Author's Note: I do not own Harry Potter
Harry almost inhaled the sweet, powerful, tea, at Hagrid's Hut. Fang's head was laid across his lap and was dozing cutely. His little snores creating a sense of warm familiarity as Harry basked in the nice heat saturating the compact room.
Professor's Flitwick and Vector had decided to join him in this endeavour; his friends would have deemed it a fruitful trip as well, however only he had the foresight to perform his homework as early as possible and could therefore enjoy himself.
"I would be wary of her," Flitwick said in his squeaky voice, "I remember her as a young, fresh meat, reporter. Akin to a shark smelling blood she was. Though she has never gone after me, I know of more than a few Professors who have felt her ink-filled sting."
Harry hummed a long note. "It really doesn't bother me though. I never read the papers when they wrote about my Quidditch stuff, so I don't think I'll be reading these anyway. I don't see the point in reading the Daily Prophet in the first place. From what I've heard, most of it is full of lies in the first place. And if I wanted to make myself sad, I would do it intentionally, not read that junk."
"Hah, jus' like Dumbledore, tha' was," Hagrid said, a hint of a slow slur in his speech. Harry was sure he was not the only one who had noticed him pour brandy surreptitiously into his giant mug. "He nevah cared much for tha' Prophe' either. Always said 'twas more of a novel than a paper."
"Still, a lot of the magicals in the country read it and, therefore, listen to its pandering. Please, Mr Potter, Harry, be more careful. Rita Skeeter is well known for poisoned words laced with honey. It attracts the wrong crowd."
"Thank you, Professor, but you know I have never really cared what others think about me."
Harry, though his outlook on life had improved drastically since his first steps so long ago, was still lacking in general self-worth, no matter how much people tried to help him. 'One day, I will wake up and this will still be a dream. The cupboard door will open, and the Dursleys will be there to greet me.' This mantra would echo inside his mind in the quiet moments when no one could spot his dark thoughts. Of course, this darkness would evaporate on its own in time, when he would remember Dora, Sirius, Katie, and the rest. Yet there was never any impulse to pander to the masses; he meant what he said about not caring what others thought of him. There was never any need for it to affect him, so why should he care. Harry did want to get along with everyone but was not stupid or naïve enough to believe that the whole world could be on his side.
He felt Vector's hand squeeze his own tightly before making its way back to her mug. A warm smile graced her face as she nodded at him. He had definitely seen her swipe some of Hagrid's 'addition', and it appeared to be a bit stronger than she had initially thought it to be.
"Harry," Hagrid boomed, before coughing twice into his hand and calming his voice. "Your, er, lovely cloak… It woul' be, well, goo' tah mehbe, well, giv'it a go. Later like. Mehbe around meh hut. After dinner. Coul' be… goo' fer learnin' abou' tha tournament? Mehbe see if it 'elps with the firs' task."
Flitwick stared blankly at the large man. "Hagrid, are you insinuating that you know what the first task is and wish to assist Mr Potter with learning what it is and, therefore, give him a greater edge to survive the Tournament above the other competitors?"
"Wha's in-insi-insinwate… tha' word mean?"
"Suggesting, Hagrid," spoke a giggle Vector. "It means that he's asking if you are implying something, almost hinting that you know something."
"Ah, then no."
"Good," replied Flitwick.
"I'm no' suggestin', I'm tellin' him."
Harry had taken the advice to heart, with Vector and Flitwick both playing dumb to what they had heard Hagrid say. "Harry, myself and Septima are both in agreement that you will have a Professor's supervision, and therefore will not be in any trouble. However, you are not to tell anyone the reason why you are down there tonight. I am not blind, and I have had some of my House for their possession of those vile badges. But you do not need more of the school against you."
Harry remembered the first year, Malfoy's assault, his trapping in the Forbidden Corridor, and finally agreed with his Professor's words.
He was not expecting to spot a neatly dressed Hagrid escorting the Beauxbatons Headmistress on what looked to be a romantic stroll through the Forbidden Forest.
"Hagrid," he whispered to himself, "What is this?"
He stayed back enough to avoid making any undue noise – he may be invisible to any form of sight, but his footsteps can leave enough evidence that he may be noticed by crumpled leaves and snapped sticks. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a faint ripple of shimmering light reflecting off of what appeared to be some sort of torchlight in the near distance.
A terrible roar split the quiet of the night. Another followed. Then another. Then another. Streams of fire erupted out of the roaring things in the direction of where they were heading, and an icy knife stabbed Harry's chest as his knuckles whitened with how hard he was clenching his fist.
"Hey, Hagrid, thought I'd see you down here. But isn't she a competitor's teacher? Hagrid you know-"
Harry recognised Charlie Weasley as he gave Hagrid a dressing down, but his focus was primarily on the four, large, serpentine creatures caged before him. "Dragons." The word was mouthed. No air could escape him as he looked at the hateful eyes, folded wings, razor claws, gaping maws, boiling flames, and horror-roars. His mind's eye went to two years prior as the teeth snapped and screams bounced off ancient stone. As scales merged with the present and past to form one vicious creature that he had thought buried into his dreams.
"It isn't a weakness to feel the pain, Harry. I don't know how you feel, or what you have been through. How could I possibly know that? But Sirius, he has suffered too, a different kind, yes, but his trauma has become a part of him now. You are so young… well, I suppose I am young too… but I can see the pain inside you so clearly. So no, I don't know how you feel. But it isn't bravery to bury the terror so deep you cannot feel it anymore, and it isn't weakness to want help. I'm here for you, no matter what. What kind of big sister would abandon her little brother when he needs her the most?"
"Dora, I could really use you right now."
The world became a white void. He took steps backward slowly. One foot moving passed the other in careful, precise, actions. Then he broke, and turned and fled back to the castle, not caring in the slightest if his hurried stomps awoke the castle.
He made it back to the Fat Lady's Portrait in near record time, breathed out the password to her concerned look, and stumbled through the opened portal and into the Gryffindor Common Room. The embers of the fire were dying slowly, the windows were cracked open slightly letting in a slight chill that induced greater shaking in the last Potter, and the room was devoid of life and comfort.
He could not breathe. The air appeared unable to bypass his constricting throat as it felt though his heart was to beat out of his chest and his blood froze inside of his veins. His vision became cloudy; black lines formed shadows in the peripherals of his vision, snaking their way to the centre of his eyes. His whole body was shaking in fear as the memories returned only to be compounded by the terror of the 'what if?' for his future.
"Dragons," he croaked. The sound of it made it all the more real as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and the present made way to blackness.
He would wake upon the carpeted floor intermittently throughout the night, each time a rush of thoughts would overtake him. Evidence of drool muddied his face, and he could feel the dry tightness upon his cheeks evidencing his torrents of tears that had come unknown. His muscles and joints ached each time he awoke, whilst his tongue felt like sandpaper and a great thirst felt like it would drive him mad.
The final time he came to consciousness, it was upon the sofa that the Circle had commandeered, his head being gently caressed by a soft hand. Blue eyes bored downwards but all he could hear were the low sniffles coming from the one who was so caringly caressing him.
"Oh, Harry," she whimpered, "What have you got yourself in to?"
"Katie." His voice was hoarse and felt overused. "What time is it?"
"Still early." Her voice was choked and watery, and she fell still and silent for some time. "Is it bad?"
Harry's eyes closed as he revelled in the calming motions that were being undertaken by the precious being that was being ever so tender with him. "Dragons, Katie. They're making me face dragons."
Her fingers clenched for a split second in his thick hair, pulling painfully on the black locks. Harry could feel her body tighten and drag him closer to her body as she deftly pulled him up so that he was half on her lap. Her arms encircled his torso as her cheek laid gently upon his scalp. He did not realise that he was still shaking until the soft murmurs and sweet touches had forced his body to relax away from the aches that were starting to build up. Katie's sweet tones lit the air as a wand was waved before him and a cool feeling surrounded his body, numbing the pain that had developed into near nothingness.
He could feel his eyes begin to droop, his body to feel heavy, and, with a more content sigh, he fell asleep in Katie's arms.
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Harry was refreshed and ready for the day. He had spoken, at length, with those he was closest to, about the upcoming trial, and his nerves had settled to a manageable level, while he was in frequent talks with Madam Pomfrey and Professor Moody about his traumatic experiences (at Katie and Fay's demands to do so).
He and Katie had gone for a rare morning walk around the grounds and were therefore not the earliest to the Great Hall for breakfast. He was not expecting the hushed whispers, pointed looks, and slight giggles directed at him when he entered the room.
"Harrikins, would you chance a peruse at the morning's paper?"
He looked at Fred with a quizzical eye. "Why? What's gone on?"
"Skeeter. Think she might have it out for you," the twin responded with a grin that did not quite reach his eyes. "Although, with what she's written, she may as well have it out for all four of you."
Alicia rolled her eyes in disgust at the printed words. "She basically says that Cedric is from backwater, middling, family of nobodies, which is not fair at all. Sure, the Diggory family isn't the most 'noble' of lines, but they do well for themselves. She refers to him as 'An unknown child from a House of nothing of import.' It's pissed more than a few of the Puffs off."
"Rightly so, I think. Cedric is a nice guy, that just isn't fair," Angelina responded to her friend. "Though it gets worse with the French girl. 'A Veela temptress who may have designs to ensnare the boys of Hogwarts with her unnatural beauty and foreign magic.'"
Harry could feel a pit develop in his stomach. "She's on the warpath then, it seems. Guys, I don't think I've ever really read the Prophet before. I mean, I read a few things, but from what Sirius has told me, 'Only morons and the already brainwashed accept the words of… vile people.'"
"That isn't what he said at all, was it, Harrikins?" George asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, causing Fay to snort with laughter.
"Um, it may have been a bit more… offensive, than that. What does she say about me and Viktor?"
Neville shifts uncomfortably as Katie places a hand on Harry's shoulder, though he showed his Gryffindor bravery as he told Harry the newspaper's slander. "She goes right off at Krum, calling him all manner of things. But you? Little boy, glory hound, and even a mention of being a traitor for you temporarily calling off Quidditch to focus on the tournament. There are some quotes in here too, mostly about you, from some of the other students, and not just from Hogwarts. Some of what they say- "
"Nev, I get it, but don't worry," Harry felt calm. He had experience true hell, so some venomous words from a reporter trying to sell copies of a newspaper just brushed off him like water off a duck's back. "If I can survive a Dementor, I can survive Rita Skeeter and the public."
For days after, however, he received a mixture of mail: negative and positive. Dumbledore had angrily warded off most of the violent attacks against him hidden in the messages, while a fuming Vector organised a ward around his person to block most unfriendly hate mail. Though he felt touched by the acts, he felt a warm sense in his body as he read the heartfelt and supportive messages he would get mixed in with the bad.
However, this was nothing compared to the support he would receive from his friends. Each Gryffindor within the Circle had decided to assist him with preparing for the upcoming task in their own ways. They would be used as sounding boards and guinea pigs for Harry to practice with, and each day and each step would boost his confidence further and further.
He had even deigned to ask his professors for 'extra tutelage', to which those that he asked were more than happy to oblige with. So, he would take advantage of one of the allowances that the Tournament had given him, and would frequently skip lessons to practice the primary, secondary, and tertiary plans that had been developed to work around a real-life, fire breathing, dragon, straight out of the story books.
Harry would willingly exhaust himself from morning to evening, sometimes having to forcibly drag himself to bed at night so as to be able to rest up for the following day's work. Many a time, as November sped up to the day of the task, would Harry have voices of concern passed in his direction – only Tracey and Katie were in full agreement that he was doing the right thing, believing that the sacrifice he was making in terms of his short-term health overrode the oncoming storm of fire and scales and claws.
Sirius and Dora had both got further in touch with him to add their own perspectives on the situation, and their words of advice were incredibly beneficial and of much needed assistance, and slowly – ever so slowly – Harry was becoming more and more confident of his potential to succeed on the day of the first task. However, there was something lurking in the back of his mind that struggled to come to the forefront, though he could not fully understand what it was until a week before the task was due to start.
It was guilt. He had been kept awake through his own tossing and turning, even through complete fatigue of his whole self, and came to a conclusion that he did not like. He knew of the task, and yet the others did not. Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor, two of whom were supposed to be his friends, were in the dark as to the horrors that were to be inflicted upon them. He knew, in his heart of hearts, that he had to inform the trio of the dangers of the first task, not only to create a level playing field, but to assuage the terrible shredding sensation in his gut that was only there due to a stroke of luck derived from knowing a dragon maniac in Hagrid.
"I'm letting the others know of the task."
His friends had been of sound agreement, smiling fondly at him for his sportsmanship and selflessness. Except Tracey, who had some small protests about getting one over the competition.
"You are lucky you are adorable like this, Potter, but I swear you only exist to cause me grief," she had said with fond exasperation, which had created a reciprocating smile from the boy.
He found Cedric first, clustered amongst simpering fans of the lower years, and scowling glares of his year mates. Harry did not feel immediately welcome.
"What do you want, Potter?" hissed Susan Bones. He turned at that, his head snapping to her face, eyes wide with shock. She had always been kind to him, so what was this turn of events occurring here?
Her words were followed by others in agreement to her question. Harry's hackles raised, as did the hair on the back of his neck. The sense of irony of he walking into a lion's den was not lost on him. He could see a few hands lowering into robes, the hint of wand handles showing themselves to the sunlight, all of which caused Harry to tense, freeze, and prepare himself to flee.
Cedric's strong hand clamped down onto his shoulder, shoving him strongly along whilst maintaining contact, and dragged him away from the group. "Please don't take their words to heart, Harry. They mean well, but…"
"It's okay, Ced."
"It isn't though," he murmured. "It is as if a, to use the muggle phrase, switch has been flipped. Harry, there is a reason why Hufflepuff is referred to as the 'duffer' House. The balance of average skill and power within Hufflepuff is lower than any of the others. There is no constant at all; some, such as myself and a few others, are at the extreme higher end of the spectrum, while others are… let's say they aren't as helpful and just leave it at that." He let out a long sigh, exhaling his frustrations. "We are still a unified House, and in Hufflepuff, House loyalty exceeds anything else."
"But you're at the top, so it doesn't matter of your loyalties."
Cedric nodded with an impressed smile. "Not just that, but I've always been more independent than the others. An anomaly, so to speak." He barked a laugh eerily similar to Sirius', "But what does that matter now? Were in the shit now, Harry. The first task is next week, and I can feel the temptation to quit it outright and damn the consequences!"
"Well, it's dragons, Ced. Real, live, fire breathing dragons."
There was silence in the empty hall. "You're shitting me. You have to be." Harry's face must have said it all. "No, you aren't, are you? Dragons? Okay. Okay. I can work with this. Do you have a plan to face one?"
"I have some working ideas. Most of Gryffindor don't know what's coming, but those who do have are helping now. Plus, I went to see Hagrid. I thought that asking the veritable expert of dragons would be the best choice."
"Hah, sure you aren't meant to be in Ravenclaw, Harry? But that is a good idea. Do you think that Hagrid would help me out too?"
"Of course, he would, he's Hagrid."
Cedric laughed, seeming lighter than Harry had seen for a while. "Harry, this was the most Hufflepuff thing I think that I have ever witnessed. Seriously, forget what the others say or do. You and I are friends, and I will repay you for this. I think you may have just saved my life."
It was not even an hour later that Viktor Krum walked over to Harry, gently took his elbow, and lead him to a disused classroom to speak with him.
"Harry, I have words to say to you about the task." Harry remained silent, looking at his friend as he struggled to initiate the conversation. "It is, hard, to say. I haff been told to not say any thing to you about it. But you are my friend, and I will tell you. It is dragons. Dragons are first task."
Harry let a small smile slip out. "Thank you, Viktor, but I already know. Hagrid, our Creatures Professor, showed me them already. I was actually trying to find you to let you know about them."
"That is good." He definitely looked relieved by the knowledge. "I did not want you to not be okay after the task, so I wanted to let you know. I am happy now. You have a plan?"
"It's coming together, slowly, at least."
"Ah, good. Do not tell me though. I will not tell you mine as well. Let us let it be a surprise, yes? Is still a challenge for all of us. Karkaroff will not be happy I tell this to you, so keep this secret?"
"I won't tell anyone you told me anything. If anyone does ask; I'll just say that we all already know."
"The others know as well?"
"I've told Cedric Diggory, the Hogwarts Champion already. I found him first and I know where he likes to go in the school, so it was easier to talk to him about it before anybody else. We have spoken about it now, and I think it only fair if I tell Fleur about it too, but I have a strange feeling she already knows about it."
"I believe you, but I do not think is good idea. She does not like you, but I do not know why."
Harry's lips straightened to a thin line as his eyebrows furrowed. "It won't be the first time someone doesn't like me. I don't think she is a bad person, just too defensive."
"Because she is a Veela?" He let out a low hum, "It is strange that you are not affected by Veela allure. I know my, I am sorry but what is the word… mind strength?"
"Willpower."
"Ah, yes, will-power. My will-power is strong and has always been. But you do not get affected by it very well. It is impressive."
"Maybe I am unique? Maybe it has something to do with being a Parseltongue?"
"Hmm, maybe. Or maybe…" Krum trailed off, his eyes flickering from scar to scar. "Survive the impossible to live Killing Spell. Survive the impossible to live through bite. Survive the kiss of a Dementor. Harry, I do not think is will-power. You are strong. Very strong."
Harry was silent, still unable, even after a few years of it, to handle compliments. "Maybe. Maybe you are right."
"Strong in heart too, to tell all of us, even if one does not like you."
Harry bid his farewells to Viktor and meandered around the castle and grounds in an attempt to locate the final Triwizard Champion. It was dark when he found her, and long past dinner. He was about to call it a night, lest Filch or Snape catch wind of him being late out of bed, when he spotted her out of a window leaning forward on the long-bridge below him.
It did not take long for him to make his way down to the lower floors of the castle and make his way over to her with tentative steps.
"What iz eet you want, leetle boy?" she asked him with derision on her tongue.
Harry just wanted this to be done with, as he was tired and did not want to incur the wrath of an annoyed and angry Veela who did not seem to enjoy his company very much. "I, er, just wanted to tell you that the first task is dragons. I found out about it, sort of on accident, and I thought it best to let everyone else know just so it isn't only me that knows what is coming."
She turned to look at him, her head tilted slightly to lock her ice-blue eyes with his shining green. Her gaze roamed his face for a few, long, seconds, until she let out a noise comparable to that of a tired sigh-laugh. "So, you come to tell me about this, non? You already know zo, do you not? Madame Maxime haz already told me of ze task, as Karkaroff haz told Veektor.
"You are a strange boy, 'Arry Potter. Very strange. I 'ave not been ze best to you, and you still tell me what iz to 'appen."
Harry looked at the girl, properly, for the first time. She really was beautiful on the outside, and Harry could now see a sense of sadness on the inside. Though he could see clearly how her body was almost designed to entice any man, he still did not feel the pull that all others seemed to have within them. It was as if the Fleur he had seen before was untrue. A mirage. "It is only fair. I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't let everybody know what was coming, and then something was to happen to them."
Fleur snorted derisively, flicking her long, loose hair, over to one shoulder. Her hands ran though it rhythmically, an act that Harry easily recognised as an act of self-comfort. "Zo it iz nozing to do with moi, and eenstead for you? You cannot leev wiz yourself eef you do not tell us. I understand now. Goodnight, 'Arry Potter. Bon nuit."
With that, she turned and walked away, Harry watching after her. He stood rooted there for what seemed like an age, before sighing and walking away back to the castle interior. His walk back among the flickering portraits, shining torches, cold walls, and eerie silence, was almost deafening. A pressure enveloped him that he could not understand and did not alleviate until his return to the Common Room.
He struggled to sleep that night as his mind whirred a mile a minute. He could feel static in his brain, his eyes damp, and skin shivering even in the gentle heat of the dorm heater. He had informed the others of what was to come, but still felt a sense of hollow emptiness inside.
In the pale light of the moon shining down on the cloudless sky, he traced the ugly, dark, scar upon his arm, memories rushing in and out as if through an electric wire. No matter what he told people, or told himself, the images and screams and blood of that night would never truly leave him. He had compartmentalised it, contained it, and locked it away in the corners of his mind, but it never truly left him alone.
He felt his body spasm as he pulled at the skin, a phantom pain flowing through him as he recalled the sheer agony of the tooth tearing his flesh, and the venom sinking into his body, coursing throughout his bloodstream.
He had survived the impossible, just as Krum had stated. 'But is a Basilisk the same league as a dragon?'
His plan was stupid, reckless, and insane. But it was the best one he could think of – the others had near shrieked when he told them of it and forced him to reconsider it. He had acquiesced to forming backup ideas, but he was positive this would work.
Dragons, like Hippogriffs, were proud, vain creatures. Harry truly believed that if he showed humility before it, recognising it as a superior, and swallow his limited pride, then he could traverse whatever location he was to be placed within, and make his way passed the creature.
'Or could this be it? Is it really worth it from this point?'
His thoughts, his subconscious being, betrayed him. His brief conversation with the Beauxbatons Champion had thrown him off-kilter slightly. It was enough to break into his shielded exterior and into his soft underbelly. With one fell sentence, she had cut deep within him. Her accusation, that he was essentially being selfish and not pure of intent, was not something he truly contemplated, and with the revelation, he felt disgusted with himself.
'I really am selfish, am I not? Did I do all that with the intention to help them, or help myself?' He felt bitterness creep up his throat and could taste the bile as it lingered there. 'Why do people do anything good and pure? I only wanted others to feel good, to live, to be free. In doing so, it reduced the pain and shame I feel, so of course, my existence improved because of it. There is no such thing as selflessness, only the desire to improve one's own self. Heh, I wallow in my own pity with hearing but the truth. I could perform acts of true kindness, save a thousand people, be committed to the grand scheme of saving all I could, and then what? Be labelled a hero of light? A paragon on virtue, perhaps? I could devote my life away to selfless deeds, but it would all be for nothing in the end. If the actions make me feel content, happy, calm, then I have not helped others for their sake, but instead to slake a thirst, an addiction, to the feeling. Is that not selflessness? And if I do it and receive pain instead… the human psyche is fragile and strange. The fact that I would do it again and again, would that be a form of penitence? Is that not selfishness too? I am a selfish creature. To desire the affection and care of Dora, Sirius, Katie, Nev, Fay, and the others… I am truly a selfish creature. Is it selfish that if I perish upon the Tournament grounds, that I hope they grieve for me? Or more selfish that I want to survive, so that these feelings that pool in my heart can blossom more and more? Am I selfish for wanting to hope? Am I selfish for wanting to live?'
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The flash of the came out of nowhere, blinding Harry momentarily – Cedric cursed violently beside him, coming up with terms and sentences that, if the situation were not as it was, would have been rather humorous.
"Ms Skeeter, I would sorely advise you to leave this tent. You have no authority to be here, and you would rue the consequences if you did not take my advice."
The seedy reporter and her bumbling photographer, who was more interested in Fleur's form, nodded in agreement, though Rita's was more angry than stupefied. "Of course, Barty," she spoke with venomous sweetness. "Would not wish to upset the great Lord Crouch now, would I?"
He waited for the interlopers to leave, Ludo Bagman beside him encased in yellow. "Now, Champions, I have, within this bag, something relevant for this, your first event."
Bagman was all smiles. "Your task today, is to make your way into the set up arena, into a dragon's lair, and retrieve the Golden Egg."
"The Egg is to be a clue for the next task, and it is of utmost importance that you gain it, or you will find the second trail to be near impossible to perform."
"Hah, do not let this be daunting to put you off! You must retrieve the Golden Egg by any means necessary. Warders have created a structure to remove any potential threat from either yourselves or the creatures to the crowd, and Dragon Handlers are on standby, as are members of the Ministry, and of course, your teachers."
"Do not for one second believe that this is safe." Crouch spoke in a monotone, but a hint of an edge corrupted his speech. It was a hard voice that demanded respect, though a hint of doubt slid from the corners of his lips, as though he second guessed his words. His eyes slid from Champion to Champion, and there was worry in his gaze. A concern for them. "Champions have died in this Tournament, and though we have deemed it safer than previous attempts, this does not mean that the risk is decreased. We have magical contracts of our own to fulfil, and the Goblet would not light without it. These beasts will be in there with you. They are not docile, or old, or any less aggressive. These are nesting mothers who, if you do not defend yourselves, and prove you have the mettle to be true Champions, will kill you. It will not be pleasant, and it will not be painless."
"Barty's words may seem harsh, but you need to understand the real risks you have signed up for. Honour! Glory! That is what awaits you!"
"And death, pain, and suffering. Now, gather round, you will all place your hands in the bag and retrieve the miniature dragon. This will tell you which one you shall be facing, and in which order."
Fleur strode up to the two officials, placed her hand within the canvas bag, and drew out a golden, shining, dragon, with the number 3 emblazoned upon its back.
Bagman bobbed his head in excitement. "A-hah! The Xiaolong! A true firebreather from the Far East. Known for its power of its flames, yet not it's heat. I fear your flameproof heritage will be of no help here, Miss Delacour."
The girl visibly deflated as Cedric stepped forward, confidently withdrawing a deep-purple winged dragon, complete with a forest green underbelly, and a bright number 1 upon its back. "I know this one, it's an Eidoldrake of the Caucasus Mountains. Meant to be superior hunters, with senses keener than most of its kind."
Crouch nodded his assent. "A keen eye you have there, Mr Diggory."
"You go next, Harry," Viktor nudged him.
He took a step, reached deep with the bag, and drew out a pitch black mini dragon. Time seemed to still as he stared at the hateful, red eyes narrowed into slits. He felt numb. So much so that he did not hear the words spoken to him, missing Krum be handed the final dragon.
"-a terrifying beast, the Loch Dragon. More at home with the water, but remember, Mr Krum, it is still a dragon at the end of the day."
They left without a word, though Ludo Bagman appeared to be attempting to catch Harry's eye, though to no avail.
The four who remained separated to different corners of the tent. Wishing more for the ability to stew in their own thoughts. The inner tent was magically soundproofed, so that no noise could enter the interior, similar to that of the preparatory location found in Quidditch Stadiums. To Harry, this was more violent that if the cheers and screams of the watchers were audible. He wanted Sirius with him, and Dora. He clutched a piece of parchment he had withdrawn without realising, the words of his elder sister and Godfather displayed upon the page – his eyes scanned the words without truly reading it.
Where they had acquired his dragon from, he did not know. Where they had the gall to make one of them face such a beast, he too did not know. It was said that the Shadowscale was the most intelligent of all dragons; there were rumours that it displayed a frightening level of cognitive thought and behaviour akin to a human and the like. The fact that they grew to enormous sizes also did not help. The only thing that Harry had going for him, was that if it was a truly adult Shadowscale, then there was no possible way they could have kept it hidden. The fact that in order to safeguard settlements in the areas where non-dragons dwell, that they required a severe culling, also helped. But this was of little joy for him at this moment.
All four of them were facing the most dangerous dragons that could be handled by humans, though each danger was of a different kind than the other, it did not detract from the potential death that may occur upon this day.
A bright, fiery, number '1' appeared by the exit flap, and Cedric stood on shaky legs. However, he strode forwards with the courage of a Lion, and to Harry, he appeared alike a Demigod of old. He did not take a look back and strode to his destiny with purpose.
His vanishment from the tent left an even greater pressure between the three remaining Champions. Krum, usually a bastion of confidence, was silently muttering to himself in his native Bulgarian, whilst Fleur was lightly running her hands up her arms. Harry, however, simply stared forwards, scene after scene of possibilities running through his head, with knowledge spoken internally that he had survived a Basilisk, so he could live through this.
Time had almost no meaning or understanding at that moment, and it seemed like mere seconds that a great fiery '2' appeared, drawing Viktor Krum to his challenge.
"Good luck," whispered Harry, finding his voice at last, though Krum made no motion to show that he had heard him.
"'Ow are you not…?" Fleur tried to speak, but Harry could clearly see her shivers, and, for the first time, he could see the older girl as a teenager out of her depths.
"I am." There was a long pause as neither knew what to say. The roiling, daggered pain in his gut was starting to diminish as the fight or flight impulse began to ebb away – the adrenaline was starting to level out as his mentality began to normalise his situation. "But it does not matter. Death is not a new friend, and this is just another challenge to move beyond."
She looked at him, black circles under her eyes; light dustings of make up had tried to erase the visible stress she was obviously feeling behind her confident exterior. "Ees eet true zen? I 'ave 'eard ze story. Ze tale of a giant snake, zo no one seems to know ze 'ole story. Ozzer rumours I 'ave 'eard too, and stories of you een a bad light as well."
"What do you think?"
She continued to look at him, mistrust in her eyes. "Too many 'orror stories. Too many lies."
There were no more words spoken. He knew that his voice would reach her ears, but not be heard by the girl, so did not choose to waste his breath on her. The silence continued until Fleur was beckoned outside, leaving Harry on his own with the shadows and stale air of solitude.
He could hear each individual breath. Each inhale and exhale. Each beat of his heart was a near-conscious effort to initiate. His eyes closed for a minute, then another, and another. Through the blackness of his closed eyes, a red, fiery light clambered through the slits of his eyelids. He opened them wide, a great number '4' resplendent before him.
Harry's mind went blank as he took a step towards the tent flap, his wand finding itself sitting comfortably in his clammy grip. He did not hesitate, and with a steady pace, Harry Potter entered the arena where what could be his greatest challenge yet was awaiting him.
The crowd was loud and violent in their cheers and jeers. There appeared to be banners and streams of words with the sole intent to mock, not applaud. Swirls of green, yellow, variations of blue, and even some red, were involved in this – only Gryffindor remained wholly true to their Champion. He could see through his glasses weaker lens the Circle as they cheered the loudest of them all. His heart clenched as he thought he saw tear tracks down Katie's face, Fay's face clenched tight, and Neville's look of pure worry. He idly remembered that they had all witnessed three previous challenges designed for magicals with a whole lot more power and experience than he and would therefore have genuine reason to fear for his safety.
He drowned them all away from his self, focusing on the grumbling, rumbling, black stones before him. Smoke seemed to vent out of the middle as it writhed in a bundled mass of red-eyed hatred.
Harry saw only its beauty.
He walked directly at it, proudly and confidently. Within the eldritch rage, slitted pupils tracked his every movement, and with every inch he took in its direction he caused the dragon to slowly begin to uncoil.
It was enormous, almost certainly one of the largest living things he had ever seen, barring the Basilisk. Its wings unfurled, stretching themselves outwards to block out the far side of the built-up arena, while its four, scaled legs, extended into vicious looking claws.
All sounds had been dampened as a hush spread throughout the area.
Harry was smiling. He could see it – the pure incandescence of the creature. It was something that was so pure, and he could finally glimpse the infatuation that Hagrid had with the winged beasts. It is said that animals know when a human is friend or foe. That they can sense fear and aggression. People have the innate ability to recognise, though they choose to ignore it in their complacency. Yet this was an apex predator with near-humanlike intelligence. It did not see Harry as prey, nor aggressor, nor afraid. It saw only respect.
Harry's hands rose as the dragon's maw lowered. The large head filled with razor teeth opened slightly as it tilted itself to allow for Harry to gently stroke the scales. A content snort erupted into the air as a pleased rumbling came forth from the belly of the beast.
Time, once again, seemed to have no meaning as he lost track of the minutes he spent idolising the great creature before him. Eventually, he pulled himself out of his stupor, whispered words of affirmed respect to the Shadowscale, turned, picked up the Golden Egg, and left the arena to stunned silence.
"Harry Potter!"
His head turned sharp to his left with such speed that he could hear and feel his neck crack. "Madame Pomfrey?"
The stern Hospital Matron was positioned over a cot, her hands upon her hips as she stared at him with barely disguised relief. "I swear, young man, you will cause me to go grey far before I am meant to. I mean, really? Dragons? What will they think of next? Now, park your rear over here right now! I mean it, Potter."
He could not hold the grin from his face. His plan had worked, and, to a shocked and pleased Pomfrey, he had zero wounds, injuries, cuts, bruises, or any of the like to show for it.
"The judges are deliberating at the moment to reveal your scores, but for now, until they call you, I will not have you leave this tent. Here, boy, chocolate and Butterbeer. The sugar will help restore you mentally and physically. I think you need the comfort after what just happened."
He nodded his head in agreement. The other three Champions were nowhere to be seen, but a screeching noise blasted from the walkway that pointed away from the arena.
"I don't care, you will let me in here this instance, or I am going to hex you so much, your grandfather's grandfather will feel it!"
Muffled voices responded to the frantic speech, and not two seconds later, a red robed man was thrown backwards into the tent, to be followed by a dishevelled looking group including Katie, Neville, Fay, and Septima Vector.
"As a teacher, I should probably reprimand you for that, Miss Bell," Vector said unconvincingly, the tip of her boot nudging the arm of the fallen Auror. "But I'm more curious about how you managed to bypass the intent-cross-medical ward with conjured wind. Ah, research for later, I suppose."
Katie had not heard a word of this as she slammed into Harry's smaller form. The wind was near knocked out of him, with was not improved by his face becoming smothered by her chest. Her muffled cries only small scrapes at his ears as he felt the blood rush to his head as he struggled to find breath.
"Damn it, Katie. He encounters a dragon without injury, only to be nearly knocked out by you instead." Harry blinked away stars as he gulped in deep breaths, listening to Fay's forced humour with pleasure. "How are you doing, Harry? I… I think I'm not going to sleep tonight after watching that, so I don't know how you feel about it all."
"Fay, I think that's a bit of a redundant question to ask," Neville mumbled, though Harry could see the concern mixing with relief as he saw his best friend rove his sight around his body in an attempt to prove Harry was truly in front of him.
"Guys, I'm fine. Really, I am. A bit shaken, but I just… knew, that he wouldn't hurt me. It was so amazing."
Neville snorted simultaneously with Fay. "Hark at this. Amazing, he says." Neville looked at Fay, then Katie, then Harry. "Life really is never boring with you around, Harry. No idea if I've said it before, but I am definitely saying it now."
Septima placed a small hand upon Harry's shoulder, a sweet smile following that had Harry blush for a fraction of a second. "I think they are ready to announce your score, Harry, if you want to step outside to find them out."
He nodded, taking Katie's hand into his own, receiving a fierce tug towards her body as the quintet moved as one to watch the results. Harry decided not to step fully outside, choosing instead to witness the points from afar. Luckily, the judge's box was directly in line with the exit tent, so that they only needed to lift the flap and step outside, allowing them to remain out of view of the hungry hordes, desperate to see Harry Potter.
He felt the pleasant, tight, press of the others around him, and a tiredness began to set in as the adrenaline poured out and relief became acknowledged.
"What about the others?" Harry asked the group.
"Krum did some kind of curse, blasted a whole load of eggs up. Made the dragon really, really, angry. Did some sort of spooky, special curse though. He is smarter than you think, that one. Powerful too. He managed to blow up both the dragons' eyes and got one down its mouth. Fire went everywhere and the dragon sort of ran away."
"Neville isn't exaggerating either," said Fay. "Cedric did something similar, but transfigured a load of the eggs into dogs, foxes, and wolves. As soon as the dragon realised what had happened, Cedric had scarpered with the egg. Got a bit burned though, on his back, as he was running."
"Is he okay?" asked Harry. "And what of Fleur?"
Vector made a sound equating to humour as Katie clamped onto Harry's arm at the sound of the French girl's name. "Mr Diggory is fine. Our esteemed Matron is very good at her job, and in a few hours, he'll be as right as rain. As for Miss Delacour? Fireproof she may be, but the dragon definitely tried. It was simply a pity that her clothing only reduced the effect. Poor girl revealed a bit more to her audience than was required, I believe. Nothing too racy, but I could definitely see more skin than was meant to be shown."
Harry shook his head with a smile. 'At least they all got away okay.'
He directed his head forward, seeing the three Headteachers of the three schools seated atop a high stand. Flanking them were two unknown men that Harry assumed were meant to be impartial judges.
Neville must have caught him looking at them. "Representatives from the Ministries of South Africa and New Zealand. Can't have too many biased judges now, can we?"
The one on the left raised his wand with a blank look upon his face; the wand swirled about and a number '8' appeared in the air above him. This was to be quickly followed by the other unknown who, with a beaming smile, shot a number '10' above his head.
Katie was silent still, her eyes glued to his body, but Fay could still speak. "Wow, he only gave 7's to Fleur and Cedric, and an 8 to Krum. You must have really impressed him."
Karkaroff displayed a sour look as his own wand burst forth a bright '6' to an annoyed looking Neville, while a neutral Maxime displayed a '9'. Dumbledore's genial face was brightened by his '10', before flicking his wand to merge the numbers together to form a bright '43'.
"Okay, not bad, so you're in second place, just behind Krum with 45, but in front of Cedric and Fleur who both have 42." Vector bobbed her head down, fighting back a laugh at the sight of her student almost being absorbed by an extremely clingy Katie Bell.
Harry simply sighed good-naturedly.
He had survived the first round.
Two more to go.
Author's Notes
I think I may have annoyed some people with how I have portrayed Fleur in this story. If one were to see her in canon, then, in truth, with all the changes that have been made so far and how different characters have had their own personalities, thoughts and decisions altered, then I believe that her haughtiness and arrogance would shine through even more than it did then. This does not mean that I dislike her character, as people change and she shows her true colours shine brightly after her initial introductions. So, yes, I read the review, and I thank you for your understanding. Some people change as they mature as well, and some people remain bullies forever because no one has ever corrected them on it – just look at the Death Eaters as an example. When some people look at Malfoy's character and state that he does not deserve his suffering etcetera, i direct you towards Lucius Malfoy. Age did not make him a better person. 'A man chooses, a slave obeys,' to use the quote as to how I perceive it.
You may be wondering about Harry's internal rant. There is a simple answer if it cannot be understood, and that is Harry's depression is shouting at him internally. I would not say it is unrealistic for our subconscious to eat away at us, and depression can strike at any time in different forms. Harry's is a longstanding one that has become such a part of him that it is unrecognisable as depression. However, in this case, it has come to the forefront due to the highly stressful anticipation of what is to come.
And we see a major change here as well. I did not wish to rehash the book's dragons, so I thought to input my own into the mix. I always thought that the use of dragons and how they are portrayed were a bit off, so here is my chance to put my own spin on it. Hope it came out well.
As for pairing question I have received… This is not something that can be considered a necessary plot point as of yet. Harry, in this story, is not after a 'relationship' just yet. He is simply trying to understand his place and accept the introduction of his ever-growing family into his life. And romance can be… complicated. Especially for an emotionally stunted teenager such as Harry. The answers to that will be addressed, just not as of yet – it is all planned and will become a central theme later in the story, but for now I have other things to write about.
Next Chapter: Yule