion, Harry found himself being escorted by Professor McGonagall out of the Great Hall, out of the castle, and then down the path towards the enclosure where they kept the dragons, where, by now, a tent has been erected.

As usual, Harry found himself the last champion to arrive. The other three either sitting down or pacing nervously. When Harry entered, Cedric Diggory gave him a small smile, which Harry returned, feeling the muscles in his face working rather hard, as though they had forgotten how to do it.

Bagman was the only one cheery in the waiting area, jumping up when he saw Harry. Good-o! Come in! Come in! Make yourself at home!"

Harry did not see how that was possible. "Right, now that all of us are here, we can finally figure out what we're doing!" Bagman grinned. "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!"

Harry glanced around. Cedric had nodded once, to show that he understood Bagman's words, and then started pacing around the tent again; he looked slightly green; Fleur Delacour and Krum hadn't reacted at all. Perhaps they thought they might be sick if they open their mouths; that was certainly how Harry felt. But they at least volunteered at least.

Harry went to a corner and sat down, hanging his head as he listened to the crowd of students excitedly pass the tent to the stands constructed where they were going to face the dragons. He didn't know how to feel, how to show himself. Harry the coward? Harry the brave? Gryffindor? Snake? Hero? Victim? Harry felt like his head was going to explode as he tried to decide which would be best—which would help him survive. Then, a voice next to him spoke up, scaring him. "Darling, why are you in a corner?"

Tom smirked at Harry's shock. He closed the distance and kissed Harry's cheek, "How are you feeling?" he asked, "Truthfully."

"Nervous, like I'm about to face a ferocious dragon," Harry muttered.

"Which you are, but remember our training," Tom said. He glanced at Harry's uniform and scoffed. "Here," he said and begun to undo his tie, "take your tie off, and your robes! They're not going to help with the dragon in any case."

Harry did so immediately, standing in only his button-up shirt, with the top button unbuttoned, and black trousers where his wand was pocketed. Tom took off his tie and, without asking, fitted the tie on Harry, keeping the distance between them nonexistent as he made the Slytherin tie again so that it hung comfortably around Harry's neck. "Perfect," Tom smirked.

Harry looked down, confused, "Why did you give me your tie?" he asked.

"Two reasons, my darling," Tom said simply, "one because I believe you look better in green and silver, and the second is that I hope this would help you put on your mask. Specifically your mask for me. I know you are still even working on it now, especially because I keep adding to it, but I hope that you find courage and power—"

Harry interrupted him by kissing Tom's cheek. He smiled as he leaned back, wrapping his arms loosely around the taller teen. "Thank you," he smiled.

"Think nothing of it," Tom smirked. He looked to his left towards where the crowds were walking by and sighed. "I suppose I should go and join the masses? Remember Harry, you have a tool that no one else can use. Take advantage of that. I know you'll make me proud." He kissed Harry's cheek and slipped away, taking Harry's robes and tie with him. Harry stood, dazed for a moment before turning around, smiling.

If the others noticed, they did not say anything, perhaps too occupied with their own nerves and anticipation of facing a dragon to be concerned over Harry's love life. In no time at all, Bagman returned, opening the neck of the purple silk sack.

"Ladies first—Harry, you've changed your tie," he said, stopping to look at Harry for a moment before offering the bag to Fleur.

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. And Harry knew, by the fact that Fleur showed no sign of surprise, but rather a determined resignation, that he had been right; Madam Maxime had told her what was coming.

The same held true for Krum. He pulled out the scarlet Chine Fireball with the number three around its next. He didn't even blink, just sat back down and stared at the ground.

Cedric put his hand into the bag, and out came the blueish-gray Swedish Short-Snout, the number one tied around its neck. Both knowing and dreading what was left, Harry pulled out the Hungarian Horntail with the number four hanging around its neck. The tiny dragon stretched its wings as he looked down at it, and bared minuscule fangs.

"Well, there you are!" Bagman said. "You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the number refers to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I'm going to have to leave you in a moment because I'm commentating. Mr. Diggory, you're first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right?"

He smiled and winked at them all before leaving the tent. Harry returned to his corner and sat down, staring at the model dragon that roared and walked in his hands and lap. He was going to be fine, he told himself. He knew what he was doing. He had a plan and his backup. He found his free hand moving to hold Tom's tie. Just holding the other boy's clothing filled Harry with a strange sort of courage, and he truly felt that he could handle the dragon.

Harry tried to wish Cedric luck as he walked past Harry towards the tent entrance looking greener than ever but found that he couldn't form words. Harry heard the crowd roar and knew that Cedric has entered the enclosure. Now, all that was left was to wait.

It was worse than Harry imagined, sitting there and listening. The crowd screamed… yelled … gasped like a single many-headed entity, as Cedric did whatever he was doing to get past his dragon. Krum was staring at the ground. Fleur had now taken to retracing Cedric's steps, around and around the tent. And Bagman's commentary made everything much, much worse as horrible pictures flooded through Harry's mind.

And then, fifteen minutes later, Harry heard the deafening roar that could mean only one thing: Cedric had gotten past the dragon and captured the golden egg. "One down, three to go!" Bagman yelled, and Harry had to start the dreadful waiting all over again as Fleur went, followed by Krum twenty minutes later.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, alone in the tent Harry heard the whistle blow. It was his turn. His legs felt like they were marshmallows. He forced himself to step out of the tent, holding Tom's tie in his hand to find strength. Wear Tom's mask, wear Tom's mask, he thought to himself as he made the short trip to the enclosure.

He saw everything in front of him as though it was a very highly colored dream. There were hundreds and hundreds of faces staring down at him from the stands that had been magicked there since he'd last stood on this spot. And there was the Horntail, at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her evil, yellow eyes upon him, a monstrous, scaly, black lizard, thrashing her spiked tail, leaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground. The crowd was making a great deal of noise, but whether friendly or not, Harry didn't know or care. He took a breath and, for a moment, felt his masks slip comfortably on. He knew what he had to do. He just had to survive until it comes.

He raised his wand into the air and focused on what he needed. "Accio Firebolt!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

Harry waited, every fiber of him hoping, praying… if it hadn't worked … if it wasn't coming … no, he can't think like that, it will work. He won't be needed to use Parsel-Magic, even if Tom told him to, Harry still didn't know if he could. Not in front of everyone.

He heard it, speeding through the air behind him; he turned and saw his Firebolt hurtling toward him around the edge of the woods, soaring into the enclosure. But he wasn't the only one. There was a deadly roar and Harry screamed as he threw himself to the ground, an intense heat blasting just over him as the Hungarian Horntail let out a burst of flame. The fire ended and Harry looked up as a black mixture of soot and ash snow gently onto him. The Firebolt was nowhere in sight.

The crowd was making noises… Bagman was shouting something… but Harry's ears were not working properly anymore. He saw the dragon crane her next, licks of flame seeping from her mouth. He knew he had a second and he rolled out of the way, hiding behind a rock as the Horntail let loose another burst of flame. But in that moment, Harry did not care. He was too heartbroken at the destruction of his Firebolt. His first gift from his godfather, Sirius Black. His most prized gift, given to him by his father's best friend, gone in an instant. Sadness churned inside him, turning into a rage.

The flames stopped and Harry stepped away from the rock, his wand held high. "Stupefy!" he screamed, but it wasn't in English. In his rage, he screamed the spell, as loudly as he could, in Parseltongue. It was a chilling hiss that seemed to rise above the crowd. The Stunner that shot out of Harry's wand wasn't red but blue and it smashed into the Dragon's neck. The Hungarian Horntail whipped her head around, trying to breathe fire once more, but only smoke came out.

Harry ran towards the dragon and remembered a spell that was beyond him normally that Mrs. Weasley used one time to summon water. Usually, Harry felt that he couldn't do it, however in his enraged state over the loss of Sirius's gift, he felt that he could do anything. "Aquamenti!" he hissed out once more. Like a pressurized firehose, water burst out of his wand, Harry having to stop in his tacks to control the stream. It blasted the dragon's face, water getting in her eyes and mouth, the dragon struggling to roar and see in front of her. She swung her tail wildly and Harry was forced to stop the spell as he rolled away, the tail making a gorge in the spot Harry stood only a second ago.

He used the Aquamenti spell once more to push the tail away. He started running towards the nest once more, his eyes staring murderously at the dragon. It was still over her nest where the golden egg waited. He needed her away. He jabbed his wand and hissed out the counter to the summoning charm. "Depulso!" For a second he didn't think it would work, but he was immediately proved wrong as he felt a massive force pushing from him, slamming into the dragon and the Hungarian Horntail rolled off of the nest. As if possessed, Harry continued to move his wand and hissed out something he hoped would work. He never tried the second type of Parsel-Magic; however, he knew that he would pull out miracles in life or death situations.

"Slither out and bind my enemy to the ground!"

The ground shook. Several small fissures opened and from them, thick dark green vines sprouted out. The vines twisted and weaved each other, thickening, and growing stronger as they looked like long green boney fingers that slammed around the dragon, holding her in place. The Horntail thrashed and struggled fruitlessly and with a last burst of adrenaline, Harry ran to the nest, picking up the golden egg.

Silence followed. Harry was exhausted, he was swaying with the golden egg held tightly under his arm. He looked up at the stands and saw the masses staring at him. Bagman cleared his throat and said loudly, "And with that magnificent display of magic—Harry Potter has gotten his egg! The youngest champion showing off the most fantastic of magic folks! Why even I did not recognize some of the spells he used!" Bagman's voice seemed to snap the crowd from their daze and the enclosure exploded in noise.

The dragon keepers rushed forward to subdue the Horntail as it kept struggling in the vines. With it over, Harry looked down at himself to see the damage. His hair was smoking slightly from the near misses of fire, and he had scratches on his arms and face from when he had to roll. He kept to his feet as he turned to the judges, waiting for his score. Dumbledore stared down at him, a small frown on his face while Karkaroff and Madame Maxime stared at him neutrally, and Mr. Crouch had a thoughtful expression on his face. Only Bagman was smiling fully. The first judge, Madame Maxime, raised her wand, and a long silver ribbon shot out of it, which twisted itself into a large figure eight.

Mr. Crouch was next, he shot a nine into the air. Next came Dumbledore. He stared down at Harry before sighing, giving him a nine as well. The crowd was cheering.

Ludo Bagman gave him a ten. While Karkaroff only gave him a three. But Harry didn't care, he was only happy to survive.

He looked at the opening of the enclosure and smiled as he saw Ron and Hermione waiting for him.

"Harry!" Hermione said when he reached them. "You were brilliant! You were amazing! I'm sorry for your broom but that magic—what was that?"

Harry, however, was looking at Ron, who was very white and staring at Harry as though he were a ghost.

"Harry," he said very seriously, "whoever put your name in that goblet—I—I reckon they're trying to do you in!"

It was as though the last few weeks had never happened—as though Harry was meeting Ron for the first time, right after he'd been made champion.

"Caught on, have you?" Harry said coldly as he allowed some of his masks to fall. "Took you long enough."

Hermione stood nervously between them, looking from one to the other. Ron opened his mouth uncertainly. Harry knew Ron was about to apologize and suddenly he found he didn't need to hear it.

"It's okay," he said before Ron could get the words out. "Forget it."

"No, I shouldn't've—"

"Forget it," Harry said.

Ron grinned nervously at him, and Harry grinned back.

Hermione burst into tears.

"Why are you crying?" Harry asked, "There's nothing to cry about!"

"You two are so stupid!" she shouted, stamping her foot on the ground. Then before either of them could stop her, she had given both of them a hug and dashed away, now positively howling.

"Barking mad," Ron muttered.

"Or she could be correct," a smooth voice said, "The two of you are quite stupid, but I can forgive you for that, my Darling." Tom stepped out from nowhere and smirked at the two of them. He ignored Ron for a moment as he stepped forward and kissed Harry's cheek. "That was brilliant Parsel-Magic, Harry," he praised. "I'm so proud! My sympathies for your broom, however."

"Yeah Harry," Ron frowned. "I'm sorry about your broom, I uh… knew it meant a lot for you, from Snuffles." He glanced at Tom.

"Ah yes, Snuffles," Tom repeated. "I am sure that Sirius Black will be forgiving to hear that the broomstick lost to a dragon."

"You know—"

"Not now, Weasley," Tom said, "I haven't made up my mind about you."

"HEY! I'm supposed to say that—"

"Guys!" Harry said, exhaustion from using so much magic finally catching up to him. "Can you please do your interrogations later? I need to lay down."

"Of course," Tom said. He took Harry's arm and pulled him to the nearest seat, Madam Pomfrey rushing towards them and immediately taking charge. Harry was led to the first-aid tent which was sectioned off into cubicles. His wounds were treated and for a moment, it was just Tom and Harry inside. "There is something I want to ask you, my darling Harry," Tom said. "Before your friends come in."

"What is it?" Harry asked, he was exhausted, but at least he was off his feet now.

"Will you go on a date with me? To Hogsmeade," Tom said.

Harry felt a shock of energy surge through him and he sat up, smiling widely. "Yes!" he said loudly before blushing. "Yes," he said a bit softer. Tom kissed his cheek, smiling as well.

"Perfect," he purred. "Then, I'll talk to you tomorrow about when. Right now, you need rest."

"I can't wait," Harry smiled.

Tom gave him a final kiss before walking away. His smile slipped away, revealing a scowl.

How dare they. How dare they bring him such joy! Such laughter! Tom saw the way Harry smiled at Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, the way they grinned and laughed. Showing pure emotions that weren't from masks, that he never showed Tom! How easy those smiles were, how quickly Harry changed his moods! Why did those two… people make his darling, his boy, feel those ways!?

Tom would not stand for it. He needed to know about them, needed to know everything about them! He also needed them to know that Harry was his. That that hug, that spontaneous hug that boiled Tom's blood, would never happen again. No, not ever again. But even then, Tom wondered if he was reacting too heavily? He knew Granger somewhat. He knew that what his boy and that girl had was completely platonic, ending at the friendship level. But Weasley?

Weasley however… Tom knew from an instant that the boy was one of them, as different as Harry, himself, and Malfoy. Would he be a threat to his relationship? Would Weasley get in the way, romance Harry for his own? Tom would never allow it, he should flay—no, no, Tom needs to calm down. It would not do to react without proper research. Ahead of him, he saw the Slytherins all leaving back towards the castle. Research, he will have to learn all about Ron Weasley, and then he can decide. Before that, however, Tom decided to share the good news with his friends.

Tom quickly caught up to Draco, Blaise, and Theo. "Hello boys," he said cheerfully.

"You sound happy Riddle," Blaise chuckled.

"Of course I am happy, my darling Harry won! And to celebrate, we are going to Hogsmeade on a date," Tom smirked.

"What!" Draco yelled.

Tom smiled delectably at that. "Oh yes," he said, "And Harry practically screamed 'yes' even though he was exhausted."

"That's… nice," Draco said, though his voice sounded strain. Tom smirked and glanced around before whispering, "If you ever feel lonely, Draco, there's always Harry's friend, Weasley. It's obvious he's just like us."

"Sod off! I would never be with him!" Draco scowled. "And don't you dare suggest that again—or hurt Harry, Riddle."

"I will never hurt him, Harry is alive because of me. Who do you think taught him Parsel-Magic?" Tom asked. Draco frowned at that.

"So that was Parseltongue he was speaking," he said. "It sounded scary."

"It can be," Tom said. "But to summon those vines in the end! Even I did not teach him that. My boy is powerful, boys, very powerful…" And of course, he belongs to me.

A/N: The First Task is done! But now there's a date! Will Tom ever learn to share? Thank you for reading, please leave a review!

Steller Orbit: There's a pic of Tom just sliding down the pipe? Lol that is the best! ParselMagic as far as I know is fanon, meaning that the fans created it and now it's just taken for granted or a part of canon, such as Snape being Draco's godfather, which he is not.

RacySturdivant: The Portrait did not talk yet, however I'm sure it has some interesting things to say regarding Harry and Tom. And a good lashing is always in order!