Harry

The day of the first task arrived bright and early. Too early, for Harry. Blind panic plagued him as he trailed after McGonagall to the champions' tent, robes flapping in the breeze.

"Accio!" he rehearsed under his breath, gripping his wand tightly, "Accio!"

He was trusting his fate against a fire-breathing monster to a spell he'd learnt just yesterday and while he'd managed to summon Neville's toad, Trevor, across the Gryffindor Common Room, the odds of him summoning his Firebolt from the other side of the grounds were seeming increasingly slim.

If it didn't work… If he couldn't do it…

"Well, Potter," McGonagall's smile was painfully tight, "This is where I leave you. Good luck and do your best. We're all…" her voice shook a little, "We're all rooting for you."

"Thanks, Professor."

A tent had been erected in the clump of trees behind which, Harry knew, the dragons' enclosure would be clearly visible. Taking a deep breath, he went in.

Fleur Delacour was sitting in the corner on a low wooden stool. Her porcelain skin glistened with nervous sweat. Percy was pacing up and down, tapping what looked like an ordinary muggle pen against his leg but Harry knew it was his weapon disguised – a weapon with which he'd almost beheaded one of Hagrid's beloved Skrewts without batting an eyelash.

"How're you doing?" The muscles in Harry's face seemed to be working extra hard to smile.

Percy frowned. "I hate fighting for people's entertainment," he muttered.

"Erm, Percy, I don't think we're actually meant to-"

"Harry, good-oh!" said Bagman happily, looking like a cartoon character in his Wasp robes, "Now you're all here, time to fill you in! When the audience is assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag," – he shook a small sack of purple silk, beaming – "from which you will all select a model of the, ah… species of the thing you are about to face. And – oh, yes! - your task is to retrieve the golden egg."

Fleur nodded, tersely. Harry didn't trust himself to speak – he thought if he opened his mouth, he would probably be sick…

The universe must be playing a cruel joke on him, Harry thought, for time seemed to be slipping through his fingers and what felt like a minute later, the crowd could be heard rushing past the tent, laughing and joking. And then - it felt like no time at all - Bagman was offering Fleur the neck of the purple silk sack.

"Ladies first!"

Trembling, she reached in the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon – a Welsh Green – with the number "one" dangling on a chain around it's neck. The look of determined resignation on her face confirmed Harry's beliefs; Madame Maxine had told her what was coming.

Percy dipped his hand into the bag and came out with the scarlet Chinese Fireball, looking fearsome despite it's size. The dragon sported the number "three" and it snapped at Percy's fingers as he held him. Knowing what was left, Harry pulled out the Hungarian Horntail bearing the number "two", hating every inch of it from it's evil yellow eyes down to it's razor-sharp talons.

"Well, there you are!" said Bagman, grinning like a child on Christmas Day, "You've each pulled out the dragon you will face and the number around it's neck tells you the order! Just head outside when you hear the whistle. Now… Harry… can I have a quick word? Outside?"

"Erm, yes?" Harry answered in a voice that wasn't quite his own. He felt Percy's eyes on him as he followed Bagman outside.

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

"What? I – no, nothing."

"Some advice, then? I can share a few pointers, if you'd like. You're the underdog here, Harry! I want to help!"

"No," he knew he sounded rude, but he couldn't concentrate. His mind was elsewhere – namely with the giant dragon he was about to face, "Erm, I'm fine. Thanks."

A whistle shattered any hopes Harry harboured of escaping what was to come. The Tournament had started.

"Merlin's underpants, I've got to run!" Bagman bounded toward the stadium, "Good luck, Harry!"

As he walked back to the tent, Harry passed Fleur, trembling from head to toe. He tried to wish her good luck, but the words stuck in his throat.

Inside, Percy was surprisingly calm. He wandered back and forth, seemingly oblivious to the roar of the crowd that signalled Fleur's entrance to the enclosure. Harry watched him enviously, until he could bear it no longer:

"How do you do it?"

Percy stopped abruptly, "What?"

"I-I know you do stuff like this all the time - you know, fighting monsters and saving the world," The words spilled out of his mouth. His pride evaporated as he asked the question that was burning in his mind, "How do you not lose your head?"

"I've had experience," Percy considered his words carefully, like he wasn't used to being asked advice, "When I killed my first monster, I was terrified. But, most of the time, I had my friends with me… And there wasn't a big build-up, like this – monsters don't call me up and say, "How's next week for smashing your face in?" It's a heat of the moment thing."

Harry watched him, out of the corner of his eye, "So, you don't get scared anymore?"

Percy laughed but it was empty of joy, "No, I'm still terrified most of the time. When I was in… Tartarus, I've never been more afraid. Annabeth was dying, and I was scared of losing her and I was scared of losing myself, if I'm honest," For the first time, he met Harry's gaze, "Fear is a good thing, Harry. It keeps you and the ones you love alive."

They sat in thoughtful silence, both listening and not-listening to Bagman's commentary, which made everything so much worse.

"A good effort, on Miss Delacour's part!" Bagman was shouting, "And now for the marks!"

Harry stumbled to his feet, dimly aware of Percy wishing him luck. Harry played his words on repeat, squashing the panic rising in his chest.

Fear is a good thing… Fear is a good thing…

It didn't feel like a good thing. It felt like dying; Molten terror clambered up his throat, choking him. A whistle was blown somewhere – it sounded very far away, to Harry.

Fear is a good thing…

And with Percy's words echoing in his mind, he walked out to face what was to come.

Percy

Percy, too, repeated his advice in his head, wondering if he'd said the right thing.

Fear is a good thing, Harry. It keeps you and the ones you love alive.

That was true, in Percy's experience – he remembered the Aurai and how he'd fought to keep Annabeth safe. Without her to drive him on, he was sure he would've died long before that.

But sometimes Percy's strengths became his weaknesses… The memory of Akhlys was enough to make him taste bile. He'd been fighting for Annabeth then, too. People did terrible things for love, he realised, but that didn't make them any less terrible. He knew he would never forgive himself for becoming that monster, for however briefly or for whatever reason.

"Great Scott, he can fly!" he heard Bagman yell over the shrieking of the crowd.

Percy shuddered. Apparently, wizards could fly on broomsticks, like in the films. Harry had offered to teach him, but he had answered honestly that just the thought of flying made him want to puke.

A mighty roar punctured the air. Five minutes later, he heard the crowd erupt and knew that Harry had done it. It was his turn, now. The whistle sounded, drawing him sharply to his feet. Briefly, he touched Riptide in his pocket for reassurance before marching out into the enclosure…

The crowd was a blur. He couldn't see anything except the dragon in front of him; a great, scarlet beast that towered above the stands. It's face was rimmed with golden spikes, like a lion's mane, that gleamed in the sun, reminding Percy of the way Jason's gladius had glittered in the fields of Kansas before it almost killed him. The memory didn't improve his nerves and he pushed it away, uncapping Riptide.

"Come and get me, ya great brute!" he yelled, trying to make himself a target – a skill that, unfortunately, he'd had a lot of practice with.

He charged. The dragon reared it's ugly head and snorted a mushroom cloud of flames at him but Percy was ready; he rolled and was back on his feet before the blaze had spluttered out. Heat scorched the hairs on the back of his neck. He could see his prize, glittering amongst a clutch of gold-flecked real eggs… Ten metres away… Five… He could make it…

The dragon raked it's claws across his chest. The wounds stung like water from the river Phlegethon, but he ignored the pain, springing upward and clasping onto one of the Fireball's golden spikes. He swung himself around onto it's back, gripping tight to avoid slipping off the dragon's crimson scales.

The Fireball tossed it's head, frustrated. Percy's scratched chest screamed in protest as he was slammed against the dragon's side but there was nothing he could do except cling on for dear life. This plan was short-sighted, he realised, and then: Annabeth will kill me if I die…

"That dragon's pretty angry," he heard one of the "handlers," mutter, nervously. He resisted the urge to bite back, "No way! I hadn't noticed!"

The dragon lurched forward, Percy swinging wildly from it's neck. The chains tethering it to the enclosure snapped like toilet paper, sending the audience reeling back in fear.

"That's not supposed to happen!" someone yelped.

Ares, Percy thought, bitterly. Dragons were the god's scared animal; Of course, they all hated him. Where's Frank or Clarisse when you need them?

"Percy!" Annabeth's voice rang out above the noise of the crowd, "the Nemean Lion! Remember the lion!"

Percy remembered that monster, all right; he'd defeated it on his quest to find Annabeth… but how?

It's mouth. The lion's fur was impenetrable, like the dragon's scales, but it's mouth was it's weak spot. If only he could get the dragon to open it's mouth long enough to kill it…

Suddenly, he had an idea. Like most of his ideas, it was crazy, but it was also his only hope of surviving this. Just once I'd like to win a game that isn't life or death.

It was now or never. He let go of the dragon's spike, plummeting toward the ground. The impact drove the air from his lungs, but he knew he couldn't stay still for longer than a second. Not yet, anyway. Scrambling to his feet, he dodged around the dragon's legs, vaulting over one of it's hooked talons until he was standing directly in the line of fire.

"Come on, then!" he shouted over the roar of the crowd, "Come and get me!"

He stared the dragon down, challenging it's status, encroaching on it's territory. The Fireball snarled, it's hot breath blowing Percy's hair back from his face.

"Move!" A voice that sounded suspiciously like Hermione's screamed, "Move!"

But he didn't move. The dragon seemed to reach a decision. It's baleful glare said, you'd taste better roasted.

A white-hot glow began from deep within the dragon's chest. It's breath became blistering, sucking all the moisture from the air.

"Move!"

The dragon opened it's giant maw. Percy could see flames licking at the back of it's throat, but he didn't wait to see just how much heat a son of Poseidon could handle. Silently dissing Ares, he threw Riptide, diving to the ground to avoid the blaze scorching the spot where he'd been standing. Any slower and he'd be Percy flambé.

The sword hit it's mark, lodging firmly in the roof of the dragon's mouth. The Fireball stumbled, leaving a path clear for Percy to sprint towards his prize. He was going to make it – he was reaching out – he had seized the golden egg-

And he was in the clear! He raised the egg above his head, dimly aware that the crowd had gone wild.

"Look at that!" Bagman was yelling, "The Champion's first-ever demigod has completed the task without magic, with a muggle weapon no less!"

The stands fell silent as the dragon-keepers rushed over to the injured Firebolt, several of them shooting Percy dirty looks. He felt a flicker of remorse before looking down at his own blood-soaked t-shirt.

"I had to… It would've killed me," he muttered apologetically, as a wide-eyed McGonagall ushered him toward the first-aid tent. Madame Pomfrey was dabbing furiously at his wounds when Annabeth, Will and Nico burst in, simultaneously shouting and congratulating him.

Annabeth glared at him, hands on hips, "That was your plan? Wave your sword about and hope for the best?"

"Uh… Pretty much, yeah," he opened his mouth to say more but Annabeth stopped him, abruptly shoving her mouth to his.

"Idiot," she scowled against his lips.

Will coughed, apologetically. "I healed the dragon. The judges aren't very happy, though," he shrugged, "You weren't supposed to hurt it. Apparently, dragons are endangered."

"C'mon," Nico rolled his eyes, "Let's get your scores."

Emerging once more into the enclosure, Percy was met by an even bigger cheer than before. Past the Fireball, now wreathed in bandages, he could see the judges on their gold-decked dais. He squinted up at them as the first judge – Madame Maxine – raised her wand in the air and traced a number in silver…

Zero. "For the endangerment of a magical creature," she explained above the protests of the crowds.

Bagman shrugged and gave him six out of ten, "since no real harm was done." Dumbledore and Crouch both gave him five.

Percy couldn't care less about his score; he'd been fighting for his life, not the judges' approval. Still, he would be lying if he said the crowd's disbelief – and not just his fellow demigods – wasn't gratifying. Maybe he had made some friends here, after all.

And if he could make friends, maybe their quest wasn't as doomed as he'd first thought.

I'm posting this earlier than I usually would due to the great response I've been getting. Almost 40 follows and I'm over the moon! Thank you to everyone who's reviewed this story so far - I love reading your comments and I'm always looking out to improve my storytelling skills. Don't forget to favourite/follow and let me know what you think. This is probably my favourite chapter so far and I can't wait to see if you agree!

Lileaf, xoxo