Chapter Three-

Tempest woke on Sunday morning, tired and irritable.

She'd managed to avoid the party in the common room by kipping against a wall in a hidden corridor behind a tapestry. It hadn't been the original plan. Tempest had sat crosslegged on her cloak and attempted to meditate, thinking to return to her dormitory in the early hours of the morning. She ended up dozing off.

Groaning and attempting to get the crick out of her neck, Tempest stood. It was just past seven, her watch informed her, early enough that she could probably sneak into her dormitory for a quick shower, avoiding too much fuss.

Goal in mind, Tempest set off, still bleary eyed and stiff-limbed. Sunday mornings usually left the long halls empty and the castle silent, so her trek to the common room was undisturbed until she closed the portrait-door behind her and almost ran into a dour-faced Ron.

"What were you doing?" he asked.

"Kipped in a hallway," said Tempest, "I'm heading up for a shower now- is something wrong?"

"Nothing," muttered Ron, whose face had become outright surly. "Only you could've said if you were entering the tournament. Thought we were best mates, is all."

"Ron- we are," said Tempest, "I didn't put my name in that cup."

Ron's eyebrows were curiously competing to vanish into his hair. "It's okay, you know, you can tell me the truth," he said. "If you don't want everyone else to know, fine, but I don't know why you're bothering to lie, you didn't get into trouble for it, did you?"

"It's been termed a death competition," Tempest said flatly.

"So someone just put your name in for- what? A laugh?"

"I wouldn't know! Moody thinks it's someone trying to get me killed-"

Ron snorted loudly.

Tempest stared at him.

"I'm going to take a shower," she said eventually. "When you do get your head removed from wherever you've stuffed it, I'll be around."

She stepped around Ron; disappointment settling in her stomach as she passed one of the people she had been sure would be with her.

"Don't bet on it!" called Ron, behind her.

Tempest bit back a snapping retort. "I won't."

It was perhaps, less of a surprise than it should have been, that in the next few days it became clear that most of the school population excepting Gryffindor but excluding Ron had turned against her.

Tempest couldn't summon charisma on command like Diggory, and hardly went out of her way to endear herself to people. It was easy therefore, for Tempest to become the subject of dark glares, angry whispers, and in some cases, outright hostility (primarily with the Hufflepuffs).

And Tempest went about unconcernedly.

If she spent much more of her time with the twins, laughing uproariously at the table in the Great Hall while Ron picked sullenly at his food a ways down, it had been at their invitation. If she ignored Hermione's attempts to broker a peace between her and Ron, well, Tempest had never been one to let a grudge slip by lightly. If someone had been to point out the tightness of Tempest's jaw as she moved between classes, more often than not, alone, Tempest might have cited the weather, which had become truly bitter as November reared its head.

Tempest after all, was not repressing any particular emotion, other than perhaps a worry that Sirius had not yet replied to her latest letter.

She would however admit to a pressing irritation with the 'SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY/POTTER STINKS' badges that some were sporting. The bright luminescence of the badges that burnt into Tempest's retinas only fueled the headache she'd been suffering for a day now.

It was not, however, the reason that Tempest found herself instigating the failed duel between herself and Malfoy, which resulted in Tempest chasing down a sobbing Hermione to escort her to the Hospital Wing.

Hermione's face was blotchy and she had her hair down, trying to hide the incisors, now halfway down her chest. She sniffed loudly, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her robes. By the time they reached the Hospital Wing, Tempest had thoroughly abused Snape and Malfoy's names and Hermione needed Tempest's help to hold her head up against the weight of the teeth.

"So who did this?" asked Madam Pomfrey, fussing over Hermione after casting a brief stasis spell and Finite Incantatum to stop the growing teeth. Hermione gave an incoherent reply past the teeth and Tempest replied.

"I accept exactly half of the blame," said Tempest. "Draco Malfoy and I… had a disagreement."

"Reckless," tutted Pomfrey, "I already see you in this Hospital wing far too often, Miss Potter, and this time it is not yourself that is injured."

Tempest shot Hermione an apologetic grimace.

"I would hazard to say that you and those Weasley twins account for half of all the injuries I have come through here. Now, Miss Granger, stay very still and hold this." She gave Hermione a palm-sized mirror and began reducing the size of Hermione's teeth. "Let me know when your teeth are back to their regular size, dear, and I'll stop."

Hermione's eyes moved to Tempest and she mumbled something. Tempest shook her head. "I'm not too worried about missing out on Potions. It's not actually possible for either of us to fall behind."

Hermione mumbled something else.

"Hermione, you have seen us in class yes? My cockiness is justified."

"You are very adept at deciphering her," said Pomfrey idly. Hermione's teeth were steadily shrinking.

Tempest laughed, bending her head to knead at her temples. "Remember the week George Weasley's jaw was shattered by a bulger? Again I accept responsibility; though Fred was also to blame- his jaw was slack for the next few weeks. I grew accustomed to deciphering the indecipherable."

Pomfrey turned her gaze on Tempest. "Another headache?"

Tempest paused in her abusive massage of her temples and gave a short nod. "It's no worse than any of the other times, but they're-"

"Increasing in frequency," finished Pomfrey. "I'll prescribe you a potion for the pain once this is done. Experimental theoretical magic," she scoffed.

Tempest shrugged. She had been young and blinded by the impossibilities of magic when she had gotten her eyes fixed. She had been lucky the process had worked at all, and the occasional headache in the long run seemed to be an acceptable exchange for perfect eyesight.

Hermione said something. Her teeth were now above collar level, but now Tempest couldn't understand. "Crab cakes?" she tried, "corked crepes?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and motioned with her free hand to behind Tempest. Tempest turned. "Colin Creevy?" she said. "Hullo."

Creevy tripped towards them, beaming with enthusiasm and slightly breathless. "I've been sent to tell you the champions are wanted- Mr Bagman said they were taking photos-"

Tempest groaned, slumping forwards, "'mione save me, I'd rather be in Potions-"

"Actually I just came from there," said Creevy brightly, "Professor Snape said you were likely here after I told him why you were wanted for the photographs-"

"Oh brilliant," said Tempest, getting to her feet roughly, "more fodder. What are we, dancing monkeys? You'll be alright?" Hermione gave a slight nod and a sympathetic head tilt. "I'll see you then. L'aers."

Creevy bounced beside her, struggling to keep pace with her longer strides, till they reached a small classroom. Most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; three of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch wearing magenta robes.

Krum was standing in a corner with Diggory and Delacour. Fleur and Cedric were talking quietly while Krum glowered at the floor. Tempest dithered for a moment, but it was not long before Bagman bounded forwards to greet her.

"There she is! Champion number four! In you come Tempest, in you come- nothing to worry about- just a wand weighing ceremony; the rest of the judges will be here in a moment. We have to ensure that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead. The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And there's going to be a little photo-shoot." Tempest noted the fat man holding a smoking camera. "This is Rita Skeeter-" he gestured at the woman. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet."

"Maybe not that small, Ludo," said Skeeter, her glasses glinting when she turned on Tempest. "I wonder if I could have a little word with Tempest before we start?" Her eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Tempest. "The youngest champion, you know, to add a little bit of colour?"

"Certainly," cried Bagman, "that is of course, if Tempest has no objection?"

Tempest's mouth opened in protest, had her arm seized and was hauled sideways. It was outside that Tempest wrenched her arm free and said mildly, "I wasn't too keen on the interview."

"Nonsense," declared Skeeter, "the public wants to know you! Ah, this is cozy!"

Tempest had been shunted sideways into a broom cupboard. She said so.

"Is it?" Skeeter beamed, and perched precariously on an upturned bucket. "Won't you take a seat?"

Tempest perched grudgingly on a narrow ledge, more so she wouldn't have to stoop awkwardly to avoid the slanting roof. Skeeter unsnapped her green handbag and withdrew a large quill that flew out of her hand and poised itself over a pad of parchment, quivering in the air. "You won't mind, Tempest- can I call you Tempest? Lovely-" Tempest had shrugged, "-if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally…"

"Yeah, if you like-"

The quill distracted Tempest, already scribbling across the parchment even though the interview had barely begun. An ugly scar, a souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise striking face of Tempestas (Tempest) Potter, whose eyes-

"Ignore the quill, Tempest," said Skeeter firmly.

Tempest lifted her eyes.

"Excellent… Now you say that you didn't enter your name, but come now, there's no need to be scared of getting into trouble- we all know you shouldn't really have entered at all, but don't worry about that. Our readers love a rebel."

"I'll be a disappointment. I didn't enter."

"How do you feel about the tasks ahead?" Skeeter said, bypassing her words. "Excited? Nervous?"

"Yes," said Tempest vaguely.

"Champions have died in the past, haven't they?" said Skeeter briskly, "have you thought about that at all?"

"A fair amount."

"Though of course, you have looked death in the face before, haven't you?" said Skeeter, watching Tempest closely, "How would you say that's affected you?"

"It's not ideal."

"Do you think the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Do you think perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because of the age restriction?"

Here, Tempest wasn't listening to Skeeter anymore, and her attention instead had drifted back to the parchment where the Quick Quotes Quill was scribbling very fast: -reluctant to seem over-eager, Tempest plays coy, and dismisses claims that her traumatic past has left her emotionally unstable-

"Is this exactly good journalism?" asked Tempest, only to have Skeeter talk over her.

"Can you remember your parents at all?"

"What?"

"How do you think they'd feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?"

"Haven't the faintest- actually, I've just realized don't have to be here-"

Tempest got to her feet and was shoving aside a broom when the door to the broom cupboard was pulled open. Blinking against the bright light, Tempest saw Dumbledore standing there, looking at the pair of them.

"Sir," said Tempest, her eyes flickering back to where she noted the quill and parchment had vanished and Skeeter's fingers were hastily snapping closed the clasp of her handbag. "I was just leaving- do they want us back? Photos- they were doing photos, yes?"

"Yes, Tempest, if you could hurry- the Weighing of the Wands is about to begin-"

"Thanks," said Tempest, skirting around him and reentering the classroom.

The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door, and Tempest sat down next to Cedric, looking up at the velvet-covered table, where four of the five judges were now sitting. Skeeter entered the room and settled herself down in a corner; Tempest saw her slip the parchment out of her bag again, spread it on her knee, suck the end of the Quick-Quotes Quill, and place it once more on the parchment.

"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges' table and talking to the champions. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."

Tempest looked around and saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window. She had only met the man once; when she was first purchasing her wand.

"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" said Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.

Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.

"Hmmm…" he said.

He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully. "Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches… inflexible… rosewood… and containing... dear me..."

"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," said Fleur. "One of my grandmuzzer's."

"Yes," said Mr. Ollivander, "yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands… however, to each his own, and if this suits you..." Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, "Orchideous!" and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip. "Very well, very well, it's in fine working order," said Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. "Mr. Diggory, you next."

Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her.

"Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" said. Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Cedric handed over his wand. "Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn… must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches… ash... pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition… You treat it regularly?"

"Polished it last night," said Cedric, grinning.

Of course Cedric polished his wand. Tempest herself preferred fire cleansing; it left her wand fresh and humming in her hands.

Ollivander finished up with Cedric and called Krum forwards. Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duck- footed toward Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"Hmm," said Ollivander, "this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I… however..." He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes. "Yes... hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" he shot at Krum, who nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees... quite rigid... ten and a quarter inches... Avis!"

The hornbeam wand let off a blast like a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.

"Good," said. Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. "Which leaves... Miss Potter."

Tempest approached the man, slipping her wand out of her sleeve and handing it to him. Her wand had always been temperamental, but Olivander's withered hands grasped her wand, and Tempest supposed he had makers' rights. Ron and Hermione both had made the mistake of picking up Tempest's wand in the past. Ron had been thrown across the room, while it took a while for Hermione to recover from burns after being set alight.

Ollivander turned the slim shaft of holly around in his hands. "Aaaah, yes," he said, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember."

Tempest could remember too. Four years on, she was looking down at Ollivander in the way that he had loomed above her, taking measurements and handing her wand after wand as her heart sank and she had thought it had all been a mistake. Then her fingers had closed around the wand, her wand, and the world had lit in fire.

Ollivander spent much longer examining Tempest's wand than anyone else's. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Tempest, announcing that it was still in perfect condition.

"Thank you all," said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges' table. "You may go back to your lessons now- or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end-"

Tempest got up to leave, but the man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat.

"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" cried Bagman excitedly. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"

"Er- yes, let's do those first," said Skeeter, whose eyes were upon Tempest again. "And then perhaps some individual shots."

Tempest was itching to leave. She had Hermione to check up on, and any extra time spent around Skeeter only made Tempest feel more irritable. Her headache intensified throughout the photographs, which stretched on for longer than Tempest thought was reasonable. Maxime was part of the problem- she cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand far enough back to get her into the frame; eventually she had to sit while everyone else stood around her.

Krum, whom Tempest would have thought would have been used to this sort of thing, skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front, and shunted Tempest off beside Krum, shooting disdainful looks at Tempest's hair, but Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging Tempest into greater prominence. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions. At last, they were free to go.

Tempest went down to the Great Hall, but unable to see Hermione, she headed to the hospital wing, where she found Hermione lying on one of the beds, her teeth thankfully not visible outside of her mouth.

"Tempest," said Hermione sitting up, "Madam Pomfrey says I'm not to eat anything for a few hours yet. She left that for you-" she motioned to a vial of lavender coloured potion on the dresser by her head. "For your headaches. How did the photos go?"

"As well as you might expect," said Tempest, drawing up a chair to Hermione's bedside and pocketing the potion. "There was this witch there though, a reporter- Rita Skeeter. Dreadful woman."

"Oh?"

Tempest spent about an hour with Hermione, eventually leaving her to head up to her dormitory. Pomfrey had recommended Hermione spend the night in the wing.

An owl must have come while she was out, for as Tempest prepared for bed, she spied a letter on her dresser.

Tempest- There is much that I need to say, and am unable to in a letter. We need to talk face-to-face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o'clock in the morning on the 22nd of November? Let me know. I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself, and I'm thinking of you. –Sirius.

Tempest's reply had been short, a confirmation and an enthusiastic 'look forward to seeing you.' Even writing the words had seemed like impossibility, for she was going to see Sirius. Not soon, but closer in time than she had dared hope.

She clung to that knowledge as two weeks passed, and it eased the hard knot of anger that had nestled in her chest ever since Skeeter had published her article.

If Tempest had thought that things like decency, accuracy and truth would have prevented Skeeter from writing the article she had, if anyone had thought that she had a shred of journalistic integrity, they were wrong.

The article was published and read:

As the interview begins, I am struck by the misfortune of the girl sitting before me. An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Tempestas (Tempest) Potter, whose stunning green eyes as many have said, are remnants of her mother. She speaks to me of trying to live up to her parents' great names, to fill the giant shoes before her and the acknowledgement of the tremendous tasks ahead. "But somehow… I know I'll be all right. I know I get my strength from my parents, and I'm sure they'd be very proud of me proving myself if they could see me now… sometimes at night I still cry about them, I'm not ashamed to admit it… but with all the extra precautions taken this year, I'm not afraid of what is coming in the tournament. I know nothing can hurt me because they're watching over me…" Even now, tears fill her eyes as her thoughts turn to her parents who she can barely remember. Yet even from tragedy, Tempest has at last found love at Hogwarts. Her close friend, Colin Creevy, says that Tempest is rarely seen out of the company of one George Weasley, a handsome young man, two years ahead. She is said to spend much of her time around his family, attending the Quidditch World Cup earlier this year with them.

George roared with laughter when Tempest read the article out in disgusted tones.

"It's drivel," she said, and proceeded to spend the next ten days stalking around Hogwarts with a scowl etched onto her face.

The Saturday before the first Triwizard task was open for a Hogsmeade trip, and Tempest wasn't about to skip that.

"C'mon darling," teased George as they made their way through the entrance hall and began the walk down to the village. "If we're not seen together, people might think we've had a lovers spat."

Tempest glared daggers into his laughing face.

The day wasn't dreadful- it was difficult for any day with George to be truly dreadful truthfully. The Weasley emitted enthusiasm and humor as though the world had a shortage. They wandered around their usual haunts, in and out of Honeydukes, into Zonko's to scope out the future competition, and they eventually wound up in the Three Broomsticks sipping on Butterbeers.

Out of the bitter wind howling outside, Tempest unwound her scarf and hunched around her drink. She could see Hermione and Ron seated at the bar, and she looked away.

"Diggory looks quite chipper," said George, nodding towards Cedric, who was crammed in a corner of the room, surrounded by his friends, laughing at some joke.

"Makes one of us," said Tempest.

"Oh cheer up, Hedgy," said George, "look on the bright side- there was an actual reason people wanted to enter, why Fred and I wanted to enter. Glory and money and no exams," he waggled his eyebrows at Tempest. "Even if you don't get the first two, there's still the last."

Tempest grunted, "I'll be sure to use the extra time to train up and try not to die. It'd be a bit easier if I actually knew what I'd have to do for the first task… I'm going to make a prat of myself in front of the whole school."

George toasted her. "No more than usual."

Tempest snorted and touched her glass to his. "I'm touched, dear heart."

They ran into Hagrid and Moody when they left the Three Broomsticks, and Hagrid acted mysterious, telling her to meet him at midnight with her invisibility cloak. Tempest turned the time over and over in her mind as the day went on. Hagrid had never asked to meet that late before, so it had to be serious, yet midnight was cutting it very close to her meeting with Sirius.

Eventually, Tempest decided to meet Hagrid, hear or see whatever he had to show her, and leave with enough time to meet Sirius. She told George to guard the fire from twelve thirty onwards as a precaution, and left the common room at half past eleven under her invisibility cloak.

The grounds were very dark as Tempest walked down the lawn and towards the lights shining in Hagrid's cabin. From where the enormous Beauxbatons carriage was parked, she could hear the booming voice of Maxime inside. Tempest knocked on Hagrid's front door.

"Tempest? You there?" asked Hagrid, glancing straight through Tempest as he opened the door a crack.

"Right here," Tempest slid by Hagrid and pulled off the cloak. "What did you want to see me for?"

"Got summat ter show yeh," Hagrid said. He seemed excited and Tempest noticed with no small amount of trepidation he was wearing a flower that resembled an oversized artichoke in his buttonhole. He had also tried to comb his hair. (Tempest could see the broken teeth of a comb tangled in it.)

"What do you want to show me?" Tempest asked warily, wondering whether or not Hagrid had come across another dragon's egg, or if the number of Blast Ended Skrewts had doubled overnight, and if he had dressed up for her.

None of those possibilities sat very well with Tempest.

"Come with me, keep quiet, an' keep yerself covered with that cloak, we won' take Fang, he won' like it…" Hagrid seemed very distracted, which didn't bode well for Tempest, who had hoped it wouldn't take long.

"Listen Hagrid, I can't be here for long, I need to go and get back to the castle at one…."

But Hagrid, who usually listened, wasn't. He was opening the cabin door and walking off into the night. Tempest quickly ducked back under her cloak and followed. Hagrid was walking straight towards the Beauxbatons carriage.

"Hagrid, if this isn't important then-"

"Shhh!" said Hagrid, and he knocked on the door.

Maxime opened it. She was wearing a silk shawl wrapped around her massive shoulders. She smiled when she saw Hagrid. "Ah, 'Agrid… it is time?"

Hagrid seemed speechless, beaming at her, but he held out a hand to help her down the golden steps. Maxime closed the door behind her, Hagrid offered her his arm, and they set off around the edge of the paddock containing Maxime's giant winged horses.

Tempest, dumbfounded, had to run to keep up. Was Hagrid wanting her to chaperone their date invisibly? It seemed Maxime was also missing information.

"Wair is it you are taking me, 'Agrid?"

"Yeh'll enjoy this," said Hagrid gruffly, "worth seein', trust me. On'y - don' go tellin' anyone I showed yeh, right? Yeh're not s'posed ter know."

"Of course not," said Maxime, fluttering her long black eyelashes.

Tempest became more and more irritated as she jogged along in their wake, going further and further around the edge of the forest. She glanced down at her watch. Hagrid had some hair-brained scheme in hand, which might make her miss Sirius. If she didn't get there soon, she was going to turn around, go straight back to the castle, and leave Hagrid to enjoy his moonlit stroll with Maxime.

But suddenly after they had walked so far Tempest was almost sure she was lost, she heard something. There were people shouting up ahead, and there was a deafening ear splitting roar. Hagrid and Maxime walked around a clump of trees and then stopped, making Tempest almost run into Hagrid's broad back.

The sudden light of the clearing blinded Tempest for a moment, and then her eyes focused, and she gapped at the sight.

Dragons. Four fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing onto their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting. Torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground. There was a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground; a smooth-scaled green one, which was writhing and stamping with all its might; a red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the air; and a gigantic black one, more lizard like than the others, which was nearest to Tempest.

At least thirty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, were attempting to control them, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs. Mesmerized, Tempest looked up, high above them, and saw the eyes of the black dragon, with vertical pupils like a cat's, bulging with either fear or rage… It was making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching scream.

"Keep back there, Hagrid!" yelled a wizard near the fence, who sounded oddly familiar, straining on the chain he was holding. "They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know! I've seen this Horntail do forty!"

"Is'n' it beautiful?" said Hagrid softly.

Tempest, who had once nursed the idea of becoming a dragon rider, could see what he meant.

"It's no good!" another wizard yelled, pulling out his wand. "Stunning spells, on the count of three!"

Tempest saw all of the other wizards pull out wands just as the chains holding the Horntail snapped. The Horntail lunged forward towards the closest wizard just as all of the keepers yelled "Stupefy!"

The Stunning Spells shot into the darkness like fiery rockets, bursting in showers of stars on the dragons' scaly hides. Tempest watched the dragon nearest to her teeter dangerously on its back legs. It's jaws stretched wide in a silent howl and its nostrils were suddenly devoid of flame, though still smoking. Then, very slowly, it fell. Several tons of sinewy, scaly black dragon hit the ground with a thud that made Tempest almost lose her balance on the level ground.

The dragon keepers lowered their wands and walked forward to their fallen charges, each of which was the size of a small hill. They hurried to tighten the chains and fasten them securely to iron pegs, which they forced deep into the ground with their wands.

"Wan' a closer look?" Hagrid asked Maxime excitedly. The pair of them moved right up to the fence, and Tempest followed. The wizard who had warned Hagrid not to come any closer turned, and Tempest realised it was Charlie Weasley.

"All right, Hagrid?" he panted, walking over to them. "They should be okay now- we put them out with a Sleeping Draught on the way here, thought it might be better for them to wake up in the dark and the quiet- but, like you saw, they weren't happy, not happy at all-"

"What breeds you got here, Charlie?" said Hagrid, gazing at the closest dragon, the black one, with something chose to reverence. Its eyes were still open. Tempest could see a strip of gleaming yellow beneath its wrinkled black eyelid.

"This is a Hungarian Horntail," said Charlie. "There's a Common Welsh Green over there, the smaller one- a Swedish Short-Snout, that blue-grey- and a Chinese Fireball, that's the red." Charlie looked around; Maxime was strolling away around the edge of the enclosure, gazing at the stunned dragons.

"I didn't know you were bringing her, Hagrid," Charlie said, frowning. "The champions aren't supposed to know what's coming- she's bound to tell her student, isn't she?"

"Jus' thought she'd like ter see 'em," shrugged Hagrid, still gazing, enraptured, at the dragons.

"Really romantic date, Hagrid," said Charlie, shaking his head.

Tempest snorted quietly.

"Four…" said Hagrid, "so it's one fer each o' the champions, is it? What've they gotta do- fight 'em?"

Tempest choked. Fight one of those things?

"Just get past them, I think," said Charlie. "We'll be on hand if it gets nasty, Extinguishing Spells at the ready. They wanted nesting mothers, I don't know why… but I tell you this, I don't envy the one who gets the Horntail. Vicious thing. Its back end's as dangerous as its front, look."

Charlie pointed toward the Horntail's tail, and Tempest saw long, bronze-coloured spikes protruding along it every few inches.

Tempest could see herself very clearly impaled on the spikes.

Five of Charlie's fellow keepers staggered forwards to the collapsed Horntail then, carrying a blanket with around a dozen huge dragon eggs in it. They placed them carefully by the Horntail's side while Hagrid let out a moan of longing, which Tempest grinned at.

"I've got them counted, Hagrid," said Charlie sternly. Then he said, "How's Tempest?"

"Fine," said Hagrid still staring at the eggs.

"Just hope she's still fine after she's faced this lot," said Charlie darkly, looking at the dragon's enclosure. "I didn't dare tell mum what she's got to do for the first task, she's already having kittens about her…" Charlie imitated his mother's anxious voice. "How could they let Tempest enter that tournament, she's much too young! I thought they were all safe! I thought there was going to be an age limit! She was in floods after that Daily Prophet article about her. 'She still cries about her parents! Oh bless her, I never knew!' And when she got to the part about Georgie… warn Tempest for me, will you? Mum was picking out lace patterns last I saw her."

Tempest was mortified. Trusting the fact that with the combined distraction of Maxime and the four dragons Hagrid wouldn't miss her, Tempest turned and began to walk away back to the castle.

Tempest wasn't sure whether or not she was glad that she now knew what was coming. Maybe it was better this way- the first shock was over now, and maybe if on Tuesday she had seen the dragons for the first time she would have been frozen and roasted all in the same moment. Now she had gotten over it…. And what? She was going to be armed with her wand- which, just now, felt like nothing more than a narrow strip of wood- against a fifty-foot-high, scaly, spike-ridden, fire-breathing dragon. Tempest's original plan, if you could call it that, had been improvisation, but now that didn't seem like the best idea.

Tempest sped up, skirting the edge of the forest; she had just under fifteen minutes to get back to the fire and talk to Sirius, and Tempest couldn't remember ever, wanting to talk to anyone this much- when, without warning, she ran into something very solid.

Tempest fell backwards, clutching the cloak to her. Her foot was exposed, and she tucked it under the cloak hurriedly.

"Ouch! Who's there?"

Tempest lay very still, staring up at the dark outline of the wizard she had hit. She recognized the goatee and the tenor of the voice: it was Karkaroff.

"Who's there?" said Karkaroff again, very suspiciously, looking around in the darkness. Tempest remained still and silent. After a minute or so, Karkaroff seemed to decide that he had hit some sort of animal; he was looking around at waist height, as though expecting to see a dog. Then he crept back under the cover of the trees and started to edge forward toward the place where the dragons were.

Very slowly and very carefully, Tempest got to her feet, and set off again as fast as she could without making too much noise, hurrying through the darkness back toward Hogwarts.

Karkaroff had doubtless sneaked off his ship to try and find out what the first task was going to be. He might even have spotted Hagrid and Maxime heading off around the forest together- they were hardly difficult to spot at a distance… and now all Karkaroff had to do was follow the sound of voices, and he, like Maxime, would know what was in store for the champions. By the looks of it, the only champion who would be facing the unknown on Tuesday was Cedric.

Tempest slipped in through the front doors, and began to climb the marble stairs; she was out of breath and her chest was hurting, but she only had five minutes left, and she needed to hurry….

"Balderdash!" Tempest gasped at the Fat Lady, who was half asleep in her frame.

"If you say so," she muttered, and the portrait swung forward without her even opening her eyes.

Tempest climbed inside and pulled off the cloak.

"Is- he-"

George turned from his slumped position in an armchair facing the fire. He yawned. "Not a peep," he said, "plenty of crackles though." He chuckled at his joke. "What did Hagrid want?"

Tempest sat cross-legged before the fire, puddling the invisibility cloak in her lap and watching parts of her leg wink from sight. "I'm so fucked, George," she sighed, rubbing at her eyes. "I saw Charlie."

"Charlie?"

Tempest leaned backwards against the edge of George's armchair and looked pointedly at him.

The realization that crawled ever so slowly across George's face would have been amusing if Tempest wasn't feeling so doomed.

"No."

"Dragons, yeah," Tempest gave a short laugh. "I-"

Sirius's head had appeared in the fire.

Distantly she was aware of George saying he'd speak to her tomorrow, and give the two of them a bit of space.

Tempest beamed at Sirius. "Hello," she said.

Sirius's smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. "Hello again."

After a moment, Tempest wrested control back from her wayward jaw and cleared the foolish grin from her face till it only lingered at the edges of her mouth.

"How've you been?"

Sirius looked good, well, better, though that wasn't exactly hard. Last Tempest had seen him, his face had been gaunt and sunken, surrounded by a quantity of long, black matted hair and rough stubble that only made his face look thinner. But the hair was clipped shorter and clean now, Sirius's face was fuller, and he looked younger, far too young to have spent twelve years in Azkaban.

"I don't care about me, how're you?"

Tempest shook her head; "I-" she had to swallow several times. "I just-"

She was leaning so close to the fire she could feel her knuckles drying and heating dangerously. She had to make an effort to move back a shade. And then she was talking, talking more than she had talked to anyone since she had decided to trust Remus in the past year. Her voice wasn't particularly steady, and her words ran together and split off in broken sentences. Yet as much as she said, there was much that she couldn't. Because at this fireside, in this stolen moment, she knew they didn't have time for a conversation suited to a long night and the assurance of being able to speak freely.

So she spoke of the recent days, of the Triwizard Tournament, of the dragons, and Sirius watched her the whole while, let her speak until the words dried, and looked as though he too were holding back a dam.

"I want to tell you it'll all be all right," he said. "And I believe that at some point, it will. A year from now, Merlin knows what'll have happened, but you'll be on top of it all- I believe that. I believe in your ability to get through this. I believe in you." He sucked in a breath, then coughed, ash puffing up in a cloud amongst the embers of the fire. "I don't have much time though. I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire- I need to be quite quick. There are things I need to warn you of."

"More?" said Tempest weakly.

"Karkaroff," said Sirius. "Tempest, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?"

"Of course- he- what?"

"He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet everything that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year- to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place."

"Why was Karkaroff released?" said Tempest slowly. How did someone as like Karkaroff get released yet Sirius-

"He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic," said Sirius bitterly. "He said he'd seen the error of his ways, and then he named names... he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place... He's not very popular in there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well."

"Right," said Tempest. There was the potential of Krum being a death eater in training, simply brilliant.

"And reading between the lines of the Prophet-" Tempest tensed for the dreaded article to come up, but Sirius bypassed it. "it seems like Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts, and they said it was a false alarm, yet I don't think so, somehow. I don't want to alarm you, but I do think someone is hoping for the tournament to distract or badly injure you. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn't mean he can't still spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had."

"Are you saying Karkaroff's out to off me?" said Tempest. "It seems like a lot of effort to go to because he once followed Voldemort."

Sirius hesitated.

"I've been hearing some very strange things," he said slowly. "The Death Eaters seem to be more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't they? Someone set off the Dark Mark... and then- did you hear about that Ministry of Magic witch who's gone missing?"

"Jorkins?"

"Exactly… she disappeared in Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumored to be last… and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?"

"Probability of her stumbling onto Voldemort?" said Tempest dryly.

"I knew Bertha Jorkins," said Sirius grimly. "She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years above your dad and me. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It's not a good combination, Tempest. I'd say she'd be very easy to lure into a trap."

"But… it still seems so excessive," said Tempest, "to enter me into this competition and let the tasks do the dirty work for them. Why not just attack me in some darkened corridor? I go wandering down enough of them."

"I don't know," said Sirius slowly, "I just don't know... But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can't help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident."

"I'm almost flattered at the effort," laughed Tempest. "This first task… dragons… I suppose, of the ways to go… Dragons are more grandiose than a quick spell in a hallway."

"You're not going to die," Sirius said very firmly. His face shifted amongst the embers, moving upwards almost as though he could surge through the fireplace and be standing right before her. But he settled, and Tempest burnt her fingers on the edge of the grate again.

"For these dragons, don't try a stunner, they're too big, you can do it alone though." Sirius was speaking quite quickly now, "there is a way, a very simple spell-"

But Tempest had leaned away from the edge, shoving a hand into the fire to silence him. She could hear footsteps coming down the spiral staircase behind her.

"Go," she hissed to Sirius, her hand was burning and she pulled it free, eyes flashing to Sirius's whose were creased with concern. "Go, there's someone coming."

She scrambled to her feet, threw the invisibility cloak over herself, and watched as Sirius's face pulled backwards from the fireplace and was gone. She relaxed ever so slightly. If Sirius had been seen, it would have raise a massive uproar, and she would have been questioned about where Sirius was-

Ron came down the final steps, dressed in maroon paisley pajamas and looked around the room. Tempest stayed very still, watching him as he shuffled for a moment, looked towards the door to the girls' dormitory, then turned and walked back up the way he had come.

Tempest sat with a hard thump.

If Ron hadn't come down the stairs, Sirius could have told her the way to get past the dragon. If Ron hadn't made Tempest fear for Sirius's freedom and his life, they could have had several minutes more.

If Ron hadn't-

Tempest got roughly to her feet and left the common room. She had a roof to visit.

Sunday passed with Tempest making little progress on finding this 'simple spell,' and Monday she woke mildly nauseous.

She ate breakfast quickly and burnt her throat drinking her tea too hot.

George looked sideways at her. "Why're you in such a hurry?"

"I'm attempting to beat my gag reflex," said Tempest dryly, "I'm about to face a dragon tomorrow, and I feel quite ill."

George grimaced, "is your cloak not an option?"

Tempest shook her head. "Even if it were within the rules, the cloak isn't exactly dragonproof," she said, a sudden image springing to mind of an enraged dragon chasing her as she ran, failing about, her cloak trailing fire.

Tempest was about to head off to Herbology when she saw Cedric stand from the Hufflepuff table. Cedric didn't know about the dragons. In fact, he was the only champion who didn't as far as Tempest knew; the other Headmasters/mistresses had doubtless told their own champions by now.

Tempest stared at Cedric's retreating back very hard.

"Sod it," she said.

She hurried after Diggory.

By the time Tempest reached the bottom of the marble staircase, Cedric was at the top. He was surrounded by a pack other sixth-years. Tempest hardly wanted to speak to him before the others, and she almost turned to go. But when one was faced with a dragon…

She muttered a spell, and with a flick of her wrist, the seam to Cedric's bag split, spilling books, parchment and quills down the stairs.

"Don't bother," said Cedric in an exasperated voice as his friends bent down to help him. "Tell Flitwick I'm coming, go on..."

Tempest waited till his friends had disappeared into their classroom, and ran up the stairs. "Hey, Cedric."

"Hi," said Cedric, picking up a copy of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration that was now splattered with ink. "My bag just split… brand-new and all..."

"Reparo," said Tempest. The bag began to knit itself back together; stiches looping messily back into place. "The first task is getting past a dragon. Thought you should know."

"What?" said Cedric, looking up sharply.

"Dragons," emphasized Tempest. "Fire, fangs, spikes, the lot. They have one for the each of us, and we have to get past them."

Cedric straightened up, his arms full of inky quills, parchment, and books, his newly mended bag dangling off one shoulder. He stared at Tempest, and there was a puzzled, almost suspicious look in his eyes. "Why are you telling me?" he asked.

Tempest rolled her eyes. "This isn't a trick. Krum and Delacour already know, so this is us on a level playing field, yeah?" The skin at the back of her neck prickled. "I've got to go, alright? Have a good one."

She left Cedric, still looking slightly stunned, and skirted around Moody, who had just appeared, stumping around a corner. Tempest ducked by him, avoiding eye contact. Sirius may have said Dumbledore wanted him around because of Karkaroff, yet it was undeniable that Moody set her on edge beyond anything Karkaroff had yet done.

Tuesday passed in a blur.

Tempest spent the day attempting to drag every second out to measure as an eternity. There was a coil of snakes writhing in her stomach, and time had obviously rejected all of Tempest's offers of friendship as one moment she was at breakfast, downing cups of tea, the next, she was seated at the Gryffindor table again for lunch.

There was a great excitement in the hall, and Tempest felt very separate from everyone around her- more than usual at least. Classes had ended at midday to let the students arrive at the dragon enclosure in time- of course, they didn't know what they'd find there, and now Tempest wished she could share in that ignorance.

She remained planless, only slightly reassured that all the other times she'd faced danger, she had been similarly prepared.

"Miss Potter!"

Tempest looked up to see Minnie hurrying to her. Lots of people were watching.

"Miss Potter, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now… you have to get ready for your first task."

"Oh." Tempest stood, setting aside her half-finished tea.

George leaned over from his seat at the table to grasp at her hand briefly. "Don't fuck up," he said, quite seriously. "That would be bad."

Tempest nodded jerkily. "Really bad." She carefully avoided eye contact with everyone else and left the Great Hall with Minnie.

Minnie didn't seem like herself as they walked down the steps of the castle. She looked quite anxious. As they walked out into the cold November afternoon, she laid her hand on Tempest's shoulder.

"Are you…" Minnie seemed at a loss for words. "Are you all right, Tempest?"

Tempest laughed once. "I'm always all right, Minnie."

Minnie was silent for a moment.

"Now, don't panic," she said eventually, "just keep a cool head... We've got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand... The main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of you if-"

Tempest raised an eyebrow pointedly, and Minnie fell back into silence.

They were walking towards the place where the dragons were, around the edge of the forest, but when they approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, Tempest saw a tent had been erected, it's entrance facing them, screening the dragons from view.

"You're to go in here with the other champions and wait your turn. Mr Bagman is in there, he'll be telling you the procedure…" Minnie paused for a moment, staring at Tempest. "Good luck."

Tempest's lips tugged upwards into a mirthless smile. "Thank you."

She went inside.

Delacour was sitting in the corner on a wooden stool, not smiling or looking nearly as composed as usual, but rather pale. Krum looked surlier than usual, which Tempest assumed was his way of showing stress, and Cedric was pacing. All three looked up as Tempest entered, Cedric managing a small rather forced smile, which Tempest returned, her jaw feeling quite stiff.

"Tempest! Good-o!" said Bagman happily, looking around at her. "Come in, come in, make yourself at home!"

Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, standing amid all the pale-faced champions. He was wearing his old Wasp robes again.

"Well, now we're all here- time to fill you in!" said Bagman brightly. "When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag" -he held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them- "from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different- er- varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too... ah, yes... your task is to collect the golden egg!"

Cedric nodded once, to show that he understood Bagman's words, and then started pacing around the tent again; he looked slightly green. Delacour and Krum hadn't reacted at all. Tempest went to lean against the center tent pole.

In no time at all, hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet could be heard passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking. And then Bagman was opening the neck of the purple silk sack.

"Ladies first," he said, offering it to Delacour.

She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon- a Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck. Fleur showed no sign of surprise, but rather a determined resignation, and then the bag was before Tempest.

She dipped her hand into the bag and winced as she came in contact with something sharp. She gripped it, feeling it squirm, and pulled it out, her heart sinking as she saw what she held.

"The Hungarian Horntail," Bagman whispered and Tempest watched as the miniature dragon paced two and fro on her hand, releasing a short burst of flame. There was a tag with a number four written on it tied around the dragon's neck. Krum went next, withdrawing the Chinese Fireball with a number three and didn't react at all, merely stood there with the dragon winding its way around his fingers and stared moodily at the wall opposite. Cedric was last. He pulled out the bluish-grey Swedish Short-Snout, with a number one.

"Well, there you are!" said Bagman. "You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I'm going to have to leave you in a moment, because I'm commentating. Mr. Diggory, you're first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now... Tempest… could I have a quick word? Outside?"

"Sure," said Tempest, and went out of the tent with Bagman, who walked her a short distance away, into the trees, and then turned to her with a fatherly expression on his face.

"Feeling all right, Tempest? Anything I can get you?"

"What?" said Tempest, "no, not at this point-"

"Got a plan?" said Bagman, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Because I don't mind sharing a few pointers, if you'd like them, you know. I mean," Bagman continued, lowering his voice still further, "you're at a disadvantage here, Tempest… Anything I can do to help..."

"No," said Tempest, glancing at Bagman, who shifted from foot to foot with a frantic sort of energy. "I, er… appreciate the thought."

"Nobody would know, Tempest," said Bagman, winking at her.

No one would know.

And Tempest didn't have a plan. Not a shadow of one.

I believe in you. Sirius had said. You're not going to die.

"All the same," said Tempest, "no."

A whistle blew somewhere.

"Good lord, I've got to run!" said Bagman in alarm, and he hurried off.

Tempest walked back to the tent and saw Cedric emerging from it, greener than ever. Wordlessly, Tempest clapped him on the shoulder as he walked past, and went back inside the tent to Fleur and Krum.

What followed was the tensest half an hour of Tempest's life. Cedric finished after much nerve-wracking commentary by Bagman and Fleur followed him, then Krum- then Krum had finished and it would be her turn.

She stood by the flap of the tent. She wasn't sure whether she was relieved that the moment was finally here. There would be no more dreadful waiting, and soon this would all be over. The whistle blew, and she walked out of the tent, sure she was paler than paper.

Before, the world had seemed to be in black and white, but as she reached the enclosure, colour returned with a vividness that almost blinded her.

There were hundreds and hundreds of faces staring at her from the stands, and there was the Horntail. It seemed even more bigger and vicious than the last time Tempest had saw it, and it was crouched low over her clutch of eggs at the other side of the enclosure, her wings half-furled, and her yellow eyes on Tempest. Tempest's eyes were drawn to the Horntail's tail, which the Horntail was thrashing against the ground, leaving huge deep scrape marks in the rock.

Tempest's grip on her wand was clammy.

Her only weapon and her only defense, and right now, it felt very much just like a stick.

The crowd was yelling, but Tempest didn't know whether it was in her favour or not, because her ears seemed to have been stuffed with cotton wool. She didn't realize that the Horntail was swinging its tail towards her, until her brain registered the screams from the crowd and the fact that there was a potentially fatal object sailing through the air in her direction and she wasn't moving…

Tempest dove to the side as her muscles unfroze, feeling the tail miss her by inches, slamming into the ground mere inches from where she lay. She could hear the voice of Bagman booming around the pitch, but indistinguishable with the roaring of the dragon.

Tempest rolled to her back, eyes wide as she saw the dragon, larger than life, loom above her. She was forced to execute a clumsy roll to the side as the Horntail's teeth snapped just about her head. Tempest rolled to the side as the tail slammed down by her again, and suddenly the dragon seemed to be right on top of her. The teeth were snapping at her, while the tail kept missing her by inches… Tempest couldn't see the egg, raw instinct telling her to get away from the dragon…

Tempest lunged forwards through two of the Horntail's legs, managing to find an empty pocket of space, just as the tail whistled towards her. She ducked, and the next moment there was an intake of breath from the dragon, and suddenly a torrent of fire was sent straight to where Tempest was standing.

It was in this moment, that Tempest realized, she had dropped her wand.

There was a chorus of gasps and screams as Tempest reacted without thinking. "Aguamenti!" she yelled, brining her hand up in a sweeping motion, and a wave of water materialized from the air.

A blast of steam exploded as the fire met the water, blinding Tempest and knocking her backwards.

The tail swung again at Tempest, and she dove forwards again. Where was her wand?

Grey rocks swam before her eyes as she frantically scanned for any glimpse of brown.

She barely had time to duck behind a clump of rocks as the dragon breathed fire again, heating up the rocks until they were cherry red.

The sky went dark, and Tempest bit back a scream as she saw the Horntail pounce. She flung herself to the side, landing heavily on the rocks, the sharp edges digging into her skin. The breath was knocked from her lungs and she lay there stunned.

Her fingers scrabbled at the ground as she tried to push herself upright, and they came in contact with a slim shaft of wood.

She barely had time to whirl around as the dragon lunged for her; Tempest made a slashing motion with her wand, "Tempestas!"

The blast of wind caught the dragon's half-extended wings, sending the dragon slamming backwards into the wall of the enclosure.

Tempest scrambled to her feet, glancing over at the pile of eggs. They were too far away, and she had already run out of time. The dragon had recovered, lunging for Tempest again, forcing her to flatten against the ground. She was sweating now- well she had been before, only now it was drenching her shirt, and she hadn't a hope of getting past the dragon, she could barely keep her feet.

The dragon's paw with claws extended stretched out for her, and Tempest threw herself to the side, bruising her ribs, but managing to find her feet, staggering upright. And then, out of the corner of her eye she saw the Horntail's tail curving through the air, coming right for her…

Tempest shoved her wand up her sleeve and ran straight for the dragon.

The Horntail roared, the crowd screamed, and there was a ringing in her ears as she planted a foot on the dragon's scaly hind leg and vaulted upward onto it's back. The dragon surged up as Tempest hit, grasping at one of the spines that ridged the Horntail's back. She could feel the heat of the dragon, burning through her clothes. Her feet scrabbled as she tried to hang on.

The dragon screamed. Fire washed the air as the Horntail thrashed, trying to fling Tempest off. It's wings spread and dazedly, Tempest felt muscle shift beneath the scales. She could find no purchase for her feet, and her grip was slipping- she strained to reach for the next nearest spike. If she could just reach the neck…

She had reached the shoulder-joint of the Horntail when the chain holding the Horntail's hind leg snapped.

The situation degraded very quickly.

Jets of red light flew from the stands, stunners sent to subdue the dragon, but they missed their mark or glanced harmlessly off its scales. The crowd was on its feet, a sea of faceless colour that was obscured from Tempest's vision as the dragon reared and brought its wings down in an ear-numbing thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Tempest hauled herself up and managed to sling a leg over the neck of the dragon.

She sat there, nestled between two spikes, heaving in breath after breath as she tried to regain her senses.

It was then that she noticed they were in the air. The arena grew smaller beneath them, the dragon surging straight upward, each downward stroke of its wings jarring Tempest's entire frame. She was riding a dragon.

The laugh tore through Tempest's body, and she might have cried, but she couldn't savor the moment. Every time the dragon beat its wings, they climbed higher into the sky, and with every wing beat, she noticed the shift and bunch of scales along its neck.

She laid a hand flat against the neck of the dragon and slid her wand out from her sleeve.

Three.

Two.

One.

Tempest jammed the tip of her wand beneath a ridge of scales that had shifted upwards. "Sorry mate," she said.

"Stupefy."

There was one moment of absolute and utter stillness.

The Horntail hung in the air. Tempest's breath was caught in her throat. The scales lit a blood-red beneath her hands.

And they plummeted like a stone.

The dragon fell from the sky, wings and smoke from its nostrils trailing behind it. Tempest clung on for dear life. She hadn't planned this very well, and she knew their impact with the ground would be brutal.

It was.

The dragon crashed into the ground, the shock travelling through Tempest and she may have lost consciousness for a moment, because when she came to, she was lying on her front several meters away from the motionless dragon.

Tempest pushed herself to her feet.

The nest of eggs laid several steps away. Amongst the black and brown speckled eggs, the golden one glinted invitingly.

Sound returned to Tempest in a sudden rush.

The crowd was yelling and cheering, and Tempest's ears were ringing as she staggered forwards to pick up the egg.

Over by the entrance to the enclosure, she could see dragon keepers flooding out to examine the dragon, and behind them, Minnie, Moody and Hagrid were hurrying towards her.

The world swam alarmingly, and Tempest had to sit abruptly, watching the adults run towards her.

"Tempest!" yelled Minnie, drawing closer. Her face was flushed and her hair was coming out of its bun as she reached her. "Tempest… that was-"

"Bloody brilliant!" said Hagrid hoarsely, "yeh did it! Yeh…" he seemed to become speechless and merely stared at Tempest through watery eyes. Moody looked very pleased too; his magical eye was dancing in its socket.

"Well done, Potter," he said gruffly.

"Thanks," Tempest said breathlessly. She looked to Minnie. "Professor McGonagall- I'm a dragon rider."

Minnie stared at Tempest, and her laugh sounded like a sob. "Yes you are, Miss Potter. Come on. To the First Aid tent now, please."

Tempest walked out of the enclosure, still panting, and saw Pomfrey standing at the mouth of a second tent, looking worried.

"Dragons!" she said, in a disgusted tone, pulling Tempest inside. The tent was divided into cubicles; she could make out Cedric's shadow through the canvas, but he didn't seem to be badly injured; he was sitting up, at least. Pomfrey waved her wand about Tempest and other than suffering from some bruises that would look and feel delightful the next day, declared Tempest fine.

She forced some Pepper Up potion into Tempest's hand though- to 'stop the shaking.' Tempest hadn't even noticed, but now that she had, her hands were trembling violently and her legs wouldn't stop jiggling in place.

"Now, just sit quietly for a minute- sit! And then you can go and get your score."

She bustled out of the tent and he heard her go next door and say, "How does it feel now, Diggory?"

Tempest drank the potion, and it eased her somewhat, but she had to stand after a while, unable to remain stationary. She was about to exit the tent when the flap opened and two people entered: Hermione, followed closely by Ron.

"Tempest, you were brilliant!" Hermione said squeakily. There were fingernail marks on her face where she had been clutching it in fear. "You were amazing! You really were!"

Tempest grinned, "I rode a fucking dragon."

Ron, who stood awkwardly behind Hermione, was as white as a ghost and staring at Tempest like she was announcing the second coming.

"Tempest," he said, very seriously, "whoever put your name in that goblet- I- I reckon they're trying to do you in!"

Tempest scoffed, her smile fading. "Bit delayed, don't you think?"

Hermione stood nervously between them, looking from one to the other. Ron opened his mouth uncertainly. He was about to apologize, and suddenly it was the last thing Tempest wanted to hear.

"Don't bother," said Tempest abruptly. "You don't need to-" she grinned all of a sudden. "Ron, I rode a fucking dragon."

Ron grinned nervously back at Tempest. "Yeah, mate, you did. It was bloody fantastic."

Hermione burst into tears.

"Why're you crying?" asked Tempest, bewildered.

"You two are so stupid!" she shouted, stamping her foot on the ground, tears splashing down her front. Then, before either of them could stop her, she had given both of them a hug and dashed away, now positively howling.

"Barking mad," said Ron, shaking his head. "Tempest, c'mon, they'll be putting up your scores..."

They ran into George as they left the tent, who dragged Tempest into a headlock embrace, and proceeded to seize her hand and shake it vigorously. "You," he declared, "were brilliant. I thought you'd get maimed so many times, and you brought down that dragon all by yourself! I won fifteen galleons betting on you!"

"Happy to help," said Tempest, "oi- only fifteen?"

"Nah, I bet thirty- the other fifteen are for if you come first in this task-"

"Enough with the betting," Ron cut in, "you were fantastic, Tempest- Cedric took a pretty nasty gash to his shoulder, and Krum almost got trampled by his dragon, so really, you were the best! None of the rest managed to knock the dragon out!"

"You should have seen everyone when the dragon took off," said George, "the handlers were scrambling everywhere- Charlie was out of his mind with worry and I thought McGonagall was going to do a nut-"

They reached the edge of the enclosure. The horntail had been taken away, and so had the eggs, and Tempest could see where the five judges were sitting- right at the other end, in raised seats draped in gold.

"It's marks out of ten from each one," Ron said, and Tempest saw the first judge- Maxime- raise her wand in the air. What looked like a long silver ribbon shot out of it, which twisted itself into a large figure eight.

"Not bad!" said Ron as the crowd applauded. "I suppose she took marks off how much the dragon cornered you."

Crouch came next. He shot a number nine into the air.

"Looking good!" Ron yelled, thumping Tempest on the back. Next, Dumbledore. He too put up a nine. Ludo Bagman- ten. Ron was bouncing on his heels, and Tempest blinked dazedly up at the judges. And now Karkaroff raised his wand. He paused for a moment, and then a number shot out of his wand too- five.

"What?" Ron bellowed furiously. "five? You lousy, biased scumbag, you gave Krum ten!"

Tempest laughed, clapping Ron on the shoulder and dragging him out of the enclosure. "I don't care Ron, I rode a fucking dragon."

It turned out she was in first place by one point. It really put Karkaroff's number into perspective; it must have been killing him not to give her a four, or a three. Bagman gave them the clue for the next task, which was on February the twenty-fourth and she and Ron began to walk back to school together.

Ron was just describing Krum's use of what sounded like the Conjunctivitis Curse when from the trees, Skeeter jumped out at them. She was wearing acid-green robes against which her Quick Quotes Quill blended perfectly.

"Congragulations, Tempest!" she said, beaming at her. "I wonder if you could give me a quick word? How you felt facing that dragon? Holding your own against the older-and more experienced- champions?"

Tempest stared at the woman.

"How about a picture?" she suggested suddenly. "I heard they're worth a thousand words."

Sticking up two fingers, she grasped Ron's arm firmly, and the pair of them continued on to the castle.

Sirius- I rode a dragon! For all of about thirty seconds, I was a fucking dragon rider- I'm so stoked. And alive, that's important too, and slightly unbelievable. I went into that arena without the faintest idea what to do, just 'don't die' echoing in my ears, do I thank you for that? I will regardless. I'm in first place in the Tournament now, Merlin knows how that happened- I have Karkaroff to thank for that actually. If he is trying to kill me in this Tournament, perhaps this has thrown a wrench in his plans. I've decided I'm not just going to survive this thing, I'm going to do my darnest to win it.

It really was great to see you, however briefly- let me know if there's any potential for speaking in the future, but Merlin please don't put yourself at risk to do so. There is so much we need to talk about, and thankfully, my head is off the chopping block till the end of February.

Sirius, I rode a dragon! -Best, Tempest.

Fred and George had thrown a party in the Gryffindor common room to celebrate. They must have been down to the kitchen, because there were mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer on every surface. Lee Jordan had let off some Filibuster's Fireworks, some of the ones that they had in reserve, so that the air was thick with stars and sparks. Dean Thomas, who was excellent at drawing, had put up some impressive banners, most of which depicted Tempest looking decidedly heroic, soaring on the back of the Horntail. She grinned dopily at one that had her face contorted in concentration, leaning over the Horntail's neck, then laughed at another, which showed Cedric with his head on fire.

George elbowed his way through the crowd to stand before Tempest, a platter in hand bearing a large pot of tea and a mug.

"M'lady wished for tea?"

"George, you gorgeous thing," said Tempest, setting her golden egg to a side and grabbing for the tea.

They collapsed down onto a couch that was designated Tempest's own, and she breathed in the scent of bergamot, allowing herself to finally relax. She was starting to ache now, adrenaline long since faded, and she felt floppy with tiredness.

"Hello," she said to George's chin, melting further into the couch.

"Your elbow's in my stomach." He replied, "Ow."

"Sorry," Tempest said, shifting her arm, then yawning. "Great party. The fireworks- how long do they last?"

George shrugged, "About an hour or so, we've got a whole crate though, so that'll last us as long as we like."

"I wonder if Minnie would me set off some in the cottage," said Tempest. "Remind me to talk to your supplier?"

"After deducting an intermediary fee?" George smirked. "I'd never forget."

"Thanks mate," Tempest sighed, wiggling further into the couch. "Has this couch always been this comfortable?"

"Blimey, this is heavy!" called a voice, and Tempest lifted her head to see Lee Jordan picking up her golden egg. "Open it Tempest, go on! Let's see what's inside!"

He threw it across the room- Tempest's hands shot up to catch it before it could smash into her face- and laughing, she sat up, settling the egg in her lap so she had a good grip.

"Tempest, you're meant to figure out the clue on your own!" interrupted Hermione.

There was a loud groan from the surrounding Gryffindors.

Tempest smirked. "I'm meant to do a lot of things, Hermione." And she dug her nails into the grove that ran all the way around it, and pried it open.

The egg was completely empty and hollow- but the moment the two sides of the egg separated, a horrible noise, loud and screechy wailing, filled the room. The nearest thing to it Tempest had ever heard was the ghost orchestra at Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party, who had all been playing the musical saw.

"SHUT IT!" Fred bellowed, his hands clamped over his ears.

The egg had fallen to the floor from when Tempest had automatically shoved it away, and she had to scramble for a moment before she regained her grip on the sides of the egg to slam it shut.

The sound cut off as abruptly as it had begun, and Tempest slumped against the side of the couch, dropping the egg onto the table in front of her, panting as though she had run a race. Her ears were ringing from the horrible noise and she could have gotten a hammer and smashed the egg right there and then.

"What was that?" asked Seamus, "It sounded like a banshee… Only worse! Maybe you've got to get past one of those next Tempest!"

Neville cut in, face white with terror. "It was someone being tortured! You're going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!"

"Don't be a prat, Neville, that's illegal," said George. "They wouldn't use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions. It sounded a lot like Percy singing…" George continued, "maybe you've got to attack him while he's in the shower Hedgy!"

Tempest laughed, the mood lightening once more, and the Gryffindors filed off to find more food. Tempest plucked a custard cream from the plate that George offered her, took a bite, and turned into a bird.

The room howled with laughter, and Tempest looked around, chirping at the new turn of events. A moment later she felt like she was being squeezed through a spaghetti strainer, and she flopped back down into her seat blinking rapidly. "What was that?"

"The Canary Creams," George choked out through hysterical tears. "Oh you make an adorable canary! Your face-"

Tempest began laughing too- then tackled George over the side of the couch.

"Canary Creams!" Fred beamed, appearing out of the crowd to peer down at the two wrestling on the ground. "Seven sickles each- great to prank your friends with… We're trying to charm then so they last longer… Jam tart anyone?"

He produced a platter of tarts from thin air and waved it around.

It was almost three in the morning when Tempest went up to the dormitory with Hermione (Lavender and Pravati had already gone up,) and collapsed on her bed, relishing the fact that the mattress hugged her aching muscles like a reward.

Tempest let her eyes slip closed.

But now that she was alone…

Tempest opened her eyes and eyed the thick material of the curtains that hung around her bed. She looked at her wand, resting beside her pillow. She held her hands up, palms toward her face, and whispered, "Lumos."

Nothing happened. Not a flicker of light. She tried again, flexing her fingers: "Lumos."

"Lumos," said Tempest, more insistently. Still nothing.

Tempest braced herself; "Aguamenti."

To her mixed relief, water did not spring forth and soak the bed.

Tempest lowered her hands and tugged the blankets up over her, blinking up into the blackness. It must have been a fluke.

"Lumos."

For the briefest of moments, a bright ball of light appeared, hovering in the air, before it winked out of existence.