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Chapter 1- Emma Rain
[Nov. 24, 1995 Tuesday]
"Very daring!" Bagman was yelling, and Harry heard the Chinese Fireball emit a horrible, roaring shriek, while the crowd drew its collective breath. "That's some nerve he's showing - and - yes, he's got the egg!"
Applause shattered the wintery air like breaking glass; Krum had finished - it would be Harry's turn any moment. (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - J. K. Rowling)
When the shriek of the whistle reached his ears, indicating that it was Harry's turn to leave the tent, he started. It was time. Everything he had done up until this moment would either see him victorious, or a burnt husk. With great trepidation, he stood and opened the flaps of the tent.
His heart thundered as he walked the path to the enclosure, where his trial awaited. Last minute revisions of the spell and analysis of his strategy occupied his mind more than his surroundings and in no time at all, he found himself at his destination.
Suddenly, the world seemed to open up to his eyes, and a sea of faces occupying the stands greeted him, along with his obstacle, the Horntail. Its position, along with his was reminiscent of the gladiator battles of old—the comparison wasn't too far off; this was a blood sport after all.
Slitted, yellow eyes seemed to pin him in place as a great ebony head moved minutely in response to the slightest twitch of his fingers. As he made to move his wand arm upwards, the Horntail let out a huff of smoke and bared gleaming rows of ivory capable of tearing bicorns to shreds—a warning.
Harry didn't let that distract him and finished the motion, following it with a bellow.
"ACCIO FIREBOLT!"
In the moments that preceded Harry confirming that his magic took hold, he broke the deadlock with the malevolent gaze of the great drake and looked below it. A glint of gold behind the curled length of ebony that gave this species its name gave Harry something to focus on to prevent him from doubting the results of his summons—his feelings could affect the success of his spell.
Before long, he heard something whistling through the air behind him, heading in his general direction. His Firebolt was hurtling through the air at a speed he was familiar with, when he was in the middle of a dive for the Snitch. It decelerated as it approached him, and eventually made one lazy circle around him before remaining still by his side.
He mounted it, eyes connecting with those on the threat on the other side of the enclosure for a moment, and then shot off into the air.
Being in the air buoyed Harry's spirits as well as his hopes for the outcome of this task. Everything else seemed to fade away into the clear blue of the sky as besides a few puffs of milky vapor, he was its sole occupant.
For a while, he lost himself in the feeling of freedom flying granted him; here was a place to relax, to get away from the constant stares, adulation he didn't feel he deserved, and the whispers, good and bad. Here, he felt the most in control he had ever felt in his entire life.
Harry quickly shook his head—now wasn't the time to get caught up in his thoughts. The dragon hadn't exactly been idle while Harry had lazily floated in the air.
It was agitated—small plumes of flame intermittently jetted out of its nose, and its muscles were coiled in anticipation, but Harry was as ready as he would ever be.
He took a deep breath and dove.
Biting wind pasted his glasses to his face as he rushed to a quickly growing black mass, and he saw it rear its head back in preparation. As soon as he saw the first spark of flame in its gaping maw, he pulled with all of his might on his broom and quickly flew behind the dragon.
He wasn't naive enough to believe it would turn, not for him. Quickly, he banked left until he faced its general direction and then zipped closer to the dragon, at a speed where it couldn't immolate him. A few meters away from its looming visage, he made to circle around the great beast.
A quick swipe of its wing greeted him. He ducked under it, only to find a spiked wall of flesh rushing towards his face. Harry had scant milliseconds to react, and before he knew it, he had performed a roll and was hanging upside down on his broom.
He barely regained enough focus to right himself and finish the circuit before rising back up in the air again. His breath was coming out in small pants, and his face was flushed with both heat from the proximity to the dragon and his exertions.
One hand, knuckles regaining some color from the white of gripping the shaft of his broom so tightly, shakily came up to wipe his brow of the accumulated sweat.
Another deep breath, another moment to collect himself as he turned to face the dragon, and he rocketed towards it again.
The Horntail was absolutely livid. With its wings fully unfurled, long, barbed tail lashing against the ground, and massive neck straining against its collar, the nesting mother dragon cut a figure that would have rebuffed even the most intrepid adventurer, but Harry was determined to succeed. Hermione didn't spend all of her time helping him for nothing.
As Harry rapidly closed in on the Horntail, it let loose an ear-splitting roar, full of its fury, and once more, heaved at its bindings. This time, a loud crack sounded throughout the arena, as the stone keeping the chain anchored shifted a little.
Dumbledore jerking up in alarm, with most of the judges following suit, the dragon handlers palming their wands, and the crowd quickly getting ready to evacuate was all lost on Harry as he only had eyes for his target—the golden egg.
With its previous lunge forward, the dragon wasn't in position to immolate him, and instead whipped its head around to snap its jaws at him as Harry flew under the dragon's mass to the eggs below it.
Harry quickly reached out with one arm and snagged what looked, at first glance, to be an enlarged snitch—it was warm to the touch. He knew the next part was going to be tricky and was thankful for his smaller than average frame. It wasn't often that he was grateful to the Dursleys, but without them, his exit strategy would be more difficult to execute than it was already going to be.
With one hand tightly gripping his broom and the other holding the egg under his armpit, Harry zipped between the dragon's legs and under its tail before angling his broom to shoot straight upwards into the air.
As soon as Harry cleared the top of the dragon's wings, he let the one hand holding onto the broom off it and gave a celebratory fist pump into the air. He closed his eyes and reveled in the congratulatory cheer of the audience. His ordeal was over and the applause was intoxicating.
While Harry continued to hover in the air, out of reach of the Horntail's flame and wings, the dragon worked on getting itself loose. The earlier stress on the metal anchor eventually proved to be too much, and with a harsh rasp, a large chunk of stone containing the other end of the bit came loose.
Dragons, contrary to expectations, aren't simple beasts. They are apex predators for a reason—their frequent rampages are but a foil for a cruel intelligence equal to that of a human. The lone wyrm in the arena was quick to remind the humans of this with a quick jerk of its neck and an accompanying howl of victory.
Fifteen kilograms of hewn stone traced a perfect parabolic arc in the sky before swatting Harry Potter out of the sky as if he were a mere insect. The impact immediately broke all of the ribs on his right side, and cracked the rest. The fall added a broken right wrist and fractured radius to that tally.
Dazed, and lying broken on the ground, Harry was barely able to make out the Horntail leisurely making its way towards him. Light flashed and lightning crackled behind it as Dumbledore and the dragon's keepers desperately tried to break the wards surrounding the arena. In moments, the Horntail loomed over him and Harry knew his life was over.
The dragon reared its head back one final time and a torrent of highly magical fire built in its jaws.
Harry expected his entire life to flash before his eyes then. The unhappy existence with the Dursleys, the rush of excitement upon opening his Hogwarts letter, the sheer awe upon seeing Hogwarts in all of its majesty for the first time—none of that came to him.
Instead, he saw a slideshow of memories—warm chocolate orbs lighting up in discovery, the sensation of two arms embracing him from behind, a frightened shriek in his ear, stone-cold, rigid fingers holding onto a scrap of crumpled parchment, shared moments of laughter and glee, quills and parchment flying through the air before end-of-term exams, and finally, a tendril of a frizzy, wild, untameable bush tickling his nose and one word continued to echo through his head.
Hermione.
He was numb to the pain of so many broken bones, deaf to the horrified cries of the crowd, and blind to all but the roaring inferno headed his way. Harry let regret pool in his chest for a moment, closed his eyes, and awaited his demise.
When Harry didn't feel any of the expected heat wash over him, he opened his eyes. What he found was understandably, surprising. The Horntail was toppled over, and a shimmering barrier danced before him.
He felt a stretcher come into being below him, and then he was gently levitated off the ground and to the Healer's tent. During this, he was only able to catch a few snippets of the thunderous looking Dumbledore's outrage.
"—was over. Barriers should have—"
"—too late. He almost—"
"—lucky today. I expect—next time."
The next living being he saw after the Horntail was an ashen-faced Madame Pomfrey as she rushed over to attend to him. In previous years, he had thought that a raging dragon would be preferable to the matron, but having just come from facing one, Harry saw her as a welcome sight.
"Oh, look at you. Just what were they thinking, sending a 14 year old boy to face a dragon? No compound fractures, and no internal bleeding—you got off lucky, Mr. Potter, for what it's worth."
Her constant bustling and scolding were a balm to Harry, as he laid on the bed and drank the potions when prompted. Her complaints served as both a reminder that he was alive and as a distraction from the pain shooting through his body. Madame Pomfrey eventually handed him one last potion and as he downed the last of it, felt his eyelids grow heavy.
A short while later, the potions had done their work, or at least enough of it that Harry felt he could make it back to the tower. Pomfrey was reluctant to let him go, but he shot her a pleading look, and she caved.
Each step out of the tent and to the Gryffindor dormitory was filled with purpose. He had put it off long enough. It had taken nearly dying for Harry to realize he loved Hermione and he wouldn't put it off a second longer. He ignored all the stares and whispers on the way to the tower. He'd done it for years, and they wouldn't deter him, especially not now.
At some point, Malfoy must have jeered at him, but he ignored that too; he was too busy rehearsing what he'd say when he saw her. His heart beat a staccato rhythm in his chest, a bit faster with every step he took, and he finally stood before the Fat Lady.
As the portrait door swung open, he took a breath and walked foward.
A hush fell over the room as soon as he stepped inside. Quite a few people approached him, either to express relief at his survival, or in Ron's case, to attempt an apology. As he did before, he ignored them all. He only had eyes for one person.
She was curled in the chair near the fireplace when he walked in. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face was blotchy, and her hair was more frazzled than it had ever been—clearly, she'd been crying. When she stood, her legs were shaky, and now that her arms weren't curled around herself, he saw that she had chewed through all of her nails.
Even still, she was beautiful to him.
Harry pre-emptively had his arms extended to receive the tightest Hermione hug he'd received to date. It seemed as if she were a bullet with the sheer speed she covered the distance between her chair and the portrait door.
Repeated calls of her name didn't do anything to dislodge the weepy mess latched onto him. When his shirt was fully covered with both tears and mucous, she let go of him then.
"I thought—"
Harry knew it had to be now, or he'd never muster up the courage again. Gently, he unwrapped his arms from her and took a step back. Wiping his palms on his pants and licking his suddenly dry lips, Harry Potter took the plunge.
"Hermione, I love you. I think I have since the time you solved Snape's puzzle in first year. You've been with me through everything I've suffered, you've sat with me through my brooding, and you've looked out for my safety, all without asking a thing of me.
I can't think of a moment when I haven't felt safe and comfortable with you. Even this year, you were the only one to believe that I didn't put my name in the goblet. I can't tell you how much this means to me, but I guess I'm trying now. When—when I faced that dragon out there, you were the one who hugged me, told me to come back, and gave me the courage to do that. You are the only reason I'm alive right now, Hermione. This isn't the first time that I've done something for or because of you.
That basilisk in second year? It hurt you, tore you away from me, and that was why I went down there. Not for Ron's sister, though that was a part of it. In third year, when we rode on Buckbeak, that was the happiest I've ever been and it's fueled my Patronus since. Nothing else even comes close.
For a long time, I thought that telling you would change our current relationship. I was so scared of losing your friendship, Hermione, that I couldn't tell you. The dragon today changed everything.
When I was sure that I would die, my only thoughts were of you, and that made me realize one thing—before I die in this tournament, I want to tell you how I honestly feel.
Hermione, I am utterly and madly in love with you. Would you go to Hogsmeade this weekend with me, and the next, and possibly for the rest of our lives?"
A beat. "I'm not sure what to say to that, Harry. This certainly isn't what I was expecting."
A pause. "I think this is the most I've ever heard you say at once."
"Please, say yes Hermione."
"I-I'm sorry; I can't."
Despair.
Harry couldn't even see Hermione flee through the portrait door as his world swam in front of his eyes. Everything else seemed to escape him, including the muttering of the other people in the common room. He slowly sank to his knees, and remained there, near catatonic from the disastrous result of his confession. Nothing made sense any more.
"Harry—"
"Mate—"
Harry slowly became aware of two spots of warmth on his shoulders. Tremors wracked his body as he let out a shaky cough.
Why was he so cold?
He felt those two spots—hands, he realized, move under his armpits as they helped him up. Languidly, he rolled his head to his left and right to get a sense of who was moving him. His vision was blurry, but he could make out a blob of an unmistakable red on each side. Eventually, an impression of two, and merriment echoed in his head.
Harry felt himself slowly moved away from the entrance to the common room, and closer to the warmth of the fire, and then more movement away from the heat. He got a vague sensation of travelling upwards, and then the familiar scent of wood, linens, and light sweat washed over him.
With a couple of grunts, he was moved into his bed, which had its sheets quickly hit with a warming charm. A comforting heat surrounded him as one of the twins tucked him in, and he heard the faint rustle of cloth as his curtains were drawn shut.
Two dull impacts at the edge of the bed indicated they weren't leaving soon, and Harry desperately latched onto their presence as a source of strength. He still didn't fully understand what happened and hoped that this was some sort of nightmare that he would wake up from.
Yes, he would wake up soon to Ron's awful snoring, go down to the common room, and see Hermione again. She'd greet him with the soft smile she usually had and there wouldn't be any trace of the fear and uncertainty he saw on her face before she left. This was just another nightmare after all.
Despite this thought, sleep did not come easily to Harry this night. The only reason it came at all was the warmth of the sheets, and the two standing vigil over him. In any other situation, he might have been uncomfortable with how close they were, but he needed all the strength he could draw from them at this point in time.
