Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.
Chapter 16-The Hungarian Horntail
So I think that its pretty safe to say that school has not been going the greatest for Harry. Life has became even worse for Harry within the confines of the castle, for Rita Skeeter has published her piece about the Triwizard Tournament, and it has turned out to be not so much a report on the tournament as a highly colored life story of Harry. Much of the front page had been given over to a picture of Harry; the article (continuing on pages two, six, and seven) had been all about Harry, the names of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions (misspelled) are squashed into the last line of the article, and Cedric wasn't even mentioned at all.
The article appeared ten days ago, and Harry still looks sick every time he sees it. Rita Skeeter has reported him saying an awful lot of things that he can't remember ever saying in his life, let alone in that broom cupboard. I of course feel bad for Harry since this article hasn't won him any popularity what so ever. Here's an excerpt:
I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they'd be very proud of me if they could see me now. . . . Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I'm not ashamed to admit it. . . . I know nothing will hurt me during the tournament, because they're watching over me. . . .
Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school.
From the moment the article appeared, Harry has had to endure people — Slytherins, mainly — quoting it at him as he passes and making sneering comments. That pretty much means that I've been shouting myself hoarse in defense of my friend here.
"Want a hanky, Potter, in case you start crying in Transfiguration?"
"Since when have you been one of the top students in the school, Potter? Or is this a school you and Longbottom have set up together?"
"Hey — Harry!"
"Yeah, that's right!" Harry shouts as he wheels around in the corridor, having had just about enough. "I've just been crying my eyes out over my dead mum, and I'm just off to do a bit more. . . ."
"No — it was just — you dropped your quill." It is Cho. Color rises to his face.
"Oh — right — sorry," he mutters, taking the quill back.
"Er . . . good luck on Tuesday," she says. "I really hope you do well." Which leaves Harry feeling extremely stupid.
"You really have no when talking to women do you?" I say chuckling lightly under my breath.
"I talk to you don't I?" Harry grumbles sullenly. I roll my eyes at that.
"But I'm your friend Harry so its different. There's no expectations there, for no matter how much of an ass you inevitably make of yourself I'll find fit to eventually forgive you and tease you remorsefully about it until I so choose to stop." I inform him smartly.
Harry eyes me then shakes his head. "Remind me why I am friends with you exactly?" Harry says turning around the corner to our class.
"Cause I'm pushy and wouldn't take no for an answer." I say grinning. Harry looks contemplatively at me.
"I dunno I seem to remember a small terrified little girl wanting someone to be her friend just as badly as I did." He smirks. I glare at him.
"You were tiny as well smart ass." I shoot back. With an offended look class starts.
Hermione has come in for her fair share of unpleasantness too, but she hasn't yet started yelling at innocent bystanders; in fact, I am full of admiration for the way she is handling the situation.
"Stunningly pretty? Her?" Pansy Parkinson shrieks the first time she comes face-to-face with Hermione after Rita's article has appeared. "What was she judging against — a chipmunk?"
"Ignore it," Hermione says in a dignified voice, holding her head in the air and stalking past the sniggering Slytherin girls as though she can't hear them. "Just ignore it, guys."
While Hermione might have the patience and the kindness of a saint, I do not. "No Pansy she just had to compare Hermione to your ugly mug, and even a blind bat with no taste would have still picked her over you." I retort grinning the whole time. I watch in satisfaction as Pansy's pug like face changes three different colors before I decide to leave.
But Harry can't ignore it either. Ron hasn't spoken to him at all since he told Harry about Snape's detentions. I had half hoped they would make things up during the two hours they were forced to pickle rats' brains in Snape's dungeon, but that had been the day Rita's article appeared, which seems to have confirmed Ron's belief that Harry is really enjoying all the attention.
Hermione is furious with the pair of them (so am I); she goes from one to the other, trying to force them to talk to each other, but Harry is adamant: He will talk to Ron again only if Ron admits that Harry didn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire and apologizes for calling him a liar.
So pretty much we will all be friends again when one or both of them regain their common sense, which could pretty much mean never. "I didn't start this," Harry says stubbornly. "It's his problem."
"You miss him!" Hermione says impatiently. "And I know he misses you —"
"Miss him?" says Harry. "I don't miss him. . . . "
Here's the whole denial bit in case you haven't noticed. We've been spending a lot more time in the library since Ron doesn't hang out with us all anymore. He was always the strongest in his refusal to go to the library.
Harry still hasn't mastered Summoning Charms, he seems to have developed something of a block about them, and Hermione insists that learning the theory will help. I try to help but Hermione says that since I'm a natural I don't know anything about theory and thusly hopeless. We consequently spend a lot of time poring over books during our lunchtimes. This sucks since I absolutely hate being in the library this much. As I've said plenty of times, I'm not Luka.
Though he has been scarily shocked to run into me here so many times in the past few days. Viktor Krum is in the library an awful lot too, and I wonder what he is up to. Is he studying, or is he looking for things to help him through the first task? Hermione often complains about Krum being there — not that he's ever bothered us — but because groups of giggling girls often turn up to spy on him from behind bookshelves, and Hermione finds the noise distracting.
I just happen to find the fan girls annoying. "He's not even good-looking!" she mutters angrily (agreed!), glaring at Krum's sharp profile. "They only like him because he's famous! They wouldn't look twice at him if he couldn't do that Wonky-Faint thing —"
"Wronski Feint," says Harry, through gritted teeth. I can tell that all the time spent with just the two of us for company is beginning to grate on him. I don't really blame him since he's becoming annoying to be around all the time with his constant bitterness and brooding moods.
On the Saturday before the first task, all students in the third year and above are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade. Hermione tells Harry that it will do him good to get away from the castle for a bit, and Harry doesn't need much persuasion. Personally I'm glad to get away as well for I'm beginning to get a little stir crazy spending the majority of my time with just Hermione and Harry.
"What about Ron, though?" Harry asks. "Don't you want to go with him?"
"Oh . . . well . . ." Hermione goes slightly pink. "I thought we might meet up with him in the Three Broomsticks. . . ."
"No," says Harry flatly.
"Oh Harry, this is so stupid —"
"I'll come, but I'm not meeting Ron, and I'm wearing my Invisibility Cloak."
"Well aren't you just the charmer. I don't know why I don't want to do more nice things for you Harry. It really just stumps me." I say drolly beginning to get irritated with my friend. If this is how he's going to act then I'm not so sure that I want to be around him any more.
"Oh all right then . . ." Hermione snaps, "but I hate talking to you in that Cloak, I never know if I'm looking at you or not."
So Harry puts on his Invisibility Cloak in the dormitory, goes back downstairs, and together Harry, Hermione, and I set off for Hogsmeade. Hermione and I chat about the goings on with our friends while walking down to Hogsmeade ignoring Harry and attempting to watch our step so that we don't run into him and trip over him.
"People keep looking at us now," says Hermione grumpily as we come out of Honeydukes Sweetshop later, eating large cream-filled chocolates. "They think Jamie and I are crazy talking to someone who doesn't exist since we're not addressing each other."
"Don't move your lips so much then." Harry responds. I grit my teeth in annoyance at him.
"You're lucky that I can't see you Potter." I growl softly.
"Come on, please just take off your Cloak for a bit, no one's going to bother you here." Hermione says attempting to persuade Harry into acting like a normal person.
"Oh yeah?" says Harry. "Look behind you."
Rita Skeeter and her photographer friend have just emerged from the Three Broomsticks pub. Talking in low voices, they pass right by Hermione and me without looking at us. When they are gone, Harry says, "She's staying in the village. I bet she's coming to watch the first task."
"Too bad she couldn't get a picture of the happy couple." I say jokingly, only to get smacked by one visible and one invisible hand.
"Ow— okay, still too early to make jokes!" I cry puffing out my lower lip.
"She's gone," I say. "Why don't we go and have a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, it's a bit cold, isn't it? You don't have to talk to Ron!" I add irritably, correctly interpreting Harry's silence. Hermione rolls her eyes at the whole situation.
The Three Broomsticks is packed, mainly with Hogwarts students enjoying their free afternoon, but also with a variety of magical people I rarely see anywhere else. I suppose that as Hogsmeade is the only all-wizard village in Britain, it is a bit of a haven for creatures like hags, who are not as adept as wizards at disguising themselves.
As Hermione goes to buy drinks I navigate to an open table assuming that Harry is following me though I feel stupid walking slower in attempt to help him keep up with me. I spot Ron, who is sitting with Fred, George, Lee Jordan, and surprisingly Luka. It warms my heart to see my brother actually hanging out with the Weasley boys here and not back at the Burrow. They're laughing about something and I wish that I could join them.
"Jamie!" Fred cries spying me walking to the empty table alone. "Dear Lady Jamie come and join us! There is plenty of space and good drink to go around!" I smile at them seeing the encouraging nods from the rest.
"I'm sorry boys but Hermione and I are having a girls day. I'd invite you to join us but I'm afraid that you lot don't meet the current etiquette requirement in which to join us." I reply with a grin. The boys ooh and guffaw at me. Fred and George are even pretending to cry.
I finally make it over to the table and sit down and I assume that Harry has sat down with me as well. Hermione joins us a moment later and slips Harry a butterbeer under his Cloak.
"This is weird trying to hold a conversation with an invisible person," she mutters. "Lucky I brought something for us to do."
And she pulls out a notebook in which she has been keeping a record of S.P.E.W. members. I see Harry, Ron's, and my names at the top of the very short list. "Oh no Hermione not that. I actually want to relax for a little while." I whine not caring if I sound childish.
Hermione chooses to ignore me like usual. I swear sometimes I feel like I'm the one who's invisible when it comes to my friends. "You know, maybe I should try and get some of the villagers involved in S.P.E.W.," Hermione says thoughtfully, looking around the pub. I let my head drop to the table and slowly start to bang it. Why won't she stop? Please make her stop!
"Yeah, right," says Harry. "Hermione, when are you going to give up on this spew stuff?"
"When house-elves have decent wages and working conditions!" she hisses back. "You know, I'm starting to think it's time for more direct action. I wonder how you get into the school kitchens?"
"No idea, ask Fred and George," says Harry. I stiffen at the mention of the kitchen. I know the way in, and I'm glad that my friends haven't figured that out yet. A girl has to have some secrets to herself.
I look around at all the people in the pub. All of them look cheerful and relaxed. Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott are swapping Chocolate Frog cards at a nearby table, both of them sporting Support Cedric Diggory! badges on their cloaks. Ariana sits with them sipping a butterbeer and I'm happy that she has no alignment herself. She catches my gaze and grins at me making a funny faces and raising her glass to me.
Right over by the door I see Cho and a large group of her Ravenclaw friends. She isn't wearing a Cedric badge though. I have a feeling that that makes Harry at least somewhat happy.
"Look, it's Hagrid!" says Hermione.
The back of Hagrid's enormous shaggy head — he has mercifully abandoned his bunches — emerges over the crowd. I wonder why I didn't spott him at once, as Hagrid is so large, but standing up carefully, I see that Hagrid has been leaning low, talking to Professor Moody. Well there's a disconcerting pairing if I've ever seen one.
Hagrid has his usual enormous tankard in front of him, but Moody is drinking from his hip flask. Madam Rosmerta, the pretty landlady, doesn't seem to think much of this; she is looking askance at Moody as she collects glasses from tables around them. Perhaps she thinks it is an insult to her mulled mead, but I know better. Moody told us all during our last Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson that he prefers to prepare his own food and drink at all times, as it is so easy for Dark wizards to poison an unattended cup.
He's the poster child for a paranoid wizard I'll tell you. As I watch, I see Hagrid and Moody get up to leave. Moody, pauses, his magical eye on the corner where we are sitting. He taps Hagrid in the small of the back (being unable to reach his shoulder), mutters something to him, and then the pair of them make their way back across the pub towards our table.
"All right, Hermione, Jamie?" says Hagrid loudly.
"Hello," says Hermione, smiling back.
"What's up?" I ask curiously. Moody limps around the table and bends down; I think he is reading the S.P.E.W. notebook, until he mutters, "Nice Cloak, Potter."
Whoa so his eye can see through the invisibility cloak. I have to admit that's really cool. Hagrid leans down as well and says something softly to the space where Harry is.
"Good to see you Jamie, Hermione." Hagrid bids us goodbye and the two of them leave our table.
"Why does Hagrid want me to meet him at midnight?" Harry says, very surprised. I raise my eyebrows at that. Hagird hardly ever asks us to do things like that.
"Does he?" says Hermione, looking startled. "I wonder what he's up to? I don't know whether you should go, Harry. . . ." She looks nervously around and hisses, "It might make you late for Sirius."
It is true that going down to Hagrid's at midnight would mean cutting his meeting with Sirius very fine indeed; Hermione suggests sending Hedwig down to Hagrid's to tell him he can't go — always assuming she will consent to take the note, of course — Harry, however, thinks it better just to be quick at whatever Hagrid wants him for. He is very curious to know what this might be; Hagrid has never asked Harry to visit him so late at night.
"I'm coming with you of course. Its not safe to be wandering around at night alone even if its only to Hagrid's or do we have to revisit every previous year here at Hogwarts." I say glaring at the space where I'm sure that Harry's at.
"Fine!" Harry hisses back.
At half past eleven I creep down the steps to the common room waiting for Harry to come so that we can go see Hagrid. I feel a tug on my sleeve, and suddenly a cloak is thrown over me and Harry comes into sight. "Ready?" He asks me.
"As I'll ever be." I say. Quite a few people are still in there. The Creevey brothers have managed to get hold of a stack of Support Cedric Diggory! badges and are trying to bewitch them to make them say Support Harry Potter! instead. So far, however, all they have managed to do is get the badges stuck on POTTER STINKS. We creep past them to the portrait hole and wait for a minute or so, keeping an eye on his watch. Then Hermione opens the Fat Lady for us from outside as we planned. We slip past her with a whispered "Thanks!" and set off through the castle.
The grounds are very dark. Harry and I walk down the lawn towards the lights shining in Hagrid's cabin. The inside of the enormous Beauxbatons carriage is also lit up; we can hear Madame Maxime talking inside it as we knock on Hagrid's front door.
"You there, Harry?" Hagrid whispers, opening the door and looking around.
"Yeah, Jamie too," says Harry, slipping inside the cabin and pulling the Cloak down off our heads. "What's up?"
"Got summat ter show yeh," says Hagrid. There is an air of enormous excitement about Hagrid. He is wearing a flower that resembles an oversized artichoke in his buttonhole. It looks as though he has abandoned the use of axle grease, but he has certainly attempted to comb his hair — I can see the comb's broken teeth tangled in it.
"What're you showing us?" I say warily, wondering if the skrewts have laid eggs, or Hagrid has managed to buy another giant three-headed dog off a stranger in a pub.
"Come with me, keep quiet, an' keep yerself covered with that Cloak," says Hagrid. "We won' take Fang, he won' like it. . . ."
"Listen, Hagrid, I can't stay long. . . . I've got to be back up at the castle by one o'clock —" Harry starts.
But Hagrid isn't listening; he is opening the cabin door and striding off into the night. Harry and I hurry to follow and find, to my great surprise, that Hagrid is leading us to the Beauxbatons carriage.
"Hagrid, what — ?" I say.
"Shhh!" says Hagrid, and he knocks three times on the door bearing the crossed golden wands.
Madame Maxime opens it. She is wearing a silk shawl wrapped around her massive shoulders. She smiles when she sees Hagrid.
"Ah, 'Agrid . . . it is time?"
"Bong-sewer," says Hagrid, beaming at her, and holding out a hand to help her down the golden steps.
"Bong-sewer?" I whisper to Harry confusedly. I swear sometimes I don't understand Hagrid at all.
Madame Maxime closes the door behind her, Hagrid offers her his arm, and they set off around the edge of the paddock containing Madame Maxime's giant winged horses, with Harry and me, totally bewildered, running to keep up with them. Had Hagrid wanted to show us Madame Maxime? We can see her any old time we want . . . she isn't exactly hard to miss. . . .
But it seems that Madame Maxime is in for the same treat as us, because after a while she says playfully, "Wair is it you are taking me, 'Agrid?"
"Yeh'll enjoy this," says 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," says Madame Maxime, fluttering her long black eyelashes. Oh man I'm out on Hagrid date with him and Madame Maxime, and Harry is with me no less! Well this is certainly awkward. From the way Harry quietly clears his throat I can tell that he feels the same.
And still we walk, Harry is getting more and more irritated as we jogged along in their wake, checking his watch every now and then. Hagrid has some harebrained scheme in hand, which might make him miss Sirius. If we don't get there soon, Harry tells me that he's going to turn around, go straight back to the castle, and leave Hagrid to enjoy his moonlit stroll with Madame Maxime. . . .
But then — when we have walked so far around the perimeter of the forest that the castle and the lake are out of sight — I hear something. Men are shouting up ahead . . . then comes a deafening, earsplitting roar. . . .
Hagrid leads Madame Maxime around a clump of trees and comes to a halt. Harry and I hurry up alongside them — for a split second, I think I am seeing bonfires, and men darting around them — and then my mouth falls open.
Dragons. Oh boy.
Four fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons are rearing onto their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting — torrents of fire are shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks. There is a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground; a smooth-scaled green one, which is writhing and stamping with all its might; a red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, which is shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the air; and a gigantic black one, more lizard-like than the others, which is nearest to us.
At least thirty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, are attempting to control them, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs. Mesmerized, I look up, high above me, and see the eyes of the black dragon, with vertical pupils like a cat's, bulging with either fear or rage, I can't tell which. . . . It is making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching scream. . . .
"Keep back there, Hagrid!" yells a wizard near the fence, straining on the chain he is holding. "They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know! I've seen this Horntail do forty!"
"Is'n' it beautiful?" says Hagrid softly. Hagrid seriously needs to get his head checked out sometime.
"It's no good!" yells another wizard. "Stunning Spells, on the count of three!" I have a feeling that we're about to become a little crispier than normal. I had enough of dragons after the whole Norbert fiasco in second year.
I see each of the dragon keepers pull out his wand. I grab Harry's hand and grip it tightly. He squeezes back in either reassurance or his own fright.
"Stupefy!" they shout in unison, and the Stunning Spells shoot into the darkness like fiery rockets, bursting in showers of stars on the dragons' scaly hides —
I watch the dragon nearest to us teeter dangerously on its back legs; its jaws stretched wide in a silent howl; its nostrils are suddenly devoid of flame, though still smoking — then, very slowly, it falls. Several tons of sinewy, scaly-black dragon hit the ground with a thud that I swear make the trees behind us quake.
The dragon keepers lower their wands and walk forward to their fallen charges, each of which is the size of a small hill. They hurry to tighten the chains and fasten them securely to iron pegs, which they force deep into the ground with their wands.
"Wan' a closer look?" Hagrid asks Madame Maxime excitedly. The pair of them move right up to the fence, and Harry and I follow. The wizard who warned Hagrid not to come any closer turns, and I realize who it is: Charlie Weasley.
"All right, Hagrid?" he pants, coming over to talk. "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 —" Yeah I could tell. Never make a dragon mad, that's definitely crossed off my bucket list.
"What breeds you got here, Charlie?" says Hagrid, gazing at the closest dragon, the black one, with something close to reverence. Its eyes are still just open. I can see a strip of gleaming yellow beneath its wrinkled black eyelid.
"This is a Hungarian Horntail," says Charlie. "There's a Common Welsh Green over there, the smaller one — a Swedish Short-Snout, that blue-gray — and a Chinese Fireball, that's the red."
Charlie looks around; Madame Maxime is strolling away around the edge of the enclosure, gazing at the Stunned dragons.
"I didn't know you were bringing her, Hagrid," Charlie says, 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," shrugs Hagrid, still gazing, enraptured, at the dragons.
"Really romantic date, Hagrid," says Charlie, shaking his head. I smirk thinking just around the same lines.
"Four . . ." says Hagrid, "so it's one fer each o' the champions, is it? What've they gotta do — fight 'em?"
"Just get past them, I think," says 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 points towards the Horntail's tail, and I see long, bronze-colored spikes protruding along it every few inches. I have a nasty sinking feeling that knowing Harry he'll end up just getting that one for the universe seems to hate him so.
Five of Charlie's fellow keepers stagger up to the Horntail at that moment, carrying a clutch of huge granite-gray eggs between them in a blanket. They place them carefully at the Horntail's side. Hagrid lets out a moan of longing.
"I've got them counted, Hagrid," says Charlie sternly. Then he says, "How's Harry?"
"Fine," says Hagrid. He is still gazing at the eggs.
"Just hope he's still fine after he's faced this lot," says Charlie grimly, looking out over the dragons' enclosure. "I didn't dare tell Mum what he's got to do for the first task; she's already having kittens about him. . . ." Charlie imitates his mother's anxious voice. "'How could they let him enter that tournament, he's much too young! I thought they were all safe, I thought there was going to be an age limit!' She is in floods after that Daily Prophet article about him. 'He still cries about his parents! Oh bless him, I never knew!'"
I glance at Harry even though I can't see him wondering how he's holding up. Harry has had enough. Trusting to the fact that Hagrid won't miss us, with the attractions of four dragons and Madame Maxime to occupy him, he turns silently and begins to walk away, back to the castle grabbing my sleeve to make sure that I'm with him.
We walk in silence each of us stuck in our own heads freaking out about what the first task is actually going to entail. We speed up, skirting the edge of the forest; Harry has just under fifteen minutes to get back to the fireside and talk to Sirius— when, without warning, we run into something very solid.
We fall backward, clutching the Cloak around us. A voice nearby says, "Ouch! Who's there?"
Harry hastily checks that the Cloak is covering us and we lay very still, staring up at the dark outline of the wizard we hit. I recognize the goatee . . . it is Karkaroff. This is seriously turning out to be a weird night.
"Who's there?" says Karkaroff again, very suspiciously, looking around in the darkness. We remain still and silent. After a minute or so, Karkaroff seems to decide that he has hit some sort of animal; he is looking around at waist height, as though expecting to see a dog. Then we creep back under the cover of the trees and start to edge forwards towards the place where the dragons were.
Very slowly and very carefully, Harry and I get to our feet and set off again as fast as we can without making too much noise, hurrying through the darkness back towards Hogwarts.
I have no doubt whatsoever what Karkaroff is up to. He snuck off his ship to try and find out what the first task is going to be. He might even have spotted Hagrid and Madame Maxime heading off around the forest together — they are hardly difficult to spot at a distance . . . and now all Karkaroff has to do was follow the sound of voices, and he, like Madame Maxime, will know what is in store for the champions.
By the looks of it, the only champion who will be facing the unknown on Tuesday is Cedric. We reach the castle, slip in through the front doors, and begin to climb the marble stairs; we are very out of breath, but we don't dare slow down. . . . Harry has less than five minutes to get up to the fire. . . .
"Balderdash!" he gasps at the Fat Lady, who is snoozing in her frame in front of the portrait hole.
"If you say so," she mutters sleepily, without opening her eyes, and the picture swings forward to admit him. We climb inside. The common room is deserted, and, judging by the fact that it smells quite normal, Hermione did not need to set off any Dungbombs to ensure that Harry and Sirius got privacy.
I slip off the cloak and give Harry a meaningful look. "I'll leave you to have privacy Harry." I tell him starting towards the girls' dormitory.
"Jamie!" Harry says suddenly. I spin around to face my friend. A pensive look is on his face. "Thanks for coming with me tonight." He says gratefully. I grin at him softly and shake my head.
"Like I say Potter, you can't get rid of me that easily." I tell him. With that I spin around and race up the stairs to my dorm, and throw myself onto my bed. I lay there looking out the window at the dark forest beyond. The only thing that's different now is that there are four fire breathing dangerous dragons out there and one of them is destined to try and kill my friend.
With a sigh I close my eyes. This is going to be a long night.