A/N: Yo! Welcome to the next part of year 4 of TAC (T[he] A[U] C[hronicles]). Not much in this authors note, sorry. One thing: I'm sorry I took so long, but I kind of got locked out of my account. I'm back though! This chapter is also long though, so take it as compensation.
Chapter 9: The Explainations And The First Task
Rating: K+
Silence rang around the DADA classroom. Shock. Horror. Confusion. Ron lay wincing, Hermione did not know whether to be shocked or afraid, and Harry was slumped in a corner, not breathing. Hermione was the first one to react. She raced over and gently cradled Harry's head in her arms. This couldn't have happened. No, it couldn't. Neville came over, whispered in Hermione's ear, and ran off to find Madame Pomfrey. Shock was still rampant. The tears were coming now, the Ravenclaws gently weeping for their lost comrade. Harry's usually green eyes no longer reflected the vivid colour of the curse that had hit him. Hermione was crying, desperately trying all methods, even muggle ones, to resuscitate. Suddenly, just as Hermione had given up, Harry's body jolted. His eyes shone in the light of the classroom. He was alive! But how?
"I'm not sure Hermione, but I have some guesses. The spell that hit Harry wasn't conjured by a wizard and therefore wasn't as powerful, maybe temporarily petrifying him. As for why you couldn't resist the imperius? Probably because your defences were down after the boggart." Lupin responded to Hermione's questions. Harry was, inexplicably, recovering, and could now say full sentences! Hermione had brought their children to be with Daddy, and that had definitely put a shine to his day.
After the incident in DADA, not much happened for the rest of the next two weeks. Under sixth years tried and failed spectacularly to enter the tournament, culminating in Ron ending up in the hospital wing with a large tub of skele-gro after being flung backwards ten or more feet into a wall. Spectacular! Most underage wizards and witches had stopped trying after that. Hermione had, as usual, been doing homework, Ron had, as usual, been reading, and Harry had… well, what had he done? Not all that much. He was still shaken up by the Boggart but refused to let it control him.
The night of the champions came. The entire school convened in the hall. The goblet, a two-foot tall solid gold cup with gems engraved and embedded deep within spat out magical blue flames. As Dumbledore entered the room, the lights dimmed. The room grew silent. Even Peeves stopped dripping ice cream onto Filch's head.
"Tonight, the three champions shall be named. They shall not have an exit now, and they shall have to perform to the best of their abilities in the trying and intimidating trails up ahead. If any monsters should escape, Defence teachers shall teach you general spells that you can use against them. Let the Triwizard tournament begin!" Dumbledore explained. He shot a bold of white light at the cup. The soft blue flames glowed Red for Durmstrang. A piece of paper flew out.
"VICTOR KRUM!" Karkoff, the Durmstrang headmaster shouted. The flames, which had briefly changed back to the soft yet threatening blue, were now a midnight, deep blue for Beauxbatons.
"FLEUR DELACOUR!" Maxime, the French headmaster said with joy. The goblet lit up again, this time in four colours: red, blue, yellow, and green. A piece of paper landed in the headmasters hand. He opened his mouth, but then closed it again in shock. Lupin and Snape came over, mystified. Dumbledore showed them the paper. Their mouths were open in shock.
"Harry Potter?" Dumbledore enquired. Harry was stunned. But you couldn't enter unless you had taken OWL's yet, could you? I mean, Harry could probably take them right now, but that wasn't the point. How had this happened? His stomach churning, he got up. His knees were wobbly. He felt worried. Hundreds of eyes were upon him. Somehow, he had beaten the charms. But he hadn't even entered… Harry felt sick. Yet again. Another year lay ahead, tattered not even out of September.
"How did you get in?" quietly asked Dumbledore. Somehow, Harry's name had made it past the age line. Dumbledore, the greatest sorcerer of all time, had failed. Somehow. Harry mumbled something. He had no clue how he had got in. He hadn't entered himself. A grin flashed Harry's way across the room. Only as he was ushered away into the champions room did he realise who it was that had grinned at him. What had Draco Malfoy planned this time?
"No Harry, the incantation is 'accio'. Not 'achio'. Repeat after me: a-k-ee-oh. Accio." Hermione tutored Harry. The date of the first task drew near. He was only allowed his wand, but he had seen large stones and be shipped in, making him think it was some kind of obstacle course. Of course, it would be so much easier if he could fly above these obstacles, so he was learning how to use a spell to summon his broom, a firebolt. He tried summoning a book from a few feet away. It slowly twitched. An improvement, but not what was needed. He tried again.
"Accio book!" he said, and finally, after several hours, the book flew across the room, nearly decapitating Hermione in the process, before landing in his hand. Finally! Then, Harry had an idea…
Dinnertime, the great hall. Professor Snape saw his plate twitch. Then twitch again. Then float off of the teachers table and into the air. It zipped towards the Ravenclaw table where Harry had his hand up with his wand in it. He suddenly dropped his hand and Snape's plate smashed into the wall. Fred and George Weasley from the Gryffindor table looked over in admiration of this expert prank. Hmm, Harry could be a good prankster. He then repeated this for the next few days, and every day Snape never saw him. So Harry made Snape think either him or his plate was going mad. Fred and George came and congratulated him the morning of the first task. A much needed morale boost before a potentially deadly unknown task. Dragons.
Five friends and both parents were allowed to accompany the champions to the task. For Harry, this was a no-brainer: Ron, Hermione, the two kids, Neville (who was becoming a much better friend after the discovery of the mutual hatred of most if not all things Slytherin - Neville respected but despised the house while Harry accepted it's snake heritage), Snape, who Harry knew ( he simultaneously hated the rest of Slyhterin), and of course James and Lily. There was some kind of loophole that meant that the two kids counted as one. He didn't understand it at all. He did't understand why he was here at all. He shouldn't be. That was all he knew about the fiasco. He felt butterflies in his stomach. He felt sweat dripping gently down his neck. Fleur and Victor stood with their friends and families. Harry was late. He saw a sack, and enquired about its contents. He was curious, after all. He received his answer courtesy of Ludo Bagman, head of some department or other in the ministry of something or other. It didn't make much sense to Harry. Ludo told him that they got to pick a number from the bag, oldest first. Victor drew a Chinese Fireball. A dragon. The champion's collective breaths hung in the air. Fleur was next – a Common Welsh Green. The two drew their dragons and then faced them. They got 40 and 36 respectively. Harry pulled his out. A Hungarian Horntail. Hermione simply gasped.
"He can't fight that! It'll kill him! Trained dragon-handlers find them hard!" Hermione argued.
"Well, he shouldn't have entered himself then. A deadly competition. You would've thought he'd have known what he was getting into." Karkoff, the Durmstrang Institute head, replied sarcastically.
"But he didn't enter hims-" Hermione started to argue, but Harry stopped her.
"I'll do it," Harry replied, "because I have to and because it is right. For there is a defference between what is right, and what is easy."
"Okay, start when you are ready. Good luck." Ludo said, suddenly sombre. Harry slowly walked out. What could he do to outsmart the dragon? He couldn't hurt it; he was too much of a pacifist. He couldn't outsmart it. He had an idea. It was risky though. He transformed, for the first time in years, into his snake animagus form. Then, the fight began.
"'Hello Insssolitam.'" The dragon hissed. Harry froze. He hadn't heard that name in so long.
"'What would you like? I would like your egg, and I am aware of the parssseltongue rulesss: asssk for one thing, receive another.'" Harry logically hissed.
"'You may take the egg in human form. Merely tell me your ssstory while you do it. You are very famousss, Insssolitam.'" The dragon replied. So, Harry cautiously returned to human form, made his way over the rocks, and spoke to the dragon about his adventures while he did so. He talked about his years as a snake, and his years adjusting to human life. He clambered to the nest, talking about Azkaban and being poisoned while he retrieved the egg. He told, leaving out some minor details, about third year. He finished, slowly crawling over the last few metres of barren rocky ground, by talking about his confusing entry into the tournament and his boggart. The dragon merely thanked him gently, and bowed. Harry returned the gesture, before walking into the tent to the cries of joy from his fellow Ravenclaws. The judges merely turned to one another, and gave him a 47. Remarkably, he was ahead!
