"I know he's your godfather, mate," Ron said, as he and Malfoy looked up at the ingredients cupboard they had to restock, "but sometimes, he's a real git." Malfoy shrugged and pulled the nearest jar off its shelf, and then started looking through the boxes and crates and wrapped parcels behind them for more of whatever it contained.
"Because he gave us detention?" Malfoy asked.
"Yes," Ron said. "The first task is tomorrow. We should be up in the Room with Harry, not restocking-" He grabbed a box off the shelf and scowled at it. "-cactus prickles." he rattled it at Malfoy to make his point.
"Potter's got Granger and Black, and he'll have us in an hour or so," Malfoy said. Ron glanced around the cupboard and thought an hour was very, very optimistic of him. "Besides, I needed to talk to you."
"So- What?" Ron turned to Malfoy, still holding the box of cactus prickles.
"That letter I got yesterday, from my father…" Malfoy paused until Ron nodded to show that yes, he did remember the letter arriving. "It asked me to meet with him through the Floo at dawn this morning."
"Did you?" Ron asked.
"Obviously," Malfoy said, with a roll of his eyes.
"Reckon that's the first time the Gryffindor Floo's ever been connected to Malfoy Manor?"
"Focus, Weasley," Malfoy said, and then his mouth twitched. "But yes, probably." Ron smirked, refilled the cactus prickles, then replaced them on the shelf.
"So what'd he want?"
"To know what Potter intends for the first task," Malfoy said, his mouth a grim line.
"He- What?" Ron nearly dropped a jar of dried frog toes.
"I assume he wishes to pass the information onto the Dark Lord. Maybe the Dark Lord requested the information, maybe it's just a test for me. It's hard to tell." Malfoy shifted a crate and then sat on it, turning a large root over in his hands.
"What'd you tell him?" Ron asked warily.
"Nothing," Malfoy said. "We were interrupted by She-Weasley coming downstairs. But he's expecting an answer, obviously, and I can't not give him one."
"Can you tell him you don't know?"
"Of course," Malfoy said, arching an eyebrow. "It just makes me look like a fairly ineffective informant, which is… well, less than ideal." He didn't sound scathing, but rather matter of fact, and a little troubled.
"Right," Ron said. "Yeah, okay." He blew out a breath and hopped up to sit on the edge of a large barrel, thinking. "Maybe it's best to just tell him everything, then. That he knows it's dragons, that he's been practicing spells that'll be useful against dragon fire, and that he's going to use his broom for at least some of it."
"That puts Potter too much at risk-"
"Harry's always at risk," Ron said, heavily. "At least here, the timing's right; Harry knows there's a chance V-Voldemort or Wormtail or someone's going to try something, so he'll be on his guard, and so will Sirius and Remus, and Marlene, and us, too. V-" Ron suppressed a shudder. "-oldemort knows Harry knows about the dragons, so that's hardly new information anyway. He'd have to be thick to not expect Harry'll be trying to find a way around the fire. Really the only useful bit of information is that Harry'll be on a broom-"
"Exactly, and if we give it to Father, then the Dark Lord might- might- make use of it. Somehow."
"Jinxing a broom's not something that needs preparation," Ron said. Malfoy pursed his lips. "That could happen regardless of whether they knew about it in advance." His stomach did an odd flop at the thought of it. "They want to shoot spells at him, or try to catch him to take him away somewhere… well, you've seen Harry on a broom. Best of luck to them." Ron gave Malfoy a small, slightly forced smile and Malfoy grunted, conceding that, eyes still on the root in his hands. Ron reached out with his foot to nudge Malfoy's knee and he glanced up. "If this is a test about how much you know, or how useful you are, you've got to pass it. And pass it by, like, Hermione's standards, rather than mine."
"Full marks or nothing?" Malfoy asked with a snort.
"Well, yeah," Ron said. "If you can't prove you can be useful now, they might cut you out of things later. And that's the whole point, isn't it?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "To be involved so when something important happens later on, we know about it and can do something? Or so when they ask you for information that really matters, you can lie and get away with it?"
"Yes," Malfoy said, mouth turning down. "I just- this is exactly the sort of thing I expected when I decided I'd do this… double-agent business. But I didn't expect to feel so much like a... well, like a traitor." He didn't look at Ron. "I know I'm doing it for the right reasons, but I'm still betraying Potter, still giving the Dark Lord what he wants… And if no one else knows, then it's my word against everyone else's, and-"
"And mine," Ron said, nudging his knee again. "I'm your confidant, remember, and excuse maker and the singer of your praises, and-"
"And the one that put the dragon on the mantel in the Room," Malfoy said.
"That too," Ron agreed; he'd done so a few days earlier. "Thought it was a good place for it." Malfoy grunted, but Ron thought he was grateful.
"Our word against everyone else's then," Malfoy said, after a moment. He looked at Ron, helpless. "You don't feel guilty, sitting here, conspiring with the Dark Lord's spy...?"
"I'm conspiring with a friend," Ron said. "A friend that's a spy because he's got Harry's best interests at heart, even if he's got to pretend otherwise to certain people for a while." He shrugged. "So no, I don't." Malfoy sighed. "Mate," Ron said. "If you can't do this, or don't want to, you know you don't have to. I'm talking it up because I thought you wanted reassurance, but if you don't… you started this, you can finish it just as easily. No one else is going to know except me, and I won't mind." He gave Malfoy a lopsided smile. "Means I can probably worry less, and that I won't get dragged off to detention just because you need to talk."
The second was just a guess made to lighten the mood, but Malfoy smirked and Ron knew it had been an accurate guess.
"Hmm, yes," Malfoy said. "That's a good point; if I backed out, it'd make your life entirely too easy." Ron raised his middle finger good naturedly. Malfoy smirked again, then it faded, and quietly, he said, "You were right, though; reassurance is more what I was after."
"Great," Ron said. "I'll keep reassuring, then, shall I?"
"By all means," Malfoy drawled, but his smile was grateful. Ron made himself more comfortable on his barrel.
"And while I do that, you can restock, since it's apparently your fault we're here in the first place."
Malfoy's smile vanished:
"Now wait just a moment, Weasley-!"
They met in the Entrance Hall before the First Task, him with Dora and Stella in tow (Marlene was already down there with the other Aurors involved in the Tournament, and Remus would be arriving with Beauxbatons), and Harry with something of an entourage; he had Ron, Hermione, Draco, Ginny, the twins, Colin Creevey, and Luna Lovegood with him.
Harry had forgone the Walpurgis robes - clearly as big a rebellion as he dared - but wore the black, quilted duelling vest made of dragon hide over a black jumper and black trousers. The vest fit him well - which made Sirius irrationally angry, even if he supposed it was a better alternative than it fitting poorly and getting in the way - and worse, it suited Harry in an awful sort of way, making him look sharp, a little older than he actually was, and a little dangerous. He looked like a Champion.
And, if the angrily resigned look that appeared on his face when he caught Sirius looking was any indication, Harry knew it.
"You don't look bad," Dora offered. "Just a bit… dark." She held Stella out to Harry, and Harry took her, looking down at her little black sleepsuit and the Walpurgis crest emblazoned on it.
"She shouldn't wear that," Harry said, looking panicked. Stella squeaked and grabbed at his glasses. "She-"
"Supporting you's more important than whatever else that stands for," Dora said firmly. "Besides, I dare anyone to take it seriously when I'm waving her out in front of me like a banner." Sirius snorted and Harry let out a startled laugh. Dora winked.
"What she said," Sirius agreed. "About supporting you, not about using my goddaughter as a decoration." He nudged Dora, who grinned. "I-uh- I've got something to wave too." Sirius pulled a little Walpurgis flag out of his back pocket and gave it a halfhearted waggle, grimacing. Harry looked almost as uncomfortable as Sirius felt.
"I almost don't want to say anything now that they've made such a nice attempt to be supportive," Fred said, to no one in particular.
"I do," George replied. "Touching as this all is, our solution's much better."
"Yes, I think so too," Luna said airily. "Besides, they're all clearly miserable with their solution, even if they seem determined to go through with it."
Fred shouldered past Ron to stand beside Harry and pluck the flag from Sirius' hand. He tossed it over his shoulder to George, who cheerfully snapped it in half. Sirius couldn't even pretend to be upset, even if he did feel a little guilty on Harry's behalf. Harry only grinned though, not seeming to mind, though he did twist Stella to the side and out of Fred's reach, as if worried he might start tossing her around next.
Fred didn't. Fred pulled a canvas bag off his shoulder and offered it to Sirius. It rattled oddly.
"Go on, Mr Padfoot," George said.
Warily, Sirius reached into the bag and pulled out something hard, round, and just a little smaller than his palm. It was a badge, he realised, after being relieved that nothing in there had bitten, burned, pinched, or otherwise attacked him. They were black with the silver Walpurgis crest, and silver writing that said Walpurgis stinks.
Sirius looked up, not sure whether to be amused or horrified by their daring, but Fred nodded at the badge and Sirius glanced down in time to see it change:
The snake inched its head further out of the skull's mouth, increasing the crest's resemblance to the Dark Mark even more, but then a golden lightning bolt struck the snake which retracted and choked the skull. Another flash of lightning, and the whole badge turned gold and instead bore a photo of a rather fierce-looking Harry and the words Support Harry. Another flash of lightning - originating from photo-Harry's scar - and the badge reset itself.
Sirius stared at it a moment longer, and then almost stabbed himself in his haste to pin it to his robes.
"You like them then?" Fred asked, looking pleased.
"They're brilliant," Sirius said, as Dora held her hand out for one, reclaimed her daughter from Harry, and then started to wrestle it into place on Stella's outfit to cover the original crest.
"You-" Harry was watching the badge on Sirius' chest with a sort of horrified delight, and no small amount of embarrassment. "Fred, why-"
"Because not all of us were willing to wear something of Tom's, even if it was to support you," Ginny said. Her tone was kind, but unapologetic.
"Technically we'll still be wearing the crest," Hermione said, studying her badge with interest.
"Yeah, but it gets struck by lightning, and we say it stinks, so we thought that was a reasonable compromise." George said passed Dora her own badge.
"I wanted it to say something else," Ginny grumbled.
"I talked her out of it," Luna said. Uncharacteristically, she was frowning, but Sirius didn't think she was actually upset. "Otherwise they wouldn't have been appropriate to wear in a school." Ron chortled.
"Dean Thomas did the artwork and lettering," Colin burst; frankly, Sirius was astounded he'd managed to stay quiet for so long. "And the photo's mine. I took it just after your name came out of the Goblet, Harry." Harry half-smiled, half-grimaced.
"And the spells were us," Fred said, gesturing to himself and George, "but you can thank our gracious sponsor for the idea of badges, the badges themselves-"
"-and the word 'stinks'," George added, giving Draco a nudge. Draco's face was pink, but he looked rather pleased with himself. They all did, actually, with the exception of Hermione, who looked impressed, and Ron, who was still laughing:
"Stinks was you?" Ron asked. Draco's flush deepened. "You?"
"It's a perfectly appropriate word," Draco said, scowling.
"And on that note, we're going to make tracks," Fred said. "Got some merchandise to distribute - we'll see if we can't find Monsieur Moony." He rattled his bag and winked at Harry.
"Knock 'em dead, old bean," George said, clapping Harry on the arm.
"Or not - Charlie'll be after you if you do." Fred ruffled Harry's hair.
Draco was still pink:
"... regardless, I don't see you contributing to Potter's cause."
"I did," Ron said.
"The only thing I can see on you is one of my badges," Draco drawled.
"That's 'cause mine wasn't for me." He nodded at Harry. "Show him."
Harry smiled slightly and unbuckled the side of his vest, then pulled it over his head to reveal his jumper. It was black - which Sirius had known, because the sleeves were visible - but knitted onto the front of it in warm brown wool, was a stag and doe. Sirius' throat suddenly felt very thick.
"Mum did the work, obviously," Ron was saying, ears pink from the stares he was getting. "I wanted it to be Chudley Cannons orange or purple or something, but Hermione found out about it and said it should be black so it matched the rest and wasn't too obvious, just in case they tried to stop him from wearing it."
"And who-?" Sirius gestured at the stag and doe.
"Me," Harry said quietly. He'd handled it well, but Sirius knew Skeeter's mention of James and Lily in her article had upset him; he'd been asking a lot of quiet, nervous questions about Lily and James again of late, and when prompted, Harry'd he was having nightmares about them. More prompting had revealed they weren't about Halloween, as Sirius might have expected, but were instead of locket-Lily-and-James, saying Harry was living on borrowed time and that it was only a matter of time before his luck ran out or he came up against a better opponent. The locket had been trying to upset Sirius when it said those things, but it had clearly made an impression on Harry and it wasn't difficult to see why his subconscious was connecting those words to the Tournament. "I thought it'd be… now they're here too."
"Fitting," Sirius said, and it was, in two ways. For one, they were under something resembling the Dark Mark, which was horribly, uncomfortably appropriate. More than that, though they were between Harry and Voldemort and Sirius kind of liked that; if Lily and James were here, that was exactly where they'd want to be. Sirius doubted either of those things had occurred to Harry on a conscious level; if they had, he'd have asked Molly for something else. No, Sirius suspected Harry was using the stag and doe as a source of comfort, and also a hidden bit of rebellion, and felt a strong surge of affection toward Molly for enabling it.
Harry shrugged back into his vest and refastened it.
"We should probably get going," Hermione said, biting her lip. "I doubt they'll be pleased if you're late, Harry…"
An enormous arena had been constructed at the edge of the forest, at least three Quidditch pitches long and at least two wide, and almost ten minutes away from the castle where it would not have been easily noticed during construction. Large stands overlooked the whole thing, and each school seemed to have a section; there were the mottled colours of Hogwarts, the red and black of Durmstrang, and the powder blue and silvers of Beauxbatons. Harry had expected Hogwarts to be the larger section, but it was not; the other schools must have arranged for their younger students to have time off to watch.
There was also a fourth section, distinguishable from the mixed colours of Hogwarts only by the number of hats (which students were notoriously bad at wearing), beards, and grey and white hair. They'd be witches and wizards from the Ministry, no doubt, and parents of students, and otherwise curious members of the public.
"We'll get seats," Dora said, shifting Stella to one arm so she could hug Harry tightly. "You've got this."
Ginny hugged him next, then Draco. Colin looked like he might go for a hug too, but thankfully thought better of it with the camera around his neck and settled for an enthusiastic handshake. Luna moved very close to Harry and traced something onto his cheek with her fingers, then patted his other cheek and stepped back.
"Good luck," Draco said, looking very pale and smelling oddly guilty. Ron squeezed him on the shoulder and then moved forward to grab Harry into a hug. He pulled back, and then, with a grin, patted Harry's cheek just as Luna had, startling a laugh out of him. Ron smelled pleased, and Harry thought he'd done it to lighten the mood.
"See you afterward," he said lightly, the same way he did when Draco and Harry went off to Arithmancy without him, though his worried scent detracted from the overall effect.
"Sure," Harry said. Padfoot put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Harry took a deep breath and turned to Hermione, bracing for the inevitable hug-tackle, but it didn't come; she was standing still at his side, the expression on her face one he associated with exams. The others started to move off toward the stands, but she stayed behind.
"Chinese Fireballs, Harry, go," she said.
"One of the bigger breeds," Harry said dutifully. Padfoot squeezed his shoulder again. "Agile on the ground, but less so in the air because they're long and there's more of them to move. Scales."
"And their fire?"
"They can't sustain jets of flame, but they can breathe individual fireballs from their mouths and noses."
"Up to thirty one a minute," Hermione said, nodding. "Swedish Shortsnout?"
"Smallest of the four, dangerously quick in the air and on the ground, but shy, except this one's been at the sanctuary so maybe not. Dragonhide, and really resistant to spells. Really, really hot fire."
"Good, and the Common Welsh-"
"Harry, there you are!" Bagman came jogging up to them. Hermione looked stricken, but Bagman was beaming so he either hadn't heard her or didn't care. "We're waiting for you in the tent!"
Hermione nearly knocked Harry over with the force of her hug, but Padfoot steadied him.
"Remember you control fire better if you give it a bit of freedom," she breathed in his ear, and then she released him and hurried after the others.
Harry fell into step beside Bagman, Padfoot a step behind him, scent grim.
"Great uniform," Bagman said, looking him up and down. "If they're not taking you seriously already, they will be now!" Harry grunted. Bagman shifted a little closer as they walked, with a glance over his shoulder at Padfoot. "Hopefully it's not all for show, eh; you're ready for this, right, Harry?" He sounded oddly nervous.
"Ready as I can be," Harry said, turning slightly to catch Padfoot's eye; Padfoot frowned at the back of Bagman's head.
"Good to hear!" They reached the tent, and Bagman pulled the flap up so Harry could step inside. "Champions only, I'm afraid," he said to Padfoot, who ignored him completely and stepped in after Harry. The tent was oddly quiet; none of the noises from outside seemed able to filter in.
The others were waiting, all wearing trousers and duelling vests in the colours of their respective schools. Cedric's was yellow and black, but with a large Hogwarts crest embroidered onto the back, Fleur wore powdery blue with navy trousers, and Krum in wore blood red with black trousers. None of their vests looked to be dragonhide like Harry's.
Fleur had Madame Maxime's hands on her shoulders and was talking to her Headmistress in rapid French, and, while her eyes flicked to Harry when he entered, she didn't otherwise acknowledge him. Krum was standing beside Karkaroff, his eyes closed, looking like he was trying to remember something or perhaps drown the rest of them out, and Cedric was standing beside Dumbledore, laughing at something the Headmaster had said. He turned to Harry still grinning, sobered a little, and nodded. Harry nodded back.
Dumbledore's eyes slid from over Harry's shoulder - where Padfoot was - to Harry, and he gave him a small, concerned smile. Harry grimaced in return.
"All right, Champions-" Sprottle swept into the tent, clipboard and a small purple bag in hand, but paused at the sight of Padfoot. "Mr Black, I'm afraid you'll need to leave. The briefing tent is for Champions, judges, and school representatives only, else we'll be overrun with family members and friends."
"I'm representing Walpurgis Academy," Padfoot said staunchly.
"Are you?" Sprottle asked, eyes flicking down to the Walpurgis stinks badge on Padfoot's robes.
"All of the other Champions have someone-"
"And so does Mr Potter; I've asked William to act as a representative for Walpurgis. He will stand beside Mr Potter in these meetings, and sit on the panel of Tournament judges." Pemberley - also holding a clipboard - bobbed his head nervously at Harry.
Padfoot was about to argue, Harry could smell it. He stepped gently on Padfoot's foot and shook his head; though he wanted Padfoot there, it was more for support than anything else. He would not be beside Harry in the arena, could not do anything to help him at this late stage. If Voldemort tried anything, it certainly wouldn't be here, where there were almost a dozen witnesses - one of them Dumbledore - so it was outside that Harry needed to worry about; from the stands, Padfoot would be able to see things Harry couldn't, which was surely for the better. A look passed between them; Padfoot upset, Harry grim. Then Padfoot squeezed Harry's shoulder one last time before releasing him.
"Be careful," he said.
"I'll try," Harry murmured back, a little doubtfully.
"There's a tent at the other end of the arena," Sprottle said, her expression sympathetic. "You'll be able to see him there, once his part of the task is complete." Padfoot's expression suggested that he would have been there regardless of whether Sprottle seemed keen to let him, but he nodded and left without comment. Pemberley glanced at the tent flap, then at Harry, then back to the tent flap, and then sidled over to Harry, rather awkwardly.
"Right," Bagman said, when the tent flap had stopped swinging. "First things first… When you hear the whistle, you'll step directly from this tent into a corridor that will let you into the arena, but you'll wait until I've called your name to actually enter. Once that's happened, your time begins." Bagman beamed and rocked back on his heels. "You'll have to find and collect a golden egg, which you've then got to take out again, through a door at the far end of the arena. Your time stops when you pass through that doorway. Sounds easy, right…? But I've not yet mentioned that the egg's going to be guarded…" Harry fought to keep his expression impassive; Draco had been right, or rather, Charlie had been. "Madam Sprottle, if you'd be so kind…" She passed him the purple bag. "Ready to find out what you'll be up against?" He untied it and offered it to Fleur with an excited, "Ladies first."
She slipped her hand inside, and withdrew something rather furtively, examining it for herself first - though Madame Maxime likely had a good view over Fleur's shoulder - before lowering her hands. A tiny model of a green dragon sat in her palms, rustling its wings - the Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck.
Fleur was pale but resolute as she stepped back to allow Krum his turn at the bag.
Krum was scowling as he drew out the Chinese Fireball by its tail (three), and Cedric serious as he looked down at the Shortsnout (one), so it was with some dread but very little surprise that Harry placed his hand into the bag and withdrew the Hungarian Horntail (four). It snapped half-heartedly at his thumb, then curled up in his palm.
"Dragons," Bagman said with a bemused smile; he seemed a little underwhelmed by the reactions.
"Yes," Dumbledore said, watching Cedric's tiny dragon with interest. His eyes flicked to Harry's Horntail and his smile flickered, only to return a moment later. "Dragons. Truly a surprise to us all, I'm sure." His beard twitched and Harry found himself struggling to keep a straight face, despite the seriousness of the situation.
Bagman didn't quite seem to know what to think of that.
"Yes," he said, glancing around. "Well, I've got to go and get ready… judges, you can have a few moments with your Champions, and then you can join me outside and we'll get underway. And no cheating!" A waggle of his finger, and a flash of white teeth and he was gone.
"That's a Hungarian Horntail," Pemberley said quietly.
"Yeah, I- er… I do Care of Magical Creatures," Harry said distractedly; Horntails: large, agile, scales. Very territorial, aggressive. Fire not as hot as a Shortsnout's but they can sustain a jet of flame for much longer, and it's not just the front end that's dangerous; watch out for the tail. He eyed his miniature dragon, and its mace-like tail.
"Right. So..." Pemberley looked at the other Champions and judges as if hoping for guidance. "Have you got a plan?"
"Not die," Harry said; Pemberley snorted.
"Good plan." He gave Harry a hesitant pat on the shoulder. Karkaroff and Madame Maxime were leaving and he gestured after them. "That looks like my cue," he said, seeming equal parts apologetic and relieved. "Good luck, Harry!" He hurried out after them.
Dumbledore was the last to leave, but only by a few seconds.
"Good luck to you all," he said. Harry felt both surprised and disappointed when Dumbledore's eyes didn't linger on him in particular, and then he felt silly for thinking that; he wasn't the Hogwarts Champion, after all, and it wouldn't be fair if Dumbledore paid special attention to Harry over Cedric now. What was there for him to say, anyway, that hadn't been said in the last few weeks?
Krum, Fleur, and Cedric all nodded then went back to their preparation - pacing, sitting, and mumbling, respectively. Dumbledore remained in the tent's doorway a moment longer, adjusting his beard and allowing Harry to catch a glimpse beneath it, where momentarily exposed was what he could have sworn was a Walpurgis stinks badge.
Harry might have talked himself out of it, convinced himself he was seeing things - because surely Dumbledore wouldn't - but Dumbledore winked and shot Harry a fleeting smile before departing.
The whistle blew for Cedric only a minute later, piercing the tense silence in the briefing tent. Cedric caught Harry's eye, grinned nervously, then disappeared through the far flap Bagman had pointed to.
Fleur leapt to her feet and began to pace, twirling her wand over and over in her fingers. Harry ran through the spells he knew in his head, had a fleeting moment of panic where he thought he might have forgotten to open the dormitory window, and felt almost sick and dizzy with nerves and worry and stress.
After what seemed like an eternity - and could very well have been, since Harry had no way of telling the time - the whistle sounded. Fleur jumped like she'd been stung, swung her long silvery braid over one shoulder, and marched out.
She seemed to take an eternity as well - though less of an eternity than Cedric - but it was still far too soon that the whistle blew again.
Krum rolled his shoulders and tilted his head from side to side, then bounced on the spot a few times; it reminded Harry oddly of Wood's pre-match warm up ritual, and Harry supposed that's all this was to Krum; another game, another crowd.
"Good luck," he called over his shoulder as he left. Harry was so surprised that by the time he registered the words and realised he ought to say something back, Krum was long gone.
And then it was just Harry and four miniature dragons; the others had left theirs behind, and Harry tipped his onto the same table, figuring it would only be a distraction in the arena.
He waited, nervous at first and then downright anxious when he realised that if Voldemort wanted to try something, now would be a better time than any; Harry'd heard him talk about using the dragons as a distraction and assumed something would happen while he was in the arena, but now… everyone was well and truly distracted by Krum and the Fireball, and Harry was all alone in a tent that obviously had some sort of sound-proofing charm on it. No one would know, not until Harry failed to walk out when he was called, and even then they'd probably just think he'd run off because of nerves or out of spite. Even Padfoot would probably wonder, at least for a little while.
He palmed his wand and stood where he could keep an eye on both tent flaps.
When the whistle shrilled, Harry jumped about a foot in the air, and half-ran to the tent's exit, figuring the arena had to be better than the oppressively silent and very isolated briefing tent.
The moment he stepped into the corridor, sound rushed back, almost deafeningly loudly; there was cheering and loud chatter, clapping and whistling, and, disturbingly, the pained shrieking of what was surely a dragon... Krum must have got his egg or there wouldn't be so much cheering, but it sounded like he'd hurt his dragon to do it.
Harry reached the door and waited, waited, waited. His heart was pounding already, but as always seemed to be the way with him, he could feel himself calming, focusing; the wait was almost over, and then he'd be able to do something.
For better or for worse, it would all be over soon. He gripped his wand.
"Now," Bagman said, "let's see how our fourth and final Champion goes… Harry Potter!"
Harry took a deep breath and let himself into the arena as the crowd erupted above him.
