Chapter 20 – The First Task
The next morning at breakfast the Triwizard Tournament and its subsidiary events were the only thing on anyone's mind. With the First Task later that afternoon, and the first round of the Pariturium held the day before, it was even in the morning newspapers. As the usual mass of owls delivered the morning letters, a large multi-coloured bird with magnificent, long feathers deposited a letter that only just missed Harry's bowl of cereal, before flying away.
Harry knew who had sent the letter after only a moment's thought. It had to have been Sirius Black, as the bird was of a similar kind of flamboyant and loud appearance as the letters the fugitive had sent Harry during the summer. And, of course, Harry very rarely received letters from anyone, unless he'd sent one to his aunt or uncle, and they would never use such an extravagant bird.
Harry opened the letter casually but did try to shield the words until he knew Sirius hadn't implicated himself somehow.
Harry,
Why'd you never tell me you were taking part in a bloody duelling tournament? I had to find out from the Evening Prophet! An absolute rag of a paper, that, but useful here, eh? That Triwizard Tournament is a dangerous game but at least you're not one of the Champions—your mother would have had fits! But I reckon her and your dad would have been very proud of you, and of your performance—a double win on your first try! It really is great work and you should be proud of yourself.
I did read there was a flying thing as part of the Triwizard as well. The Aerobaticum, or something like that. Are you in that, too? I hope so—I've wanted to see you fly for ages!
And look, don't worry about me—I'm having a good bit of fun right now, but I'll be back soon. I've had time to sort my head out after everything that's happened and I'm not the kind of man to just hide away forever. If for no other reason than I'd go mad. You have my word on that. So you'll be seeing me rather sooner than you'd think, actually!
If you need any tips on spells or things like that, send me a letter! I've got loads of stuff that me and your dad used to use, way back when. Some of it even appropriate for your tournament, I'd imagine!
Good luck, Harry! Keep on winning.
Padfoot
"Who's that from?" asked Blaise, peering over the top of his copy of the Daily Prophet and leaning towards Harry to get a look at the letter. Harry stuffed it into his robe pocket so he could go over it later and prevent Blaise from reading through it at the same time. It never hurt to be careful, after all. Sirius was still a wanted fugitive.
"Er, family friend," Harry said. "My parents', not my aunt and uncle—I don't think they... well, you know, muggles."
"A family friend with a predilection for flashy birds, looks like," said Blaise. "If I didn't already know the Malfoys specifically kept peacocks, I'd have thought you were getting letters from Lucius Malfoy."
Harry pulled a face at the suggestion.
"God, I really hope I never get letters from Lucius Malfoy!" Harry said. Then he realised he might have perhaps been a little too loud, so he checked down the table for Draco, but the other boy didn't seem to have heard. "Mind you, I'm not sure getting letters from whatever that was is all that much better than a peacock, to be honest," Harry admitted.
Sirius was good fun and seemed like a nice enough man, but his taste in mail delivery fowl was questionable, especially for an escaped convict laying low.
"Mr Malfoy uses an eagle owl, actually," Theodore said. "Like yours, but more ... vicious." He rubbed at his wrist at the mention of Lucius Malfoy's owl.
"Oh, but who cares about owls?" said Tracey from the other side of the table. "This is much more exciting!" She had a copy of the Daily Prophet's morning edition in her hands, opened to one of the interior pages. "We're in the paper, Harry!" she said. "Look, there's even a picture of us in the match!"
"Really?" asked Harry. "Blaise, let's have look at your paper, go on..."
Blaise sighed and handed Harry his copy of the Prophet.
"Where is it?" asked Harry as he flicked through the pages. "Never mind, found it."
Harry scanned through the accompanying articles until he saw his own name. It was only a footnote compared with the rest of the spread – a whole page about Diggory, complete with a picture of him at the Champions' 'Weighing of the Wands' ceremony. There were even little featurettes on Krum and Delacour, but Harry was featured, and with a photograph, too.
"It's mostly about Harry so far," Tracey read. To her credit, she only sounded a little disappointed – Harry knew he'd have been much less magnanimous. "'Harry Potter, famous for his defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on that fateful Hallowe'en Night, made his first outing in the world of competitive duelling yesterday afternoon. Potter, featured here with his duelling partner—'" continued Tracey until she stopped abruptly. "Oh, that's bollocks, that is! They got my name wrong!"
"It's nearly right," said Theodore. He glanced down at Blaise's copy of the paper in Harry's hands. "Look, 'Tracy Davies'—they just switched the E around, that's all. And there's a picture of you, so it's not all bad. At least you made the issue—they could have used one from Harry's singles."
"Your hair looks really nice in that photo, though," said Daphne. "Is that the pin I lent you? Ooh, it worked really well!"
"It is!" said Tracey. "It was really good actually. I was going to ask if I could borrow it again for our next match—the charms on it were brilliant!"
"You can just keep it," Daphne said. "I've got loads."
"That's so nice of you!" said Tracey. "Thanks!" But by then, Daphne had already turned away and returned to chatting with Millicent about something or other. Tracey looked back down at the paper. "I suppose they did say that I Disarmed Lacroix, they even said it was a 'deft bit of spellwork', so it's not just about Harry either... Even if they did get my name wrong."
"To be honest," said Harry, "I'm surprised they didn't waste more words on talking about all that Voldemort stuff. It's usually ten pages of that shit and then 'Harry Potter farted on Tuesday in Charms.'"
A few of his friends – and some others at the Slytherin Table who had overheard – pulled faces at his use of Voldemort's name, but most people around Harry were used to his casual use of the word by now, even if they disapproved.
"Can I have my paper back now?" asked Blaise. "Breakfast is nearly over and I haven't got through the Triwizard stuff yet."
"Yeah, okay," said Harry. "But I'm keeping this little bit on me and Tracey, if you don't mind."
Harry handed the paper back to Blaise and tucked the sheet with the article about him and Tracey into his pocket with the letter from Sirius. He wasn't entirely sure, but he thought he might send it back so his aunt could have a look. Despite Harry's rather jaded assessment of the papers and their usual treatment of him, it was nice to be featured because of his own actual achievements. And Petunia liked that sort of thing, anyway.
The remainder of breakfast was spent fussing over the Transfiguration homework due in after breakfast, which Harry had already completed and didn't feel much like going over again – especially not so close to the deadline. So he read through Sirius's letter once again and started to formulate a response in his head until it was time to leave for Transfiguration.
After that, it was a full day's slog through lessons until at the very end of the school day, the entire school – along with their foreign delegations and various outside observers – settled in to watch the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament proper.
The arena for the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament's Gauntlet had been erected over the course of the day at the edge of the Forbidden Forest with one side backing up against the trees and consisted of a large paddock filled with huge eggs. Half a dozen stands with seating lined the far side of the paddock, set back quite far.
Students – Hogwarts and otherwise – had all been relegated to specific sections of the stands, with members of the public and various other officials and personages given the better seats. Harry reckoned they'd been sat there for at least half an hour by the time anything started to happen, and that was only a sudden influx of stressed-out looking wizards and witches wearing dragonhide robes covered in burn marks into the paddock area.
"What do you think they're putting in here?" asked Millicent. "It's got to be something massive, or otherwise there'd be no point in that big field." She paused. "Unless it's lots of littler things, I suppose."
"Those eggs are dragons' eggs," said Theodore, who'd gone paler than usual, "but they can't be stupid enough to have brought in real, live, nesting dragons..."
Harry pointed towards the Forest.
"I think they were stupid enough to have brought in real, live, nesting dragons, mate," he said.
Another group of wizards – equally stressed and covered in just as many if not more burn marks – attempted to coax a full-grown dragon into the paddock. Shimmering silvery-blue scales glistened as they caught the fading afternoon sun, and whenever one of the wizards got too close, jets of deadly flames shot from the dragon's snout in vivid cerulean.
"That's such a pretty colour," Harry heard Daphne say to Millicent.
The appearance of a dragon caused some consternation amongst most of the spectators, and the stands, which hadn't been quiet to begin with, erupted into cacophonous noise.
"A bloody dragon!" Harry heard one of the upper years shout. "I fucking told you!"
But he wasn't the only one to have opinions he wanted to share, as seemingly everyone started shouting at the dragon's appearance.
The dragon reared up at the noise and swatted one of its handlers away with a big, muscular hand. The rest of the keepers did manage to regain control quickly after – although not quickly enough to save a swathe of trees, which had been burned to ashen stumps at the dragon's passing.
"This is a terrible idea," said Theodore. "Just a really, monumentally, colossally, bad idea. The only thing worse would be a nundu. No wonder they cancelled this stupid Tournament before."
"You worry too much," said Millicent. "I mean, it's not like they don't have professionals here to deal with the dragons, is it? And they said everything is meant to be much safer this time, so I don't think there's any real danger in it."
Theodore mumbled something and then sighed deeply.
"I just—it's not that I'm afraid of dragons, but, well..." he trailed off as he looked at the devastation the passing dragon had wrought on the Forest – some of which still burned despite the efforts of the dragon's handlers to put it out – and then shrugged. "Well, at least we're quite far from the paddock."
Harry did sympathise with Theodore. It probably was a bad idea to set the Champions against a nesting dragon, or whatever it was that was about to happen, but he couldn't help but be excited for the upcoming spectacle. It wasn't every day that he got to see dragons, and it was rarer still that anyone had to face one somehow. The Triwizard Tournament was shaping up to be very exciting – for Harry, anyway. He didn't envy the Champions.
The dragon keepers managed to get the dragon into the paddock without any further incidents. As far as Harry could tell the dragon had got much easier to handle once it realised its eggs were there, and it settled atop them quickly enough. It curled around the eggs and spread its wings out to cover as much of them as possible, and then seemed content to wait.
"Dragons are cool, right," Harry said, "but isn't it a bit ... cruel ... to bring one here and then take its eggs and like... well, you know," he said with a little gesture to the paddock. "It seems like the dragon was only pissed off because her eggs got taken away. And now the Champions have to, like, do something in the field? With an angry dragon guarding its eggs?"
Blaise shrugged.
"As long as the Champions can avoid incineration they can be fixed, so who cares," he said. "And it's not like the dragons will hurt their own eggs, is it?"
"I agree with Harry," said Daphne. "That dragon has beautiful scales! She's magnificent! And you know I don't usually like things like that, so if I'm saying it then it must be true. She's just guarding her babies, look. It's not fair. They should have found something else to do."
"We don't actually know what they're going to be doing," said Millicent, frowning. "And anyway, we've got dragons to watch and you lot are chatting shit. Can we just enjoy something cool for once?"
"I think it's about to start!" said Tracey. She pointed towards the judges' podium where the four judges – Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, the Ministry official whose name Harry thought was Crouch, and Master Karkaroff – had taken their seats. A tall, powerfully-built blond wizard had taken a standing position next to the judges' table. Ludo Bagman, Harry realised after a few moments. A former England Beater and the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and the man whose secretary had sent Harry tickets to the Quidditch World Cup. Harry hadn't realised Bagman would be providing commentary, but he supposed it wasn't so surprising given his history and his position.
The appearance of the judges and the commentator quietened the crowd, and soon enough Bagman pointed his wand at his own throat and cast a Sonorous Charm.
"Now then, as you can all probably tell, we're just about to begin! I am Ludo Bagman—yes, that Bagman—and for those of you who don't remember me from my illustrious sporting career or my time as a sports reporter, I was also the announcer for the Junior singles duelling yesterday afternoon! We gather here this afternoon and evening to commence the First Task in the Gauntlet of the revived Triwizard Tournament. As the more eagle-eyed of you have no doubt guessed already, the First Task will involve dragons!" Bagman paused to let the hype build, then continued. "To make things even better—much more thrilling for everyone—our brave Champions have had no prior forewarning of what lies ahead, and the first they've heard of any dragons has been in the Champions' tent not ten minutes ago! Exciting, isn't it?"
Bagman continued through his introductions and listed the order in which the Champions would face their assigned dragon. There were three different dragons, and three different sets of eggs, which only added to the madness of the event in Harry's estimation.
Theodore leaned over while Bagman was explaining and muttered something to Harry.
"He's a gambler, you know. Bagman. My father told me he owes all the bookies money—he bought some of Bagman's debt, you see. I wonder if he's got any money on this..."
"Probably," said Harry with a shrug. "I don't imagine he could skip this opportunity." It seemed like a rather poor idea to have a gambling addict in charge of anything, let alone a Ministry department. A man with debts big enough for shady characters like the elder Nott to be interested in buying them was a liability for any organisation.
Still, it was useful information to know, so Harry tried to remember it in case he needed it later.
"And here we are, folks! Our first Champion—Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts, in case you'd forgot!—out of the gate and into the dragon's nest! This specimen here is a Swedish Short-snout—nasty breed with very dangerous breath! Diggory of course is a Quidditch player, and a successful duellist as we saw yesterday, so no stranger to having to make decisions on the edge of a knut. What will he make of this, I wonder? We'll have to see!"
While Bagman prattled on in true sports commentator style, Harry looked over Diggory. The usually confident and self-assured Hufflepuff seemed absolutely terrified at the sight of the Swedish Short-snout curled around her eggs, and Harry couldn't blame him.
The dragon keepers had placed a single golden egg, smaller than all the rest, amongst the dragons' eggs in the paddock. Bagman had said that egg – or identical versions, at least – was the goal of the Champions in the First Task, but the dragon guarded it as zealously as her own eggs.
Probably because she thought it was one of her eggs.
Diggory stood frozen in place in front of the dragon. The dragon seemed almost entirely unconcerned with his presence, as it didn't move at all until Diggory moved his wand. The dragon tracked his every movement with her eyes, although she remained in place.
For a moment Harry thought he would end up as a charred bit of earth on the paddock floor, but Diggory gained control of himself soon enough and sprang into action. Stood more or less still, Diggory moved his wand through the motions of a spell.
He transfigured a large rock near to the dragon's eggs into a dog, which immediately started to run around the paddock barking. Terrified, no doubt. The dragon moved towards it like a streak of blue lightning, and Diggory burst into a run.
He reached the pile of eggs and started to climb towards to the golden egg while the dragon hunted the dog. By the time Diggory got to the top, the dog had met a grisly end at the jaws of the dragon, which whipped around in search of Diggory instead. Harry felt rather sorry for the dog – to have been conjured up out of non-existence only to be eaten by a dragon not five minutes later wasn't quite the life Harry would have wanted, either. But he hoped it wasn't a grim foreshadowing of Diggory's own fate.
Diggory grabbed the egg, tucked it into his armpit, and then moved down the pile of eggs carefully. So far Diggory appeared to have been trying to avoid any damage to the eggs, which Harry thought commendable. Although dragon eggs were quite durable, they could have been quite easily smashed if Diggory hadn't been careful.
Unfortunately for Diggory, his care and attention towards the dragons' eggs meant that by the time he got to the bottom of the egg pile, he was well within range of the dragon's snout.
The Short-snout spat a torrent of blue fire from its mouth which hit Diggory right across the side of his face. A sickly-sweet smell filled the air at the same time as Diggory let loose a hair-curdling scream.
"And he's still got the stupid egg!" Harry heard Millicent say. "Now that's a bloody Champion!"
True enough, Diggory still had the golden egg tucked under his arm despite having had half his face melt off. He stumbled through his first few steps after the dragon's attack, and then managed a run right back to the Champions' tent at the edge of the paddock. The dragon went to follow him, but as soon as Diggory had made it clear from the paddock, the dragon keepers swarmed into the field to corral the dragon once again.
Diggory left the field to raucous applause and cheers. From everyone who hadn't had their stomachs turned at Short-snout's quick work on the dog and its subsequent roasting of Diggory's face, anyway.
"That was brilliant!" said Millicent. "He got hit in the face with a Swedish Short-snout's fire and walked away from it! That lad has balls!"
"Oh, but I do hope they can fix the damage," said Tracey. "Diggory was really handsome when he went in. It would be a shame if he went out with a melted off face, wouldn't it?"
"He's too handsome," Blaise said with a shrug. "At least with half his face gone the rest of us will stand a chance."
"They'll be able to fix it," said Millicent dismissively. "Didn't you listen in Magizoology this week? As long as you get to the burns quickly with the right treatments you're fine. No scars or anything."
While it was true that they'd had a special lesson on dragons that week, it had been led by Mr Hagrid, and most of the class – Harry included – had taken the opportunity to chat amongst themselves.
Bagman carried on talking, mostly just to fill the dead space as the dragon keepers tried to remove the Swedish Short-snout from the paddock. As far as Harry could tell most people weren't listening, preferring instead to talk about what they'd just seen.
The dragon keepers managed to wrangle the dragon back into the Forest quicker than Harry would have thought. By the time a quick keeper snuck back into the paddock and placed another golden egg the others were even bringing out a second dragon.
"A Welsh Green!" said Tracey. "Neis iawn!"
"I suppose it makes sense not to use the same dragon twice," said Blaise, "although I don't want to think about the fact that they've got three dragons sat in the Forbidden Forest."
"Three angry dragons," said Theodore. "Angry dragons whose eggs have been piled up and fiddled with."
The Welsh Green seemed a bit more pliable than the Short-snout, and it reached the paddock without a single incident. Once it saw its eggs piled up amongst those of the other two dragons, it shot towards them and curled up atop the mound. The dragon keepers wisely scarpered at that and left the dragon to it. It shot narrow jets of flame over the eggs as it surveyed the mound.
"Miss Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons is out next, up against a native Welsh Green! Don't be fooled into thinking this dragon a push-over—fiercely territorial like the Welsh themselves, the Green will do anything to protect its eggs! Of course, Miss Delacour is a talented young witch and some have even suggested she might use a Veela allure on the dragon! We shall have to see," said Bagman. "For those of you who didn't see the match, Delacour also participated in the Junior singles duelling yesterday afternoon and scored herself a rather impressive win over her opponent from Durmstrang. Can she carry that through to today? And will it even matter against a dragon?"
Delacour came out of the tent with her wand in hand. Unlike Diggory, Delacour seemed not to have to think about what to do – and the presence of a dragon appeared not to bother her at all. She didn't wait around at all. Instead the heart-shakingly beautiful witch moved her wand through the motions of an intricate and complex spell, and coaxed the dragon into an enchanted sleep.
As Delacour worked her way through the sleeping spell the dragon laid its head on its great claws and curled up around the top of the mound of eggs. Once the spell was done, Delacour began her ascent of the mound in search of the golden egg.
It nestled between two real eggs not far from the dragon's snout where erratic jets of flame shot out with every snore.
But the fire didn't seem to bother Delacour. She climbed steadily, clearly confident that her sleeping spell on the dragon would hold. It wasn't a spell Harry recognised and was an impressive bit of magic to bewitch a sleeping dragon. Dragons were resistant to many spells, and a sleeping spell powerful enough to send a mature nesting dragon to sleep was something Harry thought could be very useful indeed.
Delacour reached the egg in good time and plucked it from its perch. She tucked the egg into her robe pocket and started her descent. It went well enough to start, but as she moved over one of the eggs the hem of her sport robe caught around an egg. While Delacour freed her robe from the eggs, the dragon snored and released jets of flame from its snout as it did.
Flames took hold of Delacour's robe and spread right up her legs and onto her torso. The egg dropped from the remains of her pocket and went rolling across the paddock. Delacour had other things to worry about, though, as the smell of burning flesh once again filled the air and she went tumbling down from the mound of eggs, screaming.
"Miss Delacour is having an awful time of it!" said Bagman. "After that, quite frankly, magnificent sleeping charm this is quite the setback! You know, they say Veela are fire-resistant, but I wouldn't like to test that out under these circumstances, let me tell you! But if she can grab that egg again she can get back on the broom and maybe clinch the win!"
Through it all the dragon remained solidly asleep, a testament to Delacour's talent. Or the strength of the spell, Harry supposed. When the part-Veela hit the ground, she executed a graceful roll to put out the flames and got to her feet. She had a quick look for the egg and when she found it, limped over to it as quickly as she could before retreating from the paddock to the Champions' tent.
Despite being set on fire and rolling down the mound of eggs, Delacour had managed to grab her golden egg and get it back much quicker than Diggory had.
"That was amazing!" Tracey said. "I'm glad she got the egg back—can you imagine going through all of that and then not even getting back with the egg?"
As Bagman babbled inanely to fill the time between Delacour and Krum's attempts at the First Task, Harry watched the dragon keepers attempt to lift Delacour's spell and move the dragon out of the paddock. After a few tries at it they seemed to conclude that they weren't going to manage it, and instead worked together to cast a multi-pronged Levitation Charm to get the dragon out of the paddock.
"I hope Delacour wins this task," declared Daphne. "That was just so—oh, it was just so graceful! And even the way she fell—she just rolled out of it at the end! Now that's a witch!"
"She did get it done quickly, as well," said Harry. "I want to know what that sleeping spell she used was, though. It didn't look like the normal Sleeping Charm, did it?"
"I reckon she cheated," said Blaise. He shrugged at Daphne's glare. "Don't look at me like that—I've got nothing against her personally. It's tradition to cheat, isn't it? But she was too fast out of that tent, like she knew exactly what to do and how to do it. Mark my words, there's cheating going on here somewhere and I'll bet that poor sod Diggory is the only one not having a go."
"Or she could just be an exceptionally skilled and talented witch," said Daphne. "The Goblet did pick her out."
"Yeah, well, they're all obviously that," said Blaise. "Doesn't mean they aren't cheating, as well."
Harry ignored the little argument that broke out between Blaise, Daphne, and Millicent over whether there was any cheating in favour of watching the dragon keepers bring out the lithe, sinewy Chinese Fireball. It slinked through the trees, its bulbous eyes darting around as it constantly surveyed its surroundings.
"I think Delacour used the Sleeping Beauty Curse," said Theodore as the dragon keepers herded the scarlet dragon into the paddock. "It's meant to be really hard to pull off—so hard I didn't think they taught it anywhere anymore. They don't at Hogwarts, anyway."
"Really? Why d'you think it's that one?" asked Harry.
"The book I read about it in had an animated diagram," said Theodore. "I didn't bother trying the spell—it's NEWT level—but I remembered the spell movements because the symmetry was interesting. What Delacour did looked like that."
"Do you remember what book it was in?" asked Harry.
"Not off the top of my head," said Theodore, "but I keep a list of all the books I find interesting things in so when we get back I can have a look for you, if you want."
"That would be great, thanks," Harry said. The tip about keeping a list was good, too. There were so many books Harry had flicked through in search of odd bits of information whose titles he'd long forgotten. It would be good to have a system for finding them again, assuming he could remember to bother keeping the list in the first place.
By then the dragon keepers had got the Fireball safely into the paddock, and it had climbed atop a section of the egg mound containing its own crimson, gold-speckled eggs, coiled around them like a great big snake, its scales glistening in the dying light of the winter afternoon.
"Last—but not least!—we have Viktor Krum of Durmstrang. Now, as I'm sure anyone not living under a rock will already know, Mr Krum here is the youngest ever player to be contracted to any national Quidditch team, and also the youngest to play in a World Cup final match!" said Bagman from the announcer's podium. "Krum's skill on a broom is unquestionable, but how will he do on the ground today, I wonder? Like our previous two Champions Krum saw success in the duelling yesterday afternoon, so we know he's not just a competent broomsman. Ah, but seeing the lad makes me yearn for the feel of a broom between my legs and a thick bat in my hand once again! But we aren't here to relive my glory days—more's the pity! No, we're about to watch Krum tackle a bloody Chinese Fireball! Not the nastiest of the dragons we've seen today, it is certainly the cleverest—or so I'm told! Magizoology never was my subject at school."
Krum strode out from the Champions' tent and headed straight for the Chinese Fireball. He didn't pay a single bit of attention to the crowd, or to Bagman's inane prattling, and took up a position a few metres from the bottom of the egg mound. When he reached his desired spot, he cast a loud noise from the end of his wand and waved his free arm around to grab the dragon's attention.
"Well, that's Krum dead," Harry heard Theodore mutter.
Harry agreed that Krum's response to the dragon was an odd one but assumed the Bulgarian international Quidditch star had some sort of plan in mind.
The Chinese Fireball unfurled itself from amidst the eggs and set off towards Krum in a sinuous motion. Its big, bulbous eyes settled on Krum as it headed for the interloper near its nest.
Krum stood his ground.
He waited until the dragon was closer – almost too close, Harry thought, or at least far closer than Harry would have liked it to have been – and then with a quick movement of his wand, hit the dragon with a spell right in its eyes.
Harry glanced towards Theodore.
"That was the Conjunctivitis Curse, right?" he asked. "The movement..."
Theodore nodded.
"Definitely—look at the dragon," said the other boy, pointing.
The Fireball's already large eyes had swollen so much that they'd been forced closed, and the dragon shrieked, sending puffy balls of flame careening from its mouth as it did.
Krum cast another noise from his wand, this time away from where he stood, and the dragon clambered off towards it. As the dragon thrashed about, smashing some of the assembled eggs, Krum hit the mound at a run and started to climb. Krum managed to reach the top where the golden egg had been stuck between its real cousins before the dragon finally realised it was chasing nothing – through lack of a smell, Harry assumed – and turned back on itself to try and find Krum.
Krum tugged at the golden egg, but it remained stubbornly stuck between the real eggs. While the dragon crashed through the mound of eggs, smashing some of the unluckier ones, Krum struggled to get his golden egg free.
Eventually Krum jabbed his wand at the golden egg and it came free. Krum grabbed it and went sliding down the mound. When Krum hit the ground once more he set off back towards the tent at a jog, leaving behind a confused and distressed dragon.
"Not the cleanest of goes at it," said Bagman, "but he was quick and got out with no injuries to himself, so I reckon Krum should be pleased. Now, as all three Champions have completed the Task successfully we will have to wait a few moments while our esteemed judges—and myself, ha!—tot up the scores! And of course while our brave and knowledgeable dragon keepers attend to, ah, the rampaging dragon..."
"I wouldn't want to be in Magical Games tomorrow morning when all the Howlers arrive," said Millicent. "The International Society for the Protection of Dragons is going to go nuts when they hear about all those smashed eggs. And I don't blame them. Shocking, that was."
"Oh, you're right," said Theodore. He looked back down at the paddock where the keepers had only just managed to send the Fireball off into an enchanted sleep. "I hadn't thought of that... Krum did well apart from that, though, I thought. That curse is a tough one to aim, especially on a dragon..."
"Fireballs have big eyes, though," said Blaise. "Bigger target."
"I think he'll take first place," said Harry, "assuming they don't take away a load of points for smashing all those eggs. He was so fast, like he didn't even need to think about what to do... It's like he saw the dragon and just knew."
"I think Fleur will win," said Daphne. "The dragon keepers couldn't even dispel her sleeping charm and they all tried it. I know she got burned, but she didn't smash any eggs and she was quicker than Diggory, so I think she'll win."
Harry considered it and conceded that Daphne may in fact have a point.
"That's a fair reasoning," Harry said. "I feel sorry for Diggory—he took the longest and he got burned. I think he'll come last for this one. That dog was a clever trick, though—good bit of transfiguration. Wonder why he didn't try a conjuring."
"The rock was the same size as the dog he transfigured," Theodore said, "so I think it was easier than conjuring it from thin air. I think. There's an equation you can do that..." he trailed off. "I know you don't care about that, but that's why he did it. I think."
"You're probably right, then," said Harry. "Still, it's a shame it took him so long to get started, isn't it? Maybe next time he'll have an easier time of it."
"God, I hope so," said Blaise. "It'd be an utter embarrassment to lose because our Champion is intellectually challenged."
"They've brought the Champions back out, look," said Tracey, pointing.
The three Champions had been lined up in front of the judges' table. Neither Diggory nor Delacour seemed any worse for wear after their brush with dragonfire. Harry could see the tell-tale marks of freshly grown skin as well as some sort of salve still stuck to them, but neither Champion seemed in any discomfort. Delacour's robe had even been repaired, although Diggory was still missing a bit of his hair.
"Our wise and learned judges are ready to give their scores!" shouted Bagman from his podium. "And for myself, well, I'm neither wise nor learned but I am ready for scoring, so we'll continue! Ha! We'll give the points in the order they tackled the Task, so Diggory—and Hogwarts—first."
Dumbledore stood and cast his score from his wand. A large number eight floated from the end of his wand, expanded itself while in the air before disappearing with a pop, and then he sat back down. Next to cast her score was Maxime, and although she towered over the gathered men while sitting, when she stood the effect was almost comical. She cast a neat and crisp number nine from her wand before sitting back down. The dour-faced Crouch stood and cast the number seven from his wand before sitting back down. Karkaroff stood and cast a curly number five – an action which received boos from several of the stands – before sitting down. Finally, Bagman cast a big and bold number nine.
"Well, that's a total of thirty-eight points for Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts!" concluded Bagman. "We'll do Delacour of Beauxbatons next, with the judges casting scores in reverse order. I'll go first!" Bagman shot a number nine once more into the air to general applause.
Next came Karkaroff, who stood and shot a measly number six from the end of his wand. Crouch awarded Delacour a seven, while Madame Maxime gave her own Champion nine points. Finally Dumbledore gave Delacour eight points.
"Oho!" said Bagman once the scoring had concluded. "That's a score of thirty-nine for Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons! Just one point more than Hogwarts's Champion, Diggory! This is shaping up to be a devilishly close competition, I must say! Now for the final scores—for Viktor Krum, the Durmstrang Champion—we'll reverse the order again, so Headmaster Dumbledore, your score, please!"
Dumbledore stood, cast a number six into the air, and then sat back down again – to a couple of boos, although as far as Harry could tell the reaction didn't bother the elderly wizard. Maxime awarded Krum a score of seven, while Karkaroff gave Krum a perfect ten. Crouch awarded a score of eight, and finally Bagman gave Krum a nine.
"And there we have it, fair witches and gentlewizards! The First Task goes to Viktor Krum of Durmstrang Institute with his score of forty—yes, forty—points! I should tell you that there was much discussion had between us judges about the scoring of this Task, and while Mr Krum did lose points from all the judges for the destruction of several dragon eggs, his quick completion of the task without any injury to himself saw him just edge the win! And that's it for the first run at the Gauntlet!"
Bagman paused for the roar of the crowd, and then continued once the noise had died down.
"We'll reconvene for the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament's Gauntlet in February," continued Bagman, "although to watch what, exactly, I can't say—that is for our Champions to figure out, and for the rest of us mere spectators to speculate on! Until then the students have the Yule Ball to look forward to! Until next time!"
Bagman hopped down from the judges' area and rushed forward to speak with Krum, although Karkaroff pushed him out of the way as soon he reached the pair of them. Maxime went to join Delacour and eventually Dumbledore followed and took Diggory to one side. Crouch headed towards the castle immediately, didn't stop to speak with anyone – judge, Champion, or any members of the press.
Harry spotted Lucius Malfoy in the section of the stands dedicated to Ministry and school officials as they cleared of people, clearly attempting to look for someone. Draco, Harry assumed. But a quick glance through their part of the stands showed that Draco had disappeared in the first wave of students leaving the Task area, so the elder Malfoy was out of luck.
"Diggory was robbed," said Millicent as Harry and his friends joined the flood of students leaving the stands. "For Krum to win after smashing all those eggs—and Delacour was burned worse than Diggory as well—thirty-nine is a really unfair score."
"Bagman said all the judges took away points for smashing the eggs," Harry said, "but Karkaroff didn't. If he had Krum would have tied with Delacour, which was probably fair. Although Karkaroff's scores were all bollocks so Delacour and Diggory should've both scored higher."
"I noticed that too," said Tracey. "A five for Diggory was really unfair! He deserved at least a seven! And I bet Karkaroff only gave Delacour a six because she's a pretty girl." She paused. "Not that she didn't deserve a higher score as well, but I meant that if she'd been a boy he would have given her a five too."
"Well, there's always the next Task," said Blaise. "Hopefully Diggory pulls his wand out and does a bit better—I've got a bet riding on him winning—but if not..." Blaise shrugged. "There's always the next Tournament. We'll be fifth years then, so we can compete in the Gauntlet if we want."
"If they ever have another one, you mean," said Theodore. "I thought someone was going to die in this Task to be honest, and I think they were all lucky to get away without being really seriously injured, so... there's still time. And that hazard racing as well..." He shuddered. "I reckon someone's coming away from all this with a permanent injury."
"You're so gloomy," declared Millicent. "Why can't this just be a nice little contest where everyone has fun and someone wins money and it's all good?"
The sentiment was nice, but for Harry, the world wasn't quite so uncomplicated as that. Still, Harry wouldn't let outside matters interfere with his enjoyment of the Tournament, or his participation in its events, assuming no one – including himself – was grievously injured or killed.
But that was a problem for another day – and another year. Until January, at least, the only thing Harry had to worry about was the Yule Ball.
And his Hogsmeade data with Giovanna. Which was possibly scarier than facing down dragons.