Disclaimer: I own nothing.

I See Fire

"Contrary to common belief, dragons are not selfish. Their whole being is suffused with the gift of fire—obviously, seeing how they fly with the ease of a fluttering flame. They are untamed and destructive and prideful, yes, but never selfish. In fact, most of the problems Wizards have with dragons are born from the great generosity with which the dragons try to impart the gift of fire upon other beings. Most of whom, to sadly, are not fireproof."

— From the pages of Crouching Sensibly: How To Hide From a Dragon.

My head throbs with pain as I open my eyes, a decision I come to regret instantly. Bleakly, I take a look around and let out a breath of relief at finding my whereabouts. I am in my bed with the curtains drawn closed, hiding me from view and… with an Imperturbable and a Silencing Charm weaved on them? What?

Nonetheless, the call of nature is strong, so I try to get up to go to the bathroom. But then I find there's a weight pressing down on me, almost as if—

My eyes go wide.

There's someone in the bed with me, on top of me. Strawberry-blonde hair splayed over my chest and punctuating the silence with soft snores.

The memories from the last night come back to me with physical force. The party congratulating me for being a Champion. The twins offering me and Katie some drinks with a conspiratorial wink. The taste of Firewhiskey burning on my tongue—

Katie.

Despite some lingering feelings of awkwardness, I smile as the morning light reveals Katie's pale flesh in all its glory. She's curled over me like a cat, her grip on my arm vicelike. I let my eyes roam her body, remembering every detail. My body urges me to get up, but I felt I could wait a bit longer.

Eventually, my bladder couldn't take it any longer. "Hey," I call to her, running my fingers through her hair, rubbing gently at her shoulder. She mewls and groans, shifting her weight to one side, but doesn't awaken. Instead, she presses down on me even more and my voice gets desperate. "Katie. Rise and shine. Katie."

"Wha?" Katie whines. "Harry!"

Katie's eyes go wide for a second. then her expression smooths and heat creeps up her cleavage, reaching her cheeks. A lazy smile appears on her lips and she burrows her head deeper on my chest.

I manage to keep lying here for just a minute more, then I extricate myself from her and get up. Katie pouts and, seeing the unasked question on her expression, I motion over my shoulder towards the bathroom.

"Too much Firewhiskey?" Katie says, raising an eyebrow.

"Thankfully, not enough to forget." I grin at her. "See, I still remember the thing you did with your leg and—"

She lets out a giggle. "Be fast then. It's cold here without you."

Thinking along the same lines, I am fast in doing my necessities. As I look at myself in the mirror, though, I can't help and give a self-congratulatory smile.

"Potter, you're awesome," I exclaim aloud. Even the judge's refusal at sharing anything about the First Task barely holds a candle at the moment. "Handled it like a champion, you—"

I pause and then breathe on my cupped hand. Maybe a Breath-Freshening Charm should be in order.

Now done, I go back to bed and close the curtains behind me. Katie's giving me an appreciative look and it's the first time I can see her in her entirety. I admire her well-shaped, long legs, the contrast between her hair and milky-white skin, and her perky, firm breasts that would—no, did, fit perfectly on my hands.

So. I am feeling lazy after the last night and I've got a beautiful, naked woman in my bed. All I can find myself thinking about is wanting to lay back down with her, which is exactly what I do.

I twirl a strand of her hair, watching it flow like water between my fingers. Then I hear her sigh, pushing onto my body and entwining our legs together.

"So, last night happened."

"Yeah," Katie says. "It did."

I hesitate, rubbing my fingers on her scalp. Her tone isn't familiar and I fear I've overstepped somehow.

Her next comment assuages me from my doubts. "The twins are incorrigible. I blame them for this.

"Better them than me."

She laughs and I can feel her body relax further. The silence is comfortable, and her warm skin is a welcome sensation against mine. Our lie down soon turns into a short nap, and I wake up to Katie tracing small circles on my chest.

There's a smirk on her face and, as I raise my head, the raised blanked is an easy indication of why.

I soldier past the embarrassment, refusing to let my face redden.

This silence, though, becomes awkward. This familiarity, this easy closeness between us is scary and new to me. Doubts begin to flitter through my mind; what if that night had changed our friendship irrevocably? Turned it into something I'm not quite prepared to give myself into?

"Does this-" I pause, the right words difficult to find. Katie raises her head and her blue eyes meet mine. "Nothing changes between us, right? I mean—no regrets?"

Katie props herself up on her elbows. "No. Even if the circumstances weren't ideal, I've enjoyed it."

Her hand traces down my chest and underneath the thin blanket. And I know you did too, her smirk, that damned smirk, all but says. Worse yet, she's absolutely right.

My throat feels dry, but I manage to speak. "I did too, yes."

"I mean, it doesn't have to change anything," Katie says, her voice firm and brokering no doubt. "We're still friends. And if we happen to have some… well, some chemistry together, so be it. There's nothing wrong with having some fun, Harry."

Her words are just right. I let my fingers trail down her cheek and she leans on my touch, her eyes heavy-lidded and a small, teasing grin on her lips.

Oh, to hell with this.

I pull her into a kiss.

Her body feels feverish against mine as I deepen our embrace, my mind clouded by a hunger, a need for more. I reverse our positions and Katie interlaces her legs behind my waist, mewling with pleasure as my lips trail down her neck, her nails tracing lines of fire on my back.

"I really, really hope that your Silencing Charms are good enough," Katie whispers.

I pause for just a moment. "Katie, I'm Harry Potter-"

Her cheeks are flushed and, with each ragged breath she takes, her breasts are further pushed onto my chest. I can barely control myself enough to give a cocksure smile at the sight of her expression, her lips swollen and red and irresistible.

"Of course they are."

"Keeper, Rogue Bludger and Beater?"

"In three," I say, hiding my hand behind my back. "One, two… three!"

Crap. I have chosen poorly.

"I win." Katie leans back on the bed, letting out a theatrical sigh of contentment as she gestures toward the exit of the dorm. "You go and bring the food. And be fast, I'm famished."

"That's unfair," I get on my feet and begin pulling my robe on. "Really unfair. See, I am Hogwarts' Champion, doesn't that mean I should get my own personal House-Elf or something?"

Katie laughs. "Keep thinking like that and your head won't through the door," she says, running her foot up and down my leg. "But hey. After you, the gallant Champion, comes back with the food, I am sure we can arrange for a dessert."

I don't have to think too hard about what this dessert will be, especially seeing how the covers are hiding absolutely nothing of her. I practically shot through the curtains, her renewed laughter cut short as I leave the protection of the Charms and run through the length of the Dormitory.

Muffling a yawn, I go to the common, pausing to do a double-take. There's no vestige from the party yesterday on sight anymore, no empty cups on the carpet and turned chairs, which is even more blatant because it's Sunday and most of the students aren't there.

Well, at least now I know the House-Elves will be in high spirits.

Before I can reach the Fat Lady's portrait, though, two blokes come sliding down the banister of the stairwell. Both of them look no worse for wear after the last night and are whistling a jaunty tune.

"The champion himself!" Fred exclaims, putting his arm around my shoulders despite my disgruntled expression. "The very man! Say, Harry, there's this little bird telling me he sneaked a peek of you and Katie going up together—"

"After which, according to our suspicions, we reckon you peaked," George completes.

I groan. Today is going to be a long day.

The next day, after classes, I find myself standing on the doorway to McGonagall's classroom. I take a deep breath to steady my nerves and rap my knuckles on the door.

"Please enter, Mr. Potter," She says

I step inside, doing my best to look contrite,

I hold a crumpled piece of parchment to her. "Professor McGonagall, your note said you wanted to see me?"

"I sure do." She makes a gesture towards the chair right in front of her desk. "Take a seat."

I obey, the sound of the chair scraping on the floor magnified to uncomfortable levels by the silence of her office. Fidgeting at her unreadable expression, I wait for the proverbial sword to fall as scenes from the party flash before my eyes. I can only guess why I am there, but according to the twins, McGonagall was spitting fire when she had to cut the festivities short, far beyond midnight.

"Am I in trouble, Professor?"

Her gaze sharpens. "Is there a reason you would be?" She says and I shut my mouth, shaking my head. "Then no, you aren't in trouble. This time. You do, however, remember my words on the Headmaster's office?"

I do my best to not let my relief show in my voice. "Oh, yes. The tutoring?"

McGonagall gives me a nod, then she circles around her desk and points her wand at the blackboard. Complicated diagrams appear there as if written by an unseen hand as she turns to me.

"Albus has given me a comprehensive overview of your capabilities, therefore, I will not bother giving you an aptitude test. I trust that, seeing the blackboard, you can tell me the subject of this lesson."

I study the instructions and the schematics, humming under my breath. "Interesting," I mutter, narrowing my eyes. "Yeah, I see. The same origin, but the end product divided." I look back at her. "You'll be teaching me that, Professor?"

"Correct. As you can see, that's the logical progression after learning to Transfigure multiple objects." She picks a box from the drawer of her desk and places it before me. "Instead of changing buttons into say, the same number of beetles, you will begin at working with only two of them. However, I want you to change one into a bonnet, and one into a brooch—"

My smile must have ticked her off, because she manages to look even sterner before she finishes.

"At the same time."

"What?" I say with disbelief coloring my voice. "That's...

"Perfectly possible and, furthermore, offers a deeper knowledge about the possible relations between the objects." She then does a complicated motion with her wand at two of the buttons. "To say nothing of increasing your focus. Observe."

Her magic is subtle and controlled, but no less strong for that. It permeates through the buttons, the threads of light pushing their forms into almost opposites, only related through their Names. I look back at her, and my stupefaction must have been obvious as she concedes me a small smile.

"While important by itself, training to concentrate on two outcomes simultaneously is how you pave your way to the advanced practices of my subject. Such as a Human Transfiguration; at which you must take every detail into account to prevent grievous mishaps. Questions?"

I quail under the intensity of her stare, the buttons on my desk glinting with the candlelight as if mocking me. That would be hard, yes, but I never have been one to back down from a challenge, and I refuse to let this be the first one.

"No, Professor. I'll try."

"I want you to do more than just trying, Mr. Potter," she says. "While I do not expect perfection for the get-go, I shall suffer no half-done attempts. I want excellence."

I nod, setting my jaw stubbornly. "Understood."

Her voice then softens. "It's indeed complicated. However, if you wanted an easy task, I fear you shouldn't have taken the honor of our school and my House as your prerogative. And this-" with another flick of her wand, an old and heavy tome gets off the shelf and floats to my desk, "will be your homework for the week. You can begin."

It isn't until later in the week that Professor Flitwick summons me to his classroom.

I cast a last look at the storeroom I have claimed as my own workshop of sorts. It's spacious, with Transfigured, random objects littering the floor while the walls show residues of spell-fire and soot. The table I'd smuggled from an unused classroom is almost hidden by the number of books and parchments I had thrown haphazardly over it.

Pausing to kick a helm that's halfway transformed into a crumpet further inside, I close the door behind me. The wards snap in alert—the concepts of hiding and distraction coursing through the magic. The room is near an alcove on the second floor, far away from the Gryffindor Tower, which gives me enough privacy.

On the way to Flitwick's Classroom, my thoughts turn to my tutoring session with McGonagall. After some practice, I've managed to Transfigure both of the buttons halfway through, to my great pleasure. When I told her, she pointed out that it was better than she expected already and then demanded that I read another book.

Professor McGonagall, you see, is a firm believer in the saying no rest for the wicked.

Standing on the entrance to the Charms classroom, I can't help but feel a bubble of excitement as I knock on the door. Classes with Flitwick are always fun, and I have no reason to suspect that this one will be different.

"You can enter, Mr. Potter!"

A jet of red light speeds towards me as I open the door.

My wand cuts through the air, guided more by instinct than anything else, and my Shield Charm erupts as a bright silver wall before me. The spell splashes on it, dissolving in motes of light, and my reactions kick in overdrive as I point my wand to a chair. My mind flows between the connections seamlessly— wood—tree—jungle—lion—and I Banish it against the attacker.

The wood splits and creaks and contorts in mid-air into the shape of a ferocious, roughly-formed, lion, and more spells crash and burn against my Shield. The smell of ozone is pungent and something tugs on my lower leg, bringing me down to a knee as the lion is frozen expertly in mid-air.

A Stunning Charm flies right over my head and I recognize the scent of singed hair. Snarling, I take my shield down, taking aim with a Blasting Curse already on my lips—

"Excellent Charmwork, Mr. Potter!" The sound of Flitwick's voice stops me in mid-incantation.

A sad, pale attempt of a Blasting Curse escapes from my wand towards the Professor. He bats it away with almost negligent ease and a blue, almost translucent barrier, shimmer around his arm where my spell impacted.

"And your reaction times are on point, too!"

"Professor?" I get back into my feet, eyeing him.

"You see, Mr. Potter," Professor Flitwick says, tidying the room with a dismissively wave of his wand. "Albus has told me you have a grounding at dueling already, but I had to see for myself. After all, it's one thing to be proficient in Charms on a calm environment, but using them by instinct? That's a completely different matter."

I rub my foot on a scorched tile of the floor. "Well, I'm glad you approve."

"Oh, where are my manners? Come in, come in!"

I follow him inside the room. Professor Flitwick points his wand to the lion, still snarling and held in the air by magic, and revert it back to a chair, which, then, floats to me. "Thanks, Professor."

"It's no problem. Now, seeing the current task at hand, I have decided to change my approach to teaching you. Instead of focusing on theory, you will have a more hands-on experience. We will keep practicing until your casting becomes second-nature." The small wizard then gives me an appreciating look. "Which, by the way, has a very welcomed effect at strengthening your spells. Charms are, after all, as much as feeling and practice as they are about incantations."

"I understand, Professor," I say, my gaze firmly locked at the unknown spell around his arm. "If I may ask, sir, what's this spell? Looks like a Shield Charm, but I've never seen this one before."

"I am glad you noticed. This spell is, indeed, a derivation from the standard Shield Charm." Flitwick then jabs his wand at the shield, making ripples appear on its surface. "A rather recent addition to the repertoire of duelists, created, if my memory is correct, by the wizard Johannes "Shieldless" Hammerstein—"

"Wait," I say, raising my eyebrows. "Shieldless? The bloke called Shieldless created a Shield Charm?"

"Yes, and I imagine his opponents shared your surprise at it." Flitwick chuckles. "A clever tactic, no doubt. But back to the point, Mr. Potter, please show me your shield again. You appear to be proficient with it, but there is still room for improvement."

My eyes follow the direction of his pointed finger and, right where I was standing during our impromptu duel-of-sorts, there's a pair of heavy chains slithering on the ground. Realization then hits me; that's what had made me slip.

"After all, you can't shield yourself against what is already inside the barrier." Professor Flitwick smile turns cheerful at my look of surprise, then he claps his hands. "Now, the Shield Charm, if you will?"

Luna Lovegood is practically skipping ahead of me as she leads the way for the gathering of the champions, her bottle-cap necklace glinting on her neck. Through means unknown, she had found me skiving a Potions class and said to follow her, as they wanted me for something.

I assumed it had to do with the Tournament, so I shrugged and followed.

My mind is on autopilot as I digested Sirius' last letter, telling me he would be discharged in time to see the First Task. Even more mysterious, though, there is the thing Hagrid told me during the last Hogsmeade weekend.

Why the hell he wanted to see me? At night, no less.

At least I'd had some time to talk to Aberforth. It's always invigorating to see how many different forms he could call me a bloody idiot for entering this tournament.

"That's where the Headmaster asked me to bring you," Luna says in an airy tone, her radish earring swinging as she turns to me. "You know, dad is very interested in your story, Harry Potter."

"What?" Her voice brings me back from dreamland. "Why?"

Luna gets closer. Her face is almost touching mine and her eyes brimming with intensity. "Dad writes The Quibbler, you know. And seeing how there's a vacancy after our Runemancer has been attacked by a Brawling Platypus, he asked me to get an interview with you." Luna then takes a step back, looking perfectly angelical again. "What do you say?"

"I'll… see what I can do, really." My smile is a bit strained as I inch away from her. "Thank you I really need to go now see you later bye!"

I positively run inside the room, closing the door behind me, and pause at the sight that greets me. The foreign Headmasters are already here, standing near their champions—Krum slouched and leaning on a wall, and Fleur Delacour, sitting prim and proper in a straight-backed chair.

Bagman and Thicknesse are here too, sitting near a stubby, sullen-looking man with a big camera and a blond witch, with whom Bagman is talking energetically. After seeing me, Bagman stops his conversation and bounces forward with an enormous smile. "The youngest champion! Come in, Harry, the Weighing of Wands."

Oh, that. "Sure."

"Yes, yes, Dumbledore is upstairs talking with the specialist, after what we'll be doing a photo shoot." Bagman then gestures towards the witch. "This is Ms. Rita Skeeter, she'll be doing a small piece about the tournament—"

"Maybe not so small, Ludo," she says and I do my best to smile. Skeeter is notorious; she has written some horrible things about Professor Dumbledore, and her pen was known to make and destroy careers. She has a square jaw, looking remarkably like a bespectacled bulldog, and is clutching a small bag made of crocodile skin that puts her long, crimson nails in evidence. "I wonder if I could have a word with Harry before we start? You know, just to add a bit of colour..."

"Certainly!" Bagman says.

She grabs my arm with a strong grip, but before I can protest, a familiar, firm voice echoes through the classroom.

"While I have permitted you to enter the grounds, Ms. Skeeter, I do not remember allowing you to manhandle my students," Professor Dumbledore says, striding into the room without any hint of humor in his expression and looking every inch the powerful wizard he is. "Please unhand Mr. Potter."

Skeeter releases me abruptly as if she has just been burned. "Now, you see here Dumbledore, the public has the right of knowing the truth about—"

Professor Dumbledore gives her a polite smile. "While the public has, indeed, a right to know the truth, it is the letter of law that a minor can't give an interview without explicit permission of his guardians."

"But you aren't his guardian! You can't decide for him!"

"No, that would be the prerogative of Mr. Sirius Black-" Dumbledore fixes her with a look, "who, as you can see, isn't present at the moment. Else, he would certainly have some choice words about the situation at hand." Skeeter shuts his mouth instantly, fuming, as Dumbledore walks closer to me. "Now, while I would be delighted to hear your peerless reasoning about accosting a minor, I fear we need to begin the Weighing of Wands."

Dumbledore then gestures toward a wizard leaning on a corner of the room. It's Mr. Ollivander, looking exactly as he did when I last saw him. He has pale, silver eyes that appear to shine; but that isn't what catches my attention the most. It's the fact that my wand reacts with aversion, recognizing the magic of its maker reaching for it and refusing the touch, and I grab it tighter.

"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" Dumbledore says. "He will be checking your wands to ensure they are in good condition before the beginning of the tournament."

The other headmasters go and sit in the judge's table, but Dumbledore turns to me.

"A moment of your time, Harry," he says. "I fear my agenda has been rather strained and I couldn't partake on our weekly sessions. Still, I wanted to assure you they shall resume shortly."

"No problem, Professor," I say, scratching my chin. "I've managed to occupy myself."

"By adopting mountaineering as a pastime, perhaps?" The twinkle on his doubles in intensity at the sight of my incredulous expression. "I've heard an interesting anecdote involving you, one Ms. Katie Bell, and an ongoing search for previously uncharted peaks..."

Heat creeps up my cheeks. Merlin, I'm going to kill the twins.

Before I can say anything, though, a polite cough from Madam Maxime calls for his attention.

"Oh my, seems we are rushed for time," Dumbledore says, winking at me. "Off you go then."

My face is still burning as I go and sit near the other champions. Rita finds a chair on a corner and spreads a parchment on her lap, then sucks the point of a strange, enchanted quill, that begins writing as if guided by an unseen hand. She's still throwing looks at me.

Mr. Ollivander steps in the middle of the room and extends his hand to Fleur. "Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have your wand first, please?"

She gives it and Ollivander studies the wood with his long, thin fingers. The magic from her wand expresses itself in confident motes of light, that organize themselves in the resemblance of a song but sways with an internal fire. It's entrancing and dangerous; looking every bit like Fleur's own magic.

Like a maestro, Ollivander waves the wand and it emits gold and pink sparks. Then he runs a finger along the magic that only I can see—not outlining it perfectly, but enough to give me the impression he knows it's there and can feel it.

"Yes," he says quietly, "nine and a half inches… inflexible… rosewood… and containing… dear me…"

"A hair from ze head of a Veela," says Fleur, proudly. "One of my grandmothers."

I tune off their talk about wand cores, holding tightly at my own wand. This one doesn't appreciate being separated from me or touched by another. It erupts with angry sparks and Fleur raises an eyebrow to me, a curious glint in her eyes.

Taking my eyes from her admittedly nice figure, I watch and back Krum's examination. His thicker-than-most wand being the work of someone called Gregorovitch and boasting a heavy and stubborn magic. With a bang, it erupts with a flock of birds and Ollivander gives the wand back, turning to me.

"Mr. Potter, if you please?"

"Oh, sure." I force my expression to remain neutral as I get to my feet and offer my wand from to him, but I tense as he grabs it. The magic of the wand sings mournfully at being separated from me and I have to resist the impulse of reaching for Ollivander to snatch it back.

"Aaaah, yes," says Ollivander, his eyes suddenly gleaming. "How well I remember."

Silently, I hope that he doesn't tell them what he remembers. The fact that my wand was the brother of Voldemort's own is a well-kept secret between me and the Headmaster, and probably would send Skeeter into a cardiac arrest in the spot right here and now.

I fidget as he spends much more time examining it than anyone's else, a contemplative look in his face. "This wand is very attuned to you, Mr. Potter, in a way I rarely see happening with wizards much older and more experienced. To such a point that I dare not to try any magic with it," he then fixes me with a stare. "You treat it well, I hope?"

"It allows me to do magic-" I answer, gritting my teeth as I see his magic reaching for my wand, alien and foreign and wrong. "Of course I do."

"Yes, yes, holly and a phoenix feather as the core, thirteen inches… one of my best works," Ollivander says, then conjures a fountain of wine. "It's in perfect order, Mr. Potter. Here."

I seize my wand back and, instantly, On contact a warm feeling comes up through my fingertips and encompass my entire body. I close my eyes for a moment, relishing the return of the connection, and Dumbledore gains the center stage.

"Thank you, everyone," he says. "You may all go back to your lessons now—or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end—"

"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" Bagman exclaims, waving grandly at us and I suddenly feel a need of breaking his nose again. "All the judges and the champions together! What do you think, Rita?"

"Oh—yes, maybe we can do that first," she eyes me hungrily. "Then some individual shots, after that, a little interview too… with the four of them, mind."

Inspiration hits me like a sledgehammer and, doing my damnedest to not snicker, I smile towards Skeeter, who seems to be very surprised at my supposed agreement.

"I'm okay with the photos, Ms. Skeeter, but I think I already promised an interview elsewhere," I say in a serious voice, relishing the red color that creeps on her broad cheeks. "That's most dreadful, indeed."

"Do you, now?" She raises an eyebrow. "May I ask with who?"

"Sure." My lips split into a smile that has every bit of mischief I can muster. "You see, there's this magazine called The Quibbler..."

The smell of wet grass wafts up from the ground near the lake, but I pay it no mind, focused on controlling my magic as my wand lets out a fierce, constant stream of red and gold light.

Two balls of water are floating above the smooth surface of the lake, my magic running through them and poking and prodding until they change. One of the globs turns into the form of a snake, made of ice—it creaks and grinds as it's further Transfigured with every fluctuation of my will. The other sphere whistles as it dissolves into a cloud of vapor, which then begins to circle the snake, cohesive under the hold of my spell.

"Harry?"

That voice breaks my focus like a rock through a window. The vapor billows away and the snake falls into the lake, spraying me and my guest with water.

"Bollocks—oh, hello, Susan." I wave my wand in an arc encompassing her body and mine, my Charm drying the water. "Sorry for that."

Susan smiles brightly. "No problem. What're you doing?"

"McGonagall's homework," I wave the question off. "How are you, though?"

"I'm okay, thanks. I just—" Susan cheeks then blush with a pretty pink and she begins to circle the wet grass with the point of her foot. I note that Hannah is standing some distance from us, her expression troubled. "I noticed you weren't' in Herbology class Friday."

I blink.

"Right. I kind of… well. I forgot."

"Seriously Harry? I mean, after Skeeter's article, there are all these rumors and-" Susan then fidgets, looking mighty uncomfortable. "I feared you had taken exception to the gossip."

"No, I really just forgot." I raise my hands in defeat at her look of disbelief. "Honestly, Sue."

Thinking about it, Skeeter's article saying that I was a mix between a god-child and an angsting, hurting teenager, had been mildly entertaining. At least seeing how Fred and George had read it out loud to the whole Gryffindor Tower. I really need to get Sirius a copy, he will have a laugh.

Seeing that Susan still looks troubled, I raise an eyebrow. "So… these rumors?"

"Haven't you heard about these?" Susan then crosses her arms, which does nice things to her sizable bust and draws my eye. "Oh, they are a load of dragon dung, if you ask me. Some people in my House aren't happy at you being chosen as Hogwarts' Champion." She then waves dismissively. "They think you stole Cedric's thunder, you see."

To be honest, I don't. Maybe that's because I have absolutely no clue about who this Cedric bloke is, but she doesn't need to know that. So I smile at her, doing my best impersonation of Professor Dumbledore, and hope she buys it as some expression of calm acceptance and inner peace.

"Honestly sue, you're still alright in my books."

Her lips split in a broad smile, and her eyes flicker to Hannah's position.

"Sorry Harry, Hannah's waiting for me, but I wanted to know if you were… mad at us?" Susan says, brushing her hand on my shoulder as I shake my head. "Excellent, I knew you were too sweet for that. See you later then?"

"Yes, and don't be a stranger," I wave as she strides towards Hannah, my eyes glued at her delightfully firm bum as she goes. It takes some strength of will for me to turn back at the lake. "That was nice of her. Now, enough sightseeing, let's try this again."

But before I can do anything, I feel something poking my arm.

"Speaker!" Ananke's acid-green body is camouflaged by the grass around us, but her voice has a hint of urgency. "Thank Jormungandr you're here! I need to show you something that's going to curl your tail! It's very important, you see, because you don't even have a tail!"

"Ananke." I lower my face towards her. "What are you talking about?"

The little snake flicks her tongue, curling her body under my sleeve and looking distinctly fired-up. "I heard from Kalia who heard from Angitia who is friends with Ophion that was hanging around the Clearing with Ladon—that beast—and they're saying that…"

My breath comes in uneven gasps of air as I thunder inside my workshop and slam the door behind me. Ananke had been right. Ananke had been damn right, and my incursion at the Forbidden Forest minutes ago had just proved it. I take off the Invisibility Cloak and run a hand through my hair, making dried leaves and twigs fall to the ground.

Dragons!

I kick a bucket away and let myself fall on the chair, putting my face between my hands and trying to come with terms to what I have just seen. Three enormous, reptilian beasts, one for each champion, their magic primitive and as full of fury as their fire is.

I have to defeat a dragon.

Fuck.

As I begin to contemplate the enormity of that task, I let out a deranged laugh—so that's my punishment for my hubris. To go against a dragon before the whole school, like some damn medieval hero. It's no surprise that people have been killed on this Tournament.

The image of one of that beasts pops again on my mind. Black and with yellow, glowing eyes full of a intelligence and malice that I couldn't relate to a mere animal. The creature knows where it is, it knows exactly how powerful it is compared to us meek, pitiful humans, and it hates us for daring to cage it.

I press my palms against my eyes. The discipline born from practicing Occlumency taking the forefront of my mind and forcing my emotions down. I need to think—not scream and curse or explode something.

The dragon's magic is all-encompassing and the creature seems much bigger for it; made of whispers of smoke and burning with the unearthly glow of a thousand braziers. Power gifted by nature to a veritable killing machine, pressing down the world as it stands above all, full of pride and strength and—

And, now I've forced down my shock, it absolutely pisses me off.

The idea of one of these beasts thinking they are the greatest heavyweights around, that they are the righteous and their arrogance deserved, is ridiculous. They are powerful, yes, but that's it. They have no finesse. No skill.

Please.

"Looking down on me, will you?" I say under my breath, remembering that oppressive weight carried by the dragon's magic. "You think you are above me?" I get to my feet and my voice is barely more than a hiss. "To hell with you, then."

This feeling I am deeply familiar with. I am charged as electricity seems to course through my body and my thoughts get sharper, clearer, eerily reminiscent of what I felt during my adventures. This new task spreading before me appears to be daunting and impossibly difficult, but so did the others, and I am still here.

So. I'll need to defeat a dragon.

How?

The answer comes promptly.

"When in doubt," I repeat Hermione's motto, "go to the Library."

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