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In the Deepest, Darkest, Most Forgotten kitchen storage room of Hogwarts, the one where the gluten-free, decaffe, fat-free, reduced salt, and other horrible and silly food things Muggles invented where left to spontaneously decompose (or become sentient and run off), a lone elf sat slowly swaying on a threadbare rug surrounded by a silent ring of awestruck elves.
Unlike normal House Elves, this one was not dressed in the traditional clothing made of student's cast off odd and ends or repurposed Hogwarts linen. She sat in an almost resplendent gown made from only the best fashion accessories the elves had been able to forage from between the cushions, behind the wardrobes, under the mattresses, and hanging from the chandeliers and curtain rods of the many professors' dormitories that were scattered about the ancient castle.
Dobby thought she looked quite bizarre, which is an astounding thing coming as it did from an elf who was considered by most of his brethren as the weirdest elf to ever have existed simply because he did not think it was his calling to remain enslaved to a horrible family.
"And then I saids to him, the youngy master, hic, I saids, 'you shouldn't be going potty in the potty plant!'" mumbled the elf on the rug before bursting into raucous laughter.
She stopped laughing long enough to take a huge swig out of a beer stein that was at least as big as her head, then laughed again, swaying so much Dobby thought she might actually spill the remaining contents of her mug this time.
It would never happen.
A tide of whispers rose from the circle of elves surrounding her. Dobby listened for a while trying to understand.
"I thinks this one is tied to yesterday's one about the gold fishies in the stew!" argued one elf loudly enough for Dobby to make out his words.
"No!" almost screamed another. "Is newey prophecy! Goldfishes finished when we served peach cobbler for elevensies today."
"I's been telling you it was meants for late night snacks!" angrily whispered yet another elf.
Professor boggle-eye's "Mind-lube" sure was powerful magic, thought Dobby as the crowd's anger rose and the philosophical discussion became heated enough to degenerate into fist fights (which wasn't really that much).
He had never seen anybody except the professor go so far into the Great Beyond, and he hadn't even been aware that elves could, but according to the other elves, this had been going on for days before a few of them started making connections between Winky the great's the ranting and events at the castle.
The trigger had been Quidditch being cancelled just a few hours after Winky had told them to "Make sure young master's toyses are put away properly!" or something to that effect.
Of course he initially thought she was just drunk, and suggested that as an explanation then promptly nearly been disembowelled with a spork for such a heretical idea. He was sure to keep that and many other dangerous ideas to himself for then on.
Not that everything Winky said was a prophecy.
"Hey, hey, don't fights," she suddenly shouted. "Fightsing is bad. I loves you guys! Don't fightses."
Immediately the brawl stopped.
"Praise the prophet!" intoned one of the elves, who eye was quickly swelling closed. "She bidsess us to show love to eachother!"
"Praise the prophet!" responded the others instantly.
"Praise the prophet!" said Dobby, slightly slower than the others and with a lot less conviction.
This place was strange, but it was better than being forced to watch his old masters try to make the beast with two backs (literally, using their wands and some poor goats, all because Lucius misunderstood something he read).
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"So, when do we have to strip naked then?" asked Harry, interrupting Bagman's explanation of the rules.
He didn't expect to have to do so, but it was worthwhile taking the time to make sure. After all, it would be really annoying surviving facing a dragon only to be disqualified because the rules weren't explained properly.
"What?" asked Bagman, clearly confused as Harry's interruption derailed his well obviously well planned and practiced monologue.
"You said that we were only allowed to take our wands in," explained Harry. "So obviously we have to go in naked."
Cedric paled, and Flowers or Floor or whatever her name was looked outraged, as if she took the suggestion as a person insult, which she probably did; she seemed the type to take everything as a person insult regardless of the circumstances.
Sour-puss-face Krum didn't seem shocked or worried at all and Harry had the sneaking suspicion he probably would have no issue dropping his drawers and going for it au-naturale. His skin was probably tougher than the flimsy material of Harry's robes anyway. Bastard.
"Ah, no, Harry, you are allowed to keep all your current clothes on. I just meant you can't bring along any potions, magical swords or things of that nature, just what you have on you," explained Baggy, looking decidedly worried. "You have all been checked and are cleared to go, so nothing to worry about there, all right Harry?"
"Oh, good," said Harry, although he was suddenly of two minds about if seeing Floor naked would have been worth the embarrassment, especially if it was likely to be one of the very last things he ever saw before being consumed by an angry dragon. Mind you, he wished he had been allowed his normal robes with their magically deep and well stocked pockets. "Got it."
"Excellent. Now wait here and when your name is called come to the arena. Mr Diggory, you have five minutes to prepare. Good Luck everybody."
The champions split up, each going to their respective cots to mentally prepare. Harry immediately lay down and wondered if he could just stay in the tent and avoid the whole thing altogether. Nobody said anything about there being a time limit, so maybe he could wait for the dragon to fall asleep and then sneak in to pinch the fake egg?
"Why aren't you more nervous?" asked Cedric, taking a brief pause in his incessant pacing up and down the tent.
Harry was actually more nervous than he had ever been in his life, but it was not in his nature to pace or get carried away with worry.
Sour-puss-face and Floor were watching, apparently interested in his answer. Neither of them appeared overly-concerned, although Harry could see they were both trying very hard to appear completely cool and calm.
"Probably because they had both been told before-hand what to expect in the challenges, if some of the rumours going around the Hufflepuff common room are to be believed," thought Harry.
Of course, some of those rumours also had them all having to participate in a last-man-standing Battle Royale, so a grain of salt was in order. Harry had never found it worth the energy to pay too much attention to gossip and rumours anyway.
"Ceddy," he said in an unnaturally calm voice, "I am so utterly terrified right now that I am beyond being able to show any sign of nervousness. I'd wet myself, but I think I have sweated out every drop of moisture in my body, making me especially good kindling for the dragon I imagine."
Sour-puss snorted, apparently amused, and Floor just rolled her eyes and tried to look even snootier, which was pretty much impossible. Cedric, gave a half-hearted grin.
"Do you have a plan?" Harry asked. "You sort of got the short end of the stick, with only a couple of minutes to think about it."
"Yeah," he said, pointedly looking around at the other competitors before leaning in closely to whisper to Harry. "I am going to try transfiguring a rock into something to distract the dragon while I run over and grab the egg."
Harry nodded in appreciation of Cedric sharing his strategy. It sounded like a good one, especially if he had just come up with it on the spot. It was a pity Harry's own transfiguration skills were nowhere near being up to copying the idea. He could probably make something that looked a bit dog shaped and would wobble along reasonably well, but he had never bothered mastering that particular set of transfiguration skills finding buying things that experts had made was a lot more efficient than making them himself.
"Ron's brother mentioned dragons don't like dogs much, but like to eat goats and sheep," he told Cedric, offering the only thing he could remember that might help. He nearly added 'people' to the list of things they liked to eat, but managed to stop himself in time. No point in making it any harder for his fellow 'puff than it was already going to be.
Cedric nodded thoughtfully. "What about you?"
"I was rather hoping to be able to summon it," said Harry hopefully. "The egg I mean, not the dragon. Summoning the dragon would just be silly."
Cedric shook his head and frowned. "It'll be protected from that," he said and was about to continue when his name was suddenly called from outside the tent.
"Good luck," said Harry.
"You too," replied Cedric before heading out to be the first one to face the challenge. Harry knew bugger all about Swedish Short-snout's, or any dragon really.
The next fifteen minutes were an exercise in mental agony as Harry was forced to listen to the crowd alternately cheering, yelling, and screaming while Cedric tried to get the egg from the brooding mother. The commentary was even worse, with nothing Bagman said doing anything to clarify what was happening.
"Look at that!" screamed the has-been professional Quidditch player turned commentator at school events. "It was almost all over then!"
When it finally finished, with Cedric somehow apparently able to get a hold of the egg without dying, Bagman's only recounting of the whole process was a weak "Well done lad!"
Floor looked slightly less composed as her name was called a little while later and she headed out. He felt a pang of compassion for her.
At least he thought it was compassion although it could have been something entirely different given the way she seemed to affect his and every other boy's senses, especially whenever she walked away from them, nose high in the air and robes swishes about her ankles enticingly.
Thinking about the French beauty being totally naked and running from a dragon temporarily distracted Harry and he had to force his thoughts back on track rather than daydreaming what could be his final moments away, no matter how pleasant that sounded.
Eventually he resorted to trying to use the mentally calming exercises he had learned to perform before going to sleep in order to lucid dream. They were surprisingly successful and he managed to get his heart-rate right down to something slightly lower than a galloping race-horse who had gotten into some of Hagrid's special chillies.
Bagman's commentary was even more useless the second time around and at times sounded like the man was trying to stage-whisper, over a megaphone, to an audience numbering in the hundreds.
When Sour-puss-face was called, Harry could probably have gone to sleep, but he forced himself to concentrate on coming up with at least a basic plan. He had his wand, three years of rather lacklustre magical education, and the clothes on his back to work with. Not much when facing a protective mother dragon he knew basically nothing about.
Reaching into his pocket, he took out the model of the Horntail to examine it for ideas and clues. It snapped at him and puffed a tiny flame while swinging its spiked tail, and slowly, a mad, insane idea bloomed, igniting hope in Harry's rather forlorn heart.
Finally, after yet another ten minutes of the overly excited commentators performance, it was his turn and he fought to keep his panic in check, but not suppress it totally, as he walked out of the tent and through the trees to the entrance of the enclosure.
At the other end, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her evil, yellow eyes upon him, waited a monstrous, scaly, black lizard, thrashing her spiked tail, leaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground.
Hundreds of people stared down at him from the stands around them, cheering, clapping, shouting words of encouragement or possibly derision – Harry couldn't really tell and he was far beyond caring.
Taking the small model of the dragon from his pocket, he petrified it and then carefully levitated it about half way to the other dragon, slowly dropping it to the ground.
"Engorgio!" he cast, fuelling the spell with all of the panic and fear that had been building up in him.
The model swelled, growing quickly to the size of a large dog.
He cast again and again, pumping everything he had into the spell until two Hungarian Horntails sat in the arena, one of them glaring at the newcomer with a strange, almost hungry look, the other, rather odd shaped one, stood unmoving - still petrified.
While Harry's enlargement charm had gotten significantly better over the years, it was still not quite perfect, leaving the model bulging oddly in places. At least it hadn't grown two heads or something equally strange, which was a possibility of charms going badly wrong.
For a moment he doubted the wisdom of his actions – after all, he now had two death dealing monsters to face instead of one.
"Oh well," he thought to himself. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and dead is dead whether it be by two dragons or one." Besides, coming up with another plan would be a lot of work and a complete waste of all the casting he had just done.
With that thought, he released his now full-size model and then dashed off to the side.
Immediately his model bellowed at the original, and a second later stood on its hind legs, flapping its deformed wings in an obvious challenge.
The effect on the original was much greater than Harry had hoped for, or expected. He was fairly certain Charlie's tales about dragons indicated they were very territorial, so putting two of them so close together was likely to start a fight, but he didn't expect the brooding mother to simple rush out and jump at his model.
As the two dragons clashed, Harry bolted for the nest, determined to grab the egg and get the hell out of there before his fake was torn apart – which was likely to happen in about two seconds.
Harry was a natural runner, and despite years of making a determined effort to suppress such a silly waste of energy, was actually fairly fast, but not fast enough for his liking.
Unfortunately, while he knew of at least one spell that could have helped him move faster, he had never had a reason to learn it and had to make do with his own natural muscles.
He heard the crowd screaming and Bagman suddenly going nuts, but the noise from the Dragons drowned out any meaning. The earth shook as the dragons clashed, but all he concentrated on was sprinting as fast as he could to the nest while staying as close to the wall of the enclosure and as far away from the beasts as possible.
Bits of rock and dust pummelled him, making him duck and weave as he ran. A tongue of flame licked out and scorched him too, but he kept moving forward, focussing on just getting to the damn egg.
It took him much less than a minute to reach the nest, where an obviously fake golden egg sat waiting on top of a pile of real eggs. He barely slowed down as he grabbed it, only to discover gold was a good conductor of heat and dragon eggs needed to be kept extremely warm, as he should have remembered from Tiny's pet project a few years ago.
"Ouch, shit, bugger, damn," he swore as he juggled the burning egg and continued to run. A cooling charm would have fixed it, but there was no way he was going to stop running until he was safely out of the arena.
He could see an exit where the dragon tamers were waiting, watching open mouthed at the ongoing spectacle of his fake encountering the real dragon. His way was clear.
Relief flooded Harry as he reached the exit. He had done it! A quick Aquamenti charm later and Harry was finally able to relax and turn to see what has left of his toy made-life-sized saviour.
It took a few moments for him to comprehend what has happening.
The first thing he realised was that the construct was surprisingly still intact, and was actually on the back of the original dragon, firmly holding the original's neck in its oversized jaws. Their intertwined tails thumped and swept the ground around them, turning boulders into pebbles and pulverising the ground where they struck while their wings flapped madly, sending clouds of dust and debris into the air. The real dragon occasionally let out a burst of flame that bathed the barricades of the arena in sheets of fire and caused the spectators to scream and duck for cover.
His next rather shocking realisation was that the two writhing dragons were not actually fighting - far from it, in fact.
The judges sat, Baggy holding the microphone limply as he watched speechlessly. Igor was outright laughing while Dumbledore appeared to be grinning. Big-Max was looking totally scandalised and the older Ministry stooge clutched his head in his hands in a way that reminded Harry of Hermione when she was at her most despairing.
"Huh, I wonder why the model was a male?" he asked nobody in particular as the spectators either screamed or laughed, depending on their disposition. "Well at least now I know why they are called Horn-tails."
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Harry was surprised to find himself upset at the low score one of the judges awarded him. He wasn't expecting to beat the others, but this was ridiculous.
"Zero? How can you give me zero?" he demanded with more anger than he thought he would ever be able to summon over something he didn't think he cared about.
Hunchy (as Harry decided to name him) had scored him quite high and seemed to want to reward him for 'the best laugh he had in quite a while', Beardy said the fact the Dragons destroyed half the stadium and nearly killed a few people cost him some marks, Baggy gave him a perfect ten for some unfathomable reason, and the Ministry stooge of course gave him a middling mark like a typical politician trying to compromise for both sides, so he was actually tied for second place with Floor, who's attempt a putting the dragon to sleep had been ruined by Baggy apparently making a loud noise when he claims he was hit with a stinging-hex, but the zero really bothered him.
Big-max apparently blamed Harry for her student's failure and gave him a big fat zero.
Harry could probably have learned a great deal from those scores and the reasoning each of the judges gave for them, but as it was, he still just could not shake the idea of seeing Floor competing au-naturale from his mind.
If he had been inclined to even try to get rid of the idea.
He would have given her a ten, of course.
"You know what? Forget it!" he yelled. "This is most certainly not worth the effort."
With that he turned and left, but deep inside he felt his annoyance and anger growing into something more nasty and infinitely more worrying; motivation.
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"You sees, Dobby," said the elf. "Exactlys likes the prophet says it would happens."
Personally Dobby thought it might have been just a bit of a stretch to say "and special little young master went to bed with nothing to eat while the master and missus went to make whoopy" could mean watching Harry Potter overcome the first task and score zero points from one of the judges, but he knew better than to voice his thoughts out loud and just nodded in agreement.