THE YOUNGEST CHAMPION
By Rita Skeeter
You'd think we'd all be done being shocked by Harry Potter, but almost two weeks ago he shocked us again when he was selected as a fourth Triwizard Champion. Since then, this reporter's had a chance to speak properly with young Harry, and thinks that really, we shouldn't have been shocked at all.
No one seems to know for sure just how Harry Potter wound up in the Tournament, but speculation is rife; did he enter himself, or have someone else enter him on his behalf? Or is there something more sinister going on?
Young Harry would have us believe it's the last, claiming to be an unwilling competitor, and witnesses at the Opening Ceremony believe the devastated look on godfather Sirius Black's face confirms it.
Certainly, young Harry may be unwilling, and certainly Black may have been surprised and worried by the announcement of his godson as a Champion, but, though our youngest Champion claimed not to have known his name would be chosen, the Candidity Charms on this reporter's quill suggest otherwise, leading this reporter to believe that this is not some sinister scheme, but rather, a child's desperate act to assert his independence from an overbearing guardian.
Regular readers will be familiar with Harry Potter, best known as the orphan with the tragic past and mysterious powers, but also known for his 'kidnapping' at the hands of his now guardian and resulting time spent in hiding, and almost as well for his involvement in a number of dangerous events, including but not limited to the opening (and closing) of the Chamber of Secrets two years ago, an attack on Hogsmeade by confirmed Death Eater Peter Pettigrew last year, and the attack at the Quidditch World Cup over the summer.
Potter's involvement in these events can be attributed predominantly to Black's incompetence, which has, in the past has either directly resulted in Potter winding up in the line of fire, or at the very least, not being removed from it quickly enough when bad luck or Potter's own penchant for seeking out drama and adventure were to blame initially. This reporter believes Black joining the Hogwarts staff this year is his misguided attempt to rectify his past failings, and that he has been trying to keep Potter under very close watch since term commenced; statements from a number of witnesses at Hogwarts say Potter reports to Black's office almost nightly. But Black's attempts to keep Potter safely under his thumb and watchful eyes has instead driven Potter to rebel by entering the Triwizard Tournament, with his intention to either to punish his overbearing guardian, or to prove to him he is old enough to have some independence.
At fourteen, Potter admitted in his interview that he'll be outclassed by the other Champions who are "much older, and probably much better" than he is, and when asked how he felt about competing in the Tournament, knowing previous Champions have died, only said he "hope[d] not to be one of them". One can only pity Potter for thinking this was the only way to get through to Black. For all his desperation, though, Potter's move was not without some planning; cleverly, Potter claims that You Know Who is responsible for entering him into the Tournament; who, after all, would dare question the boy that has been a victim of You Know Who so many times previously, even if it is implausible? This reporter thinks she might be the only one. He also ensured he was entered under a school other than Hogwarts, where Black will be unable to use his place on the staff to interfere: "There's nothing he can do to get me out of it, or stop me competing," Potter said, his performance impressively grim. "He's not happy, obviously." Potter was less certain about what his parents - the late Lily and James Potter - would think, but said in his interview that...
"Eurgh!" Ron squawked as Harry doused him and his conjured fire with a wall of water; after a week of trying to get a better grip on elemental fire magic, Harry'd… well, not given up, but realised that what he had managed to learn wouldn't be any use against a dragon, and so had started looking at other options; he'd spoken to Dora about the spells she and Moody had used to keep Wormtail's Fiendfyre at bay, figuring that if they could handle that, they could probably handle dragon fire.
Water was no more Harry's strong suit than fire was, but thankfully he could go for power over finesse; if he conjured enough of it in roughly the right place, it didn't matter much that he couldn't move it around or otherwise make it do his bidding.
"Incendio pila," Hermione said from behind him. Harry ducked and rolled to avoid it on its first pass, and when Hermione swept her wand to bring it back around, cast a quick Procellus. The spell caught the fireball in a vortex of air, tearing it apart and then - when Harry twitched his wand - smothering what was left; air, as it had turned out, he did have an affinity for. Whether it would be enough to help him against a dragon, though, was another matter.
It was only years of Quidditch reflexes that saved Harry from what would probably have been a rather nasty concussion; the almost silent whooshing of something moving quickly through the air made him twist and duck, the armchair that would have hit him in the head knocked his shoulder instead and knocked him off balance. Harry managed to salvage his fall with a roll - another Quidditch trick - and then rolled again to avoid a jet of flame.
"An armchair?!" Harry scrambled to his feet, shoulder aching, and then jumped back as a jagged block of stone almost as tall as he was burst from the floor. Others followed - Ron, proving he really did have excellent control over the Room - and Harry found himself standing in a forest of rock, unable to see the others properly. He took cover against one of the stony protrusions, and listened.
A rustle of fabric, breathing, and the crackle of another fireball - Hermione - made him move quietly to the other side of his cover.
"Ron, down!" Hermione called, and the stones sank back into the floor leaving Harry very exposed and caught at the centre of a triangle of his friends; All three of them shouted spells at the same time, and Harry swept his wand up:
"Avea apara!"
The dome sprung up around him, glittering and orange, and Harry grinned as a whip of fire - Ron's spell - and one of the Room's couches - Draco's contribution - hit the dome; Hermione had averted her wand at the last moment, and her conjured fire spurted harmlessly into the air. Ron's flames crawled up the side of the dome like a curious snake, perhaps probing for a weak spot, while the couch hit the dome with a CRUNCH and was deflected away, bouncing once, twice, and then a third time, looking distinctly worse for wear.
Ron's fire faded as he started to laugh, and Hermione and Draco stared at the couch in identical disbelief. Harry cancelled his spell, still grinning.
"You'd better be able to fix that," Hermione said finally.
"Potter ought to fix it, seeing as it was his spell that did it," Draco said.
"Only because you threw a couch at him," Ron chortled.
"And an armchair," Harry said, rolling his shoulder with a wince.
"I'm not particularly good with fire," Draco said. "So I thought you ought to practice dodging big, heavy things. I don't have a tail or a big clawed foot, so I figured the furniture was a good substitute." He was entirely unapologetic, but he did wave his wand at the couch, which popped back into its proper shape as the frame under the cushions and stuffing mended. A few murmured spells later and the armchair and couch were out of their practice pit, and back up by the fireplace. "And I think I was right to get you to practice." He gave Harry's shoulder a pointed look. "You think that hurt, but now imagine being stepped on by a dragon." Ron made a strange sound, something between a groan and a laugh.
"I'd rather not, actually," Harry said, grimacing. He sighed. "But you're right; I'll have to be quicker, somehow, or make sure I've got more time to react." Taking a Dodging Draught right before he went in would probably be illegal - it certainly was in Quidditch - and probably not worth the side effects, but then again, short term twitchiness and hyperactivity were certainly better than being dead… Or, maybe there was a spell he could cast on his shoes. He'd have to ask Padfoot.
"Or you could worry less about dodging and more about shielding," Hermione said. "As long as the spell doesn't do to the dragon what it did to the couch…" She bit her lip.
"Charlie wouldn't have suggested it if it did, I don't think," Ron said. "But there's an easy way to find out… Harry?" Ron gestured at his wand, and Harry recast the spell.
Ron strode up to the dome, pressed a hand against it, patted it, leaned his shoulder against it, let himself fall against it, and then backed up a few steps.
A moment later, Hermione shrieked as Ron threw himself at it.
"Oof!" Ron bounced off and hit the ground, where - probably sensing his need for them - the Room had suddenly placed a scattering of cushions. Harry cancelled the spell again and stepped forward as Ron sat up, rubbing the places he'd come into contact with the barrier.
"All right?" he asked.
"Reckon I'll pull through," Ron said, and then placed a dramatic hand to his forehead and flopped back onto the ground. "Maybe." He glanced at Hermione. "Only just, though. If I don't, you'll say something nice at my funeral, right?"
"No," she said, crossly, "I'll tell everyone you died pretending to be a dragon so you could test a stupid theory." Draco sniggered.
"I'll say something nice," Harry assured him, and Ron grinned and accepted the hand up Harry had offered.
"Oh, shut up, Harry," Hermione said but she was hiding a smile now that she knew Ron hadn't hurt himself any worse than a bruise or two.
"It's useful to know," Harry said. "What if someone does run into it at the first task?"
"Why on earth would anyone-"
"If Voldemort is planning to use the dragons as a distraction and try something, there could be people anywhere," Harry said. "At least now I don't have to worry about accidentally breaking them."
"You'd have to be moving pretty quick," Ron said. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't look like that, I'm a bit of an expert in this now, you know." He lifted his eyebrows, and Harry thought it made him resemble the twins far more than he usually did.
"Running into a spell once doesn't make you an-"
"I thought you said the Dark Lord wasn't going to go through with that," Draco said, over the top of Ron and Hermione's bickering.
"I said him telling me about it was deliberate," Harry said. After the look he'd got into the Dark Lord's mind the day his Walpurgis uniform arrived, he knew it had been. What he didn't know, was if Voldemort knew Harry knew it had been deliberate. He thought Voldemort probably did, since he'd never missed an opportunity to mess with Harry's head.
"Yes," Draco said, "so he probably won't go ahead with it, because you know to be on your guard for it."
"Probably not," Harry agreed.
"But maybe that's the point," Draco mused. "Have you watching out for dragon-related trouble, when he'll actually go about it some other way." Moony had said the same thing, though Harry's best guess as to Voldemort's motives was that it had been to give Harry a clue about the first task. Perhaps he was making sure Harry didn't have the nerve to be eaten by a dragon before he could die at Voldemort's hand.
Although, surely if Harry were badly injured or burnt, it would make things that much easier for Voldemort… Then again, when had Voldemort ever done things the easy way?
"... or maybe there's no dragon at all," Draco said, and then shook himself. "What am I saying, dragon-tamer-Weasley and McKinnon have both confirmed it. Of course there's a dragon. Four dragons."
"One for each Champion," Harry said grimly.
"That's right… maybe he told you because he wants you to win," Draco said. Harry nodded; if it wasn't simply because Voldemort didn't want Harry to die at an inconvenient moment, then that was the other possibility. Harry would be in his uniform, after all. "In which case we're only doing what he wants."
"We can't do any less," Hermione said, rejoining the conversation. "It'd be almost suicidal to go up against a dragon unprepared."
"If anyone could do it…" Draco gave Harry a significant look.
"It's not worth the risk," Ron said. "But we could even the playing field a bit. Harry's prepared, why not make sure the rest are too?"
There was silence, and then nodding from Draco, and a thoughtful look from Hermione.
"Brilliant," Harry said. "Moony can tell Fleur, if he hasn't already. I can tell Cedric. He might think it's odd, but he's not stupid, so I don't think he'll just ignore me outright… I dunno how to talk to Krum, though."
"If Karkaroff's in on it, he probably already knows," Draco said.
"Unless we can be sure he knows, we have to assume he doesn't," Ron said. "You can't just talk to him, Harry?"
"Maybe?" Harry said, trying to imagine what he would say to get Krum to believe he was telling the truth, and not trying to sabotage Durmstrang.
"How about an owl?" Ron asked.
"Same problem," Harry said. "Unless I did it anonymously, that might-"
"Severus might know a way," Draco said, and Harry frowned; after the end of last year and his 'help' with the Sectumsempra curse, he was reluctant to let Snape help with anything. "Even if we can't get it to Krum directly, if we got it to Karkaroff, it's sure to feed down to him."
"Harry can't go up to Karkaroff," Ron said, looking at Draco as if he was mad.
"Which is why I suggested Severus might be able to-"
"I'll do it," Hermione said.
"Go to Karkaroff?" Harry asked doubtfully.
"No, I think we should avoid any contact with Karkaroff," Hermione said. "But I'm happy to try to get a message to Krum," she said, and both Ron and Draco's heads swung to look at her, Draco curious, Ron goggling. "He's always in the library," she said, going pink under the scrutiny. "And I wouldn't actually give it to him, but I could hide a note one of his books, or slip it into his bag…"
"What's Krum doing in the library?" Ron asked.
"Reading, I would imagine," Hermione said rather coolly.
"Blimey," Ron said. "Are you sure it's Krum, and not some other-"
"Yes," Hermione said. "Because his entourage are always there, giggling and following him around. It's quite annoying, actually."
"Wicked," Ron said. "Reckon I can help then? I can distract him, while you drop the note? It won't be obvious; I bet he has fans come up to him all the time-"
"Fans, yes, but you stand out a bit," Draco said. "You're tall, you're always with Potter - which Krum ought to know if he's been scoping out the other Champions - and you've got distinctive hair-"
"So does Hermione," Ron said.
"She's always in the library though," Draco said. "I can't speak for Krum, but I'd certainly be suspicious if I received a mysterious note the same day one of the other Champions' best friends approached me for the first time… Wouldn't you?"
"Yeah, I s'pose," Ron said, looking a bit put out.
"Would you? I don't reckon I'd know Fleur or Krum's friends from the other visiting students," Harry admitted.
"You're visually impaired," Draco said dismissively. "And an idiot. And oblivious. Which is why you have me." Ron snorted. "So, in the off chance that Krum's not equally useless, I think it ought to be Granger on her own. And then Lupin gets Delacour, and Potter gets Diggory, and everyone's covered."
"Potter," Cedric said, his smile confused but polite when Harry cut him off at the doors after dinner.
"Cedric," Harry said. "Got a minute?"
"Er… sure," Cedric said, and waved his friends away with a promise to meet them in the kitchens for dessert. "You didn't hear that," he said.
"Definitely not," Harry agreed, with a sly look at Cedric's prefect badge. Cedric snorted. "I… er… I wanted to talk to you about the first task. It's… er… soon."
"It is," Cedric agreed, in the same conversational tone. Then, his scent changed, became more concerned. "You feeling all right about it? Prepared?" Concerned for Harry, Harry realised.
"I hope so," Harry muttered. "You?"
"Hard to know what to prepare for," Cedric said, shrugging. "So I've just been doing a bit of everything."
"I might be able to help with that," Harry said. Cedric gave Harry a look that made him think he was humouring him. "It's dragons. The first task." Cedric blinked.
"Dragons?" Harry nodded. Cedric surveyed him with slightly narrowed eyes, scent suspicious. After a few moments, it became a perplexed sort of trusting. "You're sure?"
"Positive," Harry said.
"All right." Cedric let out a low, gusty breath. "So what are you telling me for? I'm your competition, remember?"
"And I don't care about winning, remember?" Harry asked in the same tone. A shadow passed over Cedric's face.
"Still on about that, huh?" Harry wasn't sure what his face looked like, but it prompted Cedric to add: "I know you didn't put your name in. That reporter's whole article hinges on you resenting Black, and anyone that's seen the two of you together knows that's rubbish…" That seemed to be the common opinion at Hogwarts, but Harry was still unexpectedly relieved to hear that, and grateful too; Padfoot had been receiving a lot of letters from people outside Hogwarts who wanted to give him a piece of their mind and criticise how he'd raised Harry. "I just- whoever entered you… if you have to compete, you might as well win, right?"
"I just want to make it through this alive," Harry said.
"Alive, and with the Triwizard Cup," Cedric said, trying to use a teasing tone to hide the fact that he was being quite serious; Harry could smell it. "I've played against you before, so I know what you're like…"
"This isn't Quidditch," Harry said, and then paused as something occurred to him. Cedric didn't seem to notice:
"Even so, you're not the losing sort, Potter." Cedric's smile was wry.
"Neither are you," Harry said, exasperated. "You entered because you wanted to win, so take this seriously, go work out how to get past a dragon, and beat me." Cedric stared at him. "And be careful. Voldemort-" Cedric twitched at the name. "-put me in this Tournament, and until we can work out why, you and the other Champions are probably in as much danger as I am."
"What in Merlin's name is this?" Sirius hissed at breakfast, shoving his copy of the Prophet in front of Remus so aggressively it nearly spilled his tea. Remus lowered his fork, glanced at the article, and then resumed eating. Sirius grabbed his arm. "What did you do?"
"I wrote a letter," Remus said, "letting her know in no uncertain terms what I thought about her last article." He cut a slice of his toast, loaded it proportionally with egg and bacon, and skewered it neatly with his fork.
"Moony…"
"Don't Moony me, Padfoot," he said. The photograph of Remus that accompanied the article - a recent one of him in neat teacher's robes, and looking about as un-monsterish as was possible - gave Sirius an unimpressed look, and nodded his agreement. "What she wrote about you and Harry, and what she insinuated about Lily and James after the Weighing of the Wands was atrocious." Remus cut another slice of toast. "Besides…" He nodded at the paper, eyes skimming the writing. "Calling me a werewolf, unstable, a monster, and saying I'm unfit to be around children… it's not anything new, and if that's the best she can put together, I'll admit to being a little disappointed."
"You should have kept out of it," Sirius sighed.
"When have I ever willingly kept out of anything where you or Harry have been involved?" Remus asked, lowering his cutlery in exasperation. He folded his arms and held Sirius' gaze until Sirius looked away.
"Point," Sirius muttered. "But it's not just you that goes down with us now… If she doesn't get the reaction she wants from you, she might go after Dora, or-"
"Dora can handle herself," Remus said. "And she'd probably be delighted if Rita tried anything; she's got far too much time on her hands at the moment, and as much as she loves being a mother, I think she'd welcome a bit of excitement."
There was a shrill sound from the Gryffindor table, following by a flash of orange and then a lazy swirl of smoke; that no one at the Gryffindor table reacted other than to cast a few vaguely curious looks in Fleur Delacour's direction spoke volumes about how desensitised they'd become after living with Fred and George. Fleur shot to her feet - and then the staring began, especially from the boys - with a smouldering copy of the Prophet in her hand, and came marching up to the staff table, her face like a pretty thunderstorm.
Sirius, who'd had no intention of letting the matter drop, did; he grinned as Remus sighed, finished his breakfast to the ambient sounds of Fleur saying in French what Sirius had been saying just before, and then pushed back his chair, bidding them both a good morning.
Harry was waiting in the Entrance Hall, looking a bit dazed.
"You all right?" Sirius asked, concerned.
"Yeah," Harry said, and smelled like he meant it. "Yeah, I just- You know how I told you about the furniture, and needing to work out how to dodge faster…? I was spoke to Cedric last night, and I think I've figured it out."
"Yeah?" Sirius asked, interested, as they started upstairs. "Did he have a suggestion?"
"No, it was something I said while I was with him." Harry glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing distance, then said, "I'm going to fly."
"That's mental," Sirius said, and Harry's shoulders slumped. "But so's all of this, so maybe it's the right kind of mental." Harry brightened, and Sirius reached out to ruffle his hair. "Have you thought about how you're going to get your broom? They're not likely to let you walk in with it."
"I was hoping maybe you could throw it to me from the sidelines," Harry said; he was grinning, but Sirius could tell from his scent that he wasn't entirely joking. "Or maybe I could call Kreacher and he could bring it…?"
"Or you could Summon it," Sirius suggested. "You've just done that in Charms, haven't you?"
"Yeah, but I was rubbish at it," Harry said, pulling a face.
"Better work on that, then," Sirius said, clapping him on the shoulder. Harry sighed. "You'll have time. I've conveniently just made the decision to move the lesson I had planned to next week, so today fourth years'll be having a session on how to use the environment around you in a duel, with particular focus on summoning things into your opponent, or into the path of a spell." He considered Harry, then considered Harry on a broom against a dragon. "And cushioning charms," he said decisively, sure he could feel his hair turning grey. "I don't know how, yet, but I'm going to find some way to work that in."
There was a thud somewhere nearby - books falling off the shelves, perhaps - and Viktor glanced up briefly, then back to his book.
Quiet footsteps sounded behind him, and he looked up again, resigned, but it wasn't someone coming to bother him. It was the library girl, her arms laden with books and wand in her fist. She noticed Viktor and nodded, continuing past.
"Hello," he said, pleased, turning in his chair; he'd enjoyed meeting her enough to hope their paths might cross again, but in the weeks since meeting her the first time, he'd only seen glimpses of her around the castle.
"Hello." She slowed and offered him a polite smile, visibly reluctant. He found himself disappointed by that.
"I have stolen your table again," he said, but wasn't really sorry about it; he was very rarely disturbed when he sat at it.
"Apparently," she said, with a more genuine smile.
"You can sit, if you'd like." He leaned forward to push the chair out for her. Her cheeks went a little pink, but she shook her head.
"Thank you, but I'm only here to put these back," she said, hefting her pile. Viktor nodded.
"You have been busy, yes?"
"I… yes, I suppose?" She was still smiling, but there was a shrewdness in those clever eyes now, and he wondered why. "Why do you say that?"
"I have not seen you here."
"Oh." She blinked in surprise, then went pink again. "I- no, I suppose I haven't been here much." She gave him a curious look. "You… um... obviously have been, though?"
"Your library is…" Viktor struggled for a moment to think of the word in English. "Impressive." He nodded at the pile in front of him, and then around at the shelves.
"Rowena Ravenclaw started the Hogwarts library out of her own personal collection," the girl said.
"Ours is good at Durmstrang too, but only for some things."
"I've read that Durmstrang's quite… specialised." She placed a rather delicate emphasis on the last word, and her eyes had gone sharply curious again.
"We are focused on duelling magics and transfiguration, you mean." She shrugged and nodded, the books in her arms moving with her. He was a little impressed she hadn't put them down yet; they must be heavy. "Hogwarts has no focus, I think." He saw her bristle, then draw herself up as if in preparation to tell him just what she thought of that, but he waved a hand. "It's not a bad thing. It means you know a little bit of everything." She deflated.
"Helga Hufflepuff did that on purpose when they set the curriculum," she said, nodding slowly. "She wanted everyone to have a chance to be good at something, and a chance to be bad at something, and figured any real specialisation could come after school."
"So what are you bad at?" Viktor asked. Again, that probing look from her. Then:
"Divination," she said, and seemed oddly proud of that. "And back in first year, flying." She gave him a wry look, as if remembering who she was talking to.
"I am not so good with Herbology," Viktor offered.
She nodded, and they lapsed into silence that was equally companionable and awkward. After several long seconds, the girl hefted her pile again:
"Well," she said, "it was um… nice to see you again."
"You as well," Viktor said. "Next time you are here, maybe it will be for longer?"
"Oh, um- yes." She was blushing again. "Yes, maybe. Good night." She smiled, almost shyly and then disappeared into the shelves.
"Good night," he called after her, as loudly as he dared; the librarian was a piece of work. Then, he realised he'd forgotten to ask for her name again, and stood on impulse, intending to go and find out. The sudden motion bumped the table, and his inkwell sloshed across the table. He saved his notes and the library books, and then stilled:
Underneath everything was a slip of parchment bearing five words: Dragons are the first task.
He stared at it, shocked and uncomprehending, and then his mind began to work… Dragons. Dragons. What did he know about them? How would he beat them? Would he be better to use offensive magic, or defensive magic against one?
And how had the note got there, under all of his things?
Dragons would need more consideration, but that last was easier to solve; he picked the parchment up and abandoned the rest of his things, and moved quickly through the library, checking every aisle for the girl. He found her putting her final two books away, and she glanced at him when he stopped, wearing that same polite smile as she had earlier.
He closed most of the distance between them in two long strides, then thrust the note in her direction. She looked at it, then at him, eyes widening.
"What's that?" She was not a particularly convincing actress.
"You are too clever to be good at pretending to be stupid," he said. She pursed her lips. "What is this?"
"It looks like a note," she said, arching an eyebrow in a way that - though Viktor didn't know her well at all - made him think she was trying to channel someone else.
"Why did you give it to me?" he pressed. "I know it was you. Your table is a good one. No one bothers me there, so you are the only one I have seen tonight." She said nothing, but her expression was chagrined. "Why?" He brandished the note again. She slid her last book into its place on the shelf and made to move past him. Viktor blocked her.
"Excuse me," she said, and when he didn't move, stepped around to his other side and tried to pass that way. Viktor caught her wrist instinctively, and, though he'd not done it roughly or held her overly tightly, her response was instant: she yanked her arm away from him, and the other whipped out her wand. Her eyes flicked behind her, once, to the wall at the end of the aisle, and then back to him.
He'd frightened her, he realised, and felt a sting of shame; she'd gone very pale and her eyes were wide, and the arm he'd touched was tight against her chest. For all that, though, her expression was fierce, and her wand was steady.
"I see the Gryffindor now." Her eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry," he said, genuinely, and put his hands up to show he meant her no harm. "That was rude of me." Slowly, he shuffled to the side, unblocking the aisle. She didn't put her wand away, but she lowered it. Viktor let his hands fall to his sides. She took one cautious step forward, then several quick ones, until she was the one standing between him and the rest of the library. "I just want to know why." He twitched the hand holding the note and her eyes went to it. "It… unsettles me, this... help. You had a book on dragons last time-" Unless she'd been playing the long game, and setting this up even then… But he didn't think so... Her eyebrows shot up. "-so this is right, I think. But I don't know why."
"All the other Champions know too," she said with a sigh. "This way, it's even."
"So Potter knows you've told me?" She frowned at him for a long moment, then sighed again.
"Does that really look like it would be my handwriting?" she asked. He looked down at the scrawled words, then at her. It didn't look like what he imagined hers would; she looked like she'd have either small, neat writing, or writing that was not legible to anyone but her. This was neither.
"Potter's?" The grim, slightly nervous look on her face was answer enough. "It is very fair of him." He considered the note again. "And this is a good thing, for him, I think. If I am fighting a dragon, I will be too busy to fight him."
"I think Harry'd rather fight you than a dragon," she said.
"But this way he doesn't have to fight me and a dragon," Viktor said, and shrugged. "It is a good thing."
