Chapter 28: Bound to Get Burned

Neville briskly power-walked through one of the open-air corridors bordering the castle courtyards, breathing hard and shallow, as though he had been running. He certainly moved with a sense of urgency, although the need to get air was coming more from a place of hyperventilation.

The night before, Hagrid had given him a sneak preview of what was to come for the First Task, which was in a mere five days. Up until then, Neville had spent the past two weeks wandering about in a kind of fog as the knowledge that he was to be a Champion in what was being billed as a dangerous Tournament began to sink in.

The Task, according to Hagrid, who had heard it on good authority from Ron's older brother, Charlie (a professional dragon keeper), was going to go like this: each Champion would be assigned a dragon who had, in turn, been tasked with a golden egg to protect. The Champions would have to retrieve the egg, which carried a vital clue to the Second Task… and presumably have to battle the dragon in order to get said egg.

Just thinking about the rundown again was sending Neville into a kind of panic, and he tried not to let it show on his face. It was bad enough that he had already been catching the heat from all kinds of dirty looks, from people who were convinced he had cheated his way into the Tournament. It would only make things worse if people knew he was also scared out of his mind. Though some of these same people ostracizing him now might take supreme satisfaction if they were aware of his terror.

Bollocks, not even the brief cloud of suspicion that had hung over him about possibly being the Heir of Slytherin…. had been as bad as this. The first and most obvious key difference was that, in that time of false suspicion, Ron had stood by him.

Not so now. Ron wouldn't talk to him, and hadn't for days.

Neville felt bad at how much of the pressure from the resultant fall-out had landed on poor Hermione. Squabbles between the Trio had usually involved Ron and Hermione bickering like an old married couple and with Neville acting as mediator/quasi-marriage counselor. He had always made the best peace when it came to his friends, but now that it was he as one of the combatants and not the neutral party, it was quickly becoming clear that Hermione, for all her smarts, did not possess the same skills to call a halt to this…. estrangement. That was the only word for it. In more than three years, he and Ron had never fought like this – never.

And now there was a very real possibility that Neville might actually die from dragon burn before he ever got the chance to clear his name, and convince Ron that he'd had nothing to do with entering into the Tournament. Neville wouldn't have done it willingly anyway, even without knowing what he knew now about the daunting peril awaiting him and his three competitors.

If anything about this were normal (though, with all the struggles he'd already faced in his Hogwarts career, how relative was that, really?), he'd be going straight to Ron with his troubles. There'd be no sympathy from that quarter this time, though. Neville briefly considered confiding in Hermione, then thought better of it. The first question she would ask, naturally, would be how he had gotten the information, and he couldn't rat out Hagrid like that. Also, he couldn't be sure that, if he did tell Hermione how he had gotten a tip on the Task, and from whom, Hermione wouldn't go to somebody, which would ensure that Hagrid got in trouble. Hermione always listened to her conscience intensely, something Neville couldn't really fault her for until it risked a detrimental outcome like, say, placing a strain on the one friendship he seemed to have left.

Luna suddenly came to mind, and Neville pondered possibly going to her with his fears. Luna was a Ravenclaw and therefore a wise student by House reputation. But Luna's was a different kind of wisdom, a quirky wisdom that was not always immediately apparent; even if she did have some sage advice to give, Neville likely wouldn't interpret it into anything useful by the time the Task arrived. He'd get straighter answers, ones with less riddles, from Hermione, and he'd already ruled her out for the time being.

But Neville had to talk to somebody. He'd otherwise go mad, or burst into tears, whichever came first. The next idea that fell into his head seemed mad on the face of it: confiding in one of his three fellow Champions would undoubtedly mean giving a challenger a leg up. But in flailing about for who to turn to and rapidly coming up with close to nobody, commiserating with a fellow Champion might give him the comfort he needed, even if it might also place him at a disadvantage in the long run.

Weighing his three challengers, Neville quickly ruled out the beautiful girl from Beauxbatons, then her Durmstrang counterpart in rapid succession. If Fleur perpetuated the unfortunate cultural stereotype of aloofness on the part of the French, particularly French girls, then Krum was just plain antisocial – to such a degree that the Quidditch star hadn't spoken one word to Neville since Halloween.

That left Cedric Diggory, his fellow Hogwarts Champion. Contrary to the others, Cedric had never been openly hostile since the Goblet of Fire's hiccup (if that's what spitting an underage boy's name out had been, and Neville dearly hoped that was still the case). In fact, the Hufflepuff had been quite kind, even compassionate, if not quite overly friendly, which coming from a competitive instinct as it likely did, was probably wise. Neville certainly didn't blame Cedric.

He spotted the man now, with spiky black hair and an alabaster face – one he had heard from chittering of some girls as being "terribly handsome." Still keeping to his little-man-in-a-hurry pace, Neville wasted no time dashing up to him.

"Dragons. That's the First Task."

Cedric took a moment to blink at him dumbly, before glancing around to check no one was listening. He seemed as confused as Neville figured he rationally should have been over why a competitor would be telling him this. "What the…? – Are…. Are you serious?"

Neville bobbed his head frantically. "Don't ask me how I know. I just do. They've got dragons penned for each of us, and we're going to have to fight them…"

"What?"

Neville turned around sharply to discover with horror that Hermione had overheard everything. Tragically, there was no Ron in sight. His pretty, brainiac friend's big, brown eyes were like little moons, and her round, unblemished skin had turned pale.

Neville sighed. "I didn't want to tell you…."

"No, just Cedric – Neville, what are you thinking?!" Hermione dashed right into his face almost accusingly; neither of them noticed Cedric, now armed with this crucial information, awkwardly wave and jog off.

"Who else was I going to talk to? Ron?" Neville queried, causing Hermione to wince uncomfortably. The bushy brunette finally allowed herself a small sigh.

"I need you to spill everything. Now."

He obeyed like a child obeying his stern mother. Armed with as much knowledge as possible, Hermione's brow had furrowed and her face puckered in that expression she got whenever she was studying a complex problem.

"I don't know how to fight dragons, Hermione! I doubt the others do, either, but still! I barely sort of know how to competently fight another wizard!"

Hermione was nibbling on her bottom lip in a way that was actually quite cute. Finally, she brightened just slightly as inspiration struck. Neville's heart leapt with it, hardly daring to hope.

"You're going about this the wrong way. Naturally, you might assume that to get this egg from the dragon, you'll have to fight the beast for it, but…. maybe you don't have to."

"You mean I wouldn't necessarily have to fight to get the egg?" Neville blinked. "How else am I supposed to get it?"

Hermione smiled, vindicated. "That is precisely the question you should be asking yourself, and the one the judges want you to ask. Success in the task depends on your answer, which is up to you." At his blank stare, she smiled and took his hand, tugging him with purpose down the corridor. "Come on; I'll show you what I mean."

Hermione took her best mate to an abandoned classroom to begin her tutelage.

"The Tournament is designed as a means to show off your skill, which means you are pretty much free in the most open-ended sense to tackle these Tasks however you want to, within reason and boundaries of cheating, of course," she lectured, turning to face Neville with a snap. "Every Task is going to be presented as a problem you're trying to solve."

Neville wanted to say this was helping him feel much better. As a matter of simplified analysis, maybe. But in alleviating his fear? Oh no. "Maybe you should have been selected as the Champion, Hermione."

"Oh, tish tosh!" she tutted, though she smiled and he thought he even saw her blush. "Anyway, I'm not the one solving the problem – you are. And the problem is this: you are trying to retrieve an egg from a fire-breathing dragon who will certainly attack you in your attempts to get it: what do you do?"

"Not die," Neville whimpered. "I'm gonna not die!"

"Of course, obviously, every attempt to preserve your life will be made," Hermione nodded. "Except that's not what I asked: to get the egg, what are you going to do?"

Neville winced, reluctant to answer for how much he felt this was some kind of trick question. "I…. I guess…. To know what I'm going to do, I'll have to know…. what I can do?"

He was heartened when Hermione beamed, pleased. "Erudite way of phrasing it, Neville! Understanding what you can do will give you a plan of attack! So throw some ideas out at me!"

"Well….. the dragon will likely be sitting on the egg, guarding the nest. So I have to find some way to draw it away from the nest and egg."

"How?" Hermione pumped him for answers the way a personal trainer – for that's what she was amounting to – pumps for results.

"Broomstick, perhaps? Except I don't know how to fly!"

"Very good! Let's cross out what you can't do to narrow down what you can!" She pondered for a moment. "What about wand work? What kind of spell do you think can be cast to get what you want?"

Neville scratched at the back of his neck thoughtfully. He cringed. "I'm not the best at spells," he admitted. "The Dueling Club should have told you that."

"To the contrary: as I recall, you cast a decent version of Rictusempra that knocked Malfoy off his feet, which informs me that you actually can cast spells competently, and you've already done so in a high-stress situation, similar to what the Task will dish out. I happen to think spell work is the way to go for you. Let's start small: what is your objective?"

"To get the egg," Neville supplied readily.

"Can you think of a spell which has as its primary function the ability to get something?"

Neville creased his forehead in strenuous thought, but finally came up stumped. Hermione smiled encouragingly, without judgment. "I'll give you a hint: to get the egg, you may have to call it to you. And another word for call to would be….?"

"Summon?" he guessed.

"A Summoning Charm, exactly!" Hermione cheered. "And there is one for it: Accio!" The brilliant witch brandished her wand from her robes. "Ready to start practicing?"

And so they did – every day for the remaining time until the Task, for several hours each day. They practiced on objects which Hermione guesstimated might be roughly the same size and weight as the dragon egg: large textbooks and other heavier things. When, the night before the Task, Neville was able to Summon Hermione's large spell book out of her hands with ease, his best mate appeared quite satisfied.

"Neville, I really think you've got it!" she cheered, throwing her arms about his neck.

Swaying back off of her tiptoes, the two best mates suddenly froze, their awareness heightened over the intimate tableau in which they now found themselves. Hermione was ducking her head so her bushy bangs fell into her face, feeling quite shy. Neville bent his head towards her, silently inquiring with concern, though a part of him, in stooping near her, was filled with an urge to do something else….

Hermione finally stepped out of his arms, strangely quiet. "I think you're ready for tomorrow," she murmured softly.

Neville nodded, grateful. "You don't think it's too simple a strategy?"

"No. I…. I think it's quite clever, actually," and she smiled at him, though it was weaker than normal.

Neville could hear the roar of the crowd outside the tent as he waited on a bunked cot to be called out for the First Task. Between the quartet of Champions in here, he was the only one sitting still. Fleur was wringing her hands; both Cedric and Viktor were pacing.

"Psst! Neville!"

The whispered hiss of his name made him slip softly to a flap in the tent. From the shadow on the muslin, he could tell it was Hermione now mere inches from him, separated only by a sheet of cloth. "Neville….. is that you?"

"Yeah."

"Are you all right?"

"…. I think so."

He thought he heard her voice catch. "It's all right. You have a plan. You just have to…."

"…. Battle a dragon."

A whimpering cry, and then the flap was being tossed aside as Hermione nearly tackled him to the ground with a fierce hug around the neck.

There was suddenly a sharp FLASH!, plus a bit of smoke, startling the embracing friends into breaking apart, turning sharply with wide, caught eyes to see….

"You're in love!" Rita Skeeter, an investigative journalist tasked with covering the Tournament marveled, eyes gleaming under her teardrop-shaped glasses as she salivated at a potential scoop. Neville had met her once before, at a joint photo session with the other Champions, and immediately hadn't liked the woman, especially when she'd singled him out for an interview.

"You are not supposed to be 'ere!" Krum suddenly stepped forward menacingly enough that Skeeter shrank away, backing down.

Feeling awkward, Hermione crushed Neville in a hug one more time before dashing fretfully from the tent. She'd barely left before Dumbledore was calling the Champions to gather around him.

Barty Crouch was holding a velvet bag, from which the Champions were to draw a model of a dragon, corresponding with the real-live version to which they would be assigned. Neville was last to make his selection, which meant he got the remainder and also the dragon that happened to be the most dangerous: the Hungarian Horntail.

It was horrendous on the nerves to be the last one to participate. By the time Dumbledore was announcing his name, Neville felt ready to hurl. His feet may have felt like lead, but they nonetheless carried him out of the tent and into the center ring.

He saw the egg in a nest across the way. As tempted as he was to start his way towards it on foot, Neville waited, his gaze scanning and sweeping everywhere.

The Hungarian Horntail finally leapt into his line of vision, belching fire and screeching. Heart in his mouth, Neville nonetheless started a sprint towards the egg, all the while keeping an eye on the dragon as it bounded towards the egg from his left, the beast's chain slackening from where it had been previously been fully extended.

If I can make it think I'm making a break for the egg…..

The dragon was nearly three-quarters of the way back to the nest when Neville seized his chance. He had learned from Hermione that the faster you Summon an object, the faster it would fly through the air towards you. His only hope was for the egg to be airborne and on its way to him faster than the dragon could intercept or grab it. Whipping out his wand quick as lightning, Neville blasted out desperately, "Accio golden egg!"

From the speed at which the egg sprang from the nest and began to sail towards him, Neville thought he might have a chance. The dragon roared and tried to shift course but too late: the egg was already spinning towards Neville and actually beat its owner out of range. The chains at the Horntail's neck went back to full extension, keeping the beast from trapping the egg in its jaws.

Neville braced himself and caught the egg as he might catch a Muggle football.

Yes!

Flushed with victory, he turned to charge out of the center ring.

He wasn't watching the dragon behind him, and didn't see the Horntail twisting backwards to whip its tail around until the spikes were plowing into his back, sending him flying.

His skin scraped against sharp stone, and everything went dark.

He awoke, blinking, to find Hermione bent over him with terrified, loving concern in her eyes.

"Neville! Nev, are you all right?"

He nodded dumbly, now spotting the figure standing anxiously off of his one best mate's shoulder. Even as his blurred vision took a bit more to clear, he knew from the shock of red that it was….

Ron appeared utterly shaken. "Neville…. whoever was wanker enough to put your name in that Goblet, I… I reckon they're trying to do you in!"

With that, it was as though the past few weeks had never happened. Neville smiled tiredly; it was more like an exhausted grimace of pain. "I reckon so."

An awkward pause, and by the time Ron moved to speak, Neville was already cutting him off.

"I didn't believe you…."

"Forget it."

"I'm sorry, I…."

"Forget it." Then the two boys smiled at each other, even chuckled a bit.

Hermione burst into tears.

"There's nothing to cry about!" Neville gawped at her.

"You two are so…. stupid!" And with that, she gave them each a fierce hug and fled, tears splashing down her front and now positively howling.

Ron could only stare after her, shaking his head bemusedly. "Barking mad, that woman is."

Neville grunted as he sat up. "With how we've been acting like gits, she needs to let out a good cry. So: ….. how did I do?"

At this, Ron grimaced. "You want me to lie to you?"

"No."

Ron's cringe only tightened. "You got last place."

Neville heaved out a sigh and flopped back into the pillows. "Well…. maybe next Task will be better. I jolly well think it can't get any worse!"