After a long afternoon of classes and jeers, Arabella went down to dinner alone. Hermione wasn't there— she supposed she was in the library, studying for S.P.E.W. She ate alone at the end of the table, then returned to Gryffindor Tower, thinking of all the work she had yet to do for Trelawney. Up in the common room, she came across Ron.
"You've had an owl," said Ron brusquely when she walked in. He was holding out a letter.
"Right," said Arabella.
And that was that. Once finished speaking, Ron walked straight out of the room and up to the boy's dormitories. For a moment, Arabella considered going after him— she wasn't sure whether she wanted to talk to or hit him. Both seemed quite appealing— but the lure of Sirius's answer was too strong. Arabella strode to the nearest chair and plopped down, carefully unrolling the letter.
Arabella—
I can't say everything I would like to in a letter. It's too risky in case the owl is intercepted— we, me, you, and Lyla, need to talk face-to-face. Can you ensure you are alone by the fire in the Charms classroom at one o'clock on the 22nd of November?
I know better than anyone that you and Lyla are capable of looking after yourselves, and while you're around Dumbledore and Moody, I don't think anyone will be able to hurt you. However, someone seems to be having a good try. Entering Lyla in that tournament would have been risky, especially under Dumbkdore's nose.
Be on the watch, you two. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about the 22nd of November as quickly as you can.
Sirius
The prospect of talking face-to-face with Sirius was all that sustained Arabella over the next fortnight, the only bright spot on a horizon that had never looked darker. The shock of finding Lyla school champion had worn off slightly, and the fear of what she was facing had started to sink in. The first task drew steadily nearer, and Arabella felt as if it were crouching ahead of her like some horrific monster, barring her path.
"My nerves are all over the place," confided Lyla one evening, face buried in her hands. "I can't sleep a wink these days… think I'll fall asleep before the first tasks even starts…."
"Don't say that," said Draco reassuringly, patting her shoulder gently.
"At least by next week, you'll have spoken to Sirius," said Theo knowingly. "He'll know what to do."
Admittedly, Arabella didn't see how Sirius was going to make the situation any better, but the mere sight of a friendly face would be something at the moment. She hurriedly wrote back to Sirius, saying that she and Lyla would be beside the Charms fire at the time Sirius had suggested.
In the meantime, life became even worse for the Potters within the confines of the castle, for Rita Skeeter had published her piece about the Triwizard Tournament, and it had turned out to be not so much a report on the tournament as a highly colored life story of Lyla and Arabella. Much of the front page had been given over to a picture of Lyla; the article (continuing on pages two, six, and seven) had been all about the Potter sisters, while the names of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions (misspelled) had been squashed into the last line of the article, and Cedric mentioned in passing.
The article had appeared ten days ago, and Arabella still got a sick, burning feeling of shame in her stomach every time she thought about it. Rita Skeeter had reported Lyla saying an awful lot of things that Arabella knew her sister had never said, much less could even remember happening.
" 'I suppose I get my strength from my parents," says Lyla Potter. "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. . .
But Rita Skeeter had gone even further than transforming Lyla's silence into long, sickly sentences. To both sisters' dismay, Rita Skeeter had interviewed other people about him too.
Arabella Potter has at last found love at Hogwarts. Her close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Arabella has an unusual relationship with the other Hogwarts champion, Cedric Diggory. They have been seen in one another's company on multiple occasions for the past year.
From the moment the article appeared, Arabella and Lyla had to endure people quoting it at them as they passed and making sneering comments.
"Want a hanky, Potter, in case you start crying in Transfiguration?"
"Since when have you and Diggary been close? What kind of nonsense is this?!"
"Hey— Arabella!"
"Yeah, that's right!" Arabella found herself shouting as she wheeled around in the corridor, having had just about enough. "I've just been crying my eyes out over the dead, and I'm just off to do a bit more!"
"No— it was just— well, you dropped your quill."
It was Cedric. Arabella felt the color rising in her cheeks.
"Oh— right— sorry," she mumbled, taking the quill back.
After an awkward pause, Arabella swallowed loudly.
". . . good luck on Tuesday..."
"Thanks," said Cedric.
Despite all that had been done and all that had occurred, Cedric still remained civil towards both Potters and onlookers alike.
Hermione was beyond furious with Arabella, Lyla, and Ron; she went from one to the other, trying to force them to talk to each other, but all there was adamant. Both sisters did not want to speak to Ron unless he admitted that Lyla hadn't put her name in the Goblet of Fire and apologized for calling them liars.
"We didn't start this," Lyla said stubbornly. "It's his problem."
"You miss him!" Hermione said impatiently. "And I know he misses you—"
"Miss him?" said Arabella. "We don't miss him!"
But this was a downright lie. Lyla and Arabella liked Hermione very much, but she just wasn't the same as Ron. There was less laughter and much more hanging around in the library when Hermione was your best friend. Lyla still hadn't mastered Summoning Charms. She seemed to have developed something of a block about them.
"Come on now," said Blaise. "You know what I think we're missing here? Theory!"
And so, the small group of four that consisted of Lyla, Arabella, Hermione, and Blaise set to work, spending copious amounts of time poring over books during their lunchtimes and breaks. Daphne and Theo joined from time to time but frequently left when Ravenclaws made their presence known. Daphne had yet to forgive them.
Viktor Krum was in the library an awful lot too, and Lyla wondered just what he was up to. Was he studying, or was he looking for things to help him through the first task?
Hermione often complained about Krum being there— not that he ever bothered them— but because groups of giggling girls and over-enthusiastic fans often turned up to spy on him from behind bookshelves, and Hermione found the noise distracting.
"He's not even good-looking!" she muttered angrily, 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 WonkyFaint thing -"
"Wronski Feint," said Lyla through gritted teeth. Quite apart from liking to get Quidditch's terms correct, it caused her another pang to imagine Ron's expression if he could have heard Hermione talking about Wonky-Faints.
It is a strange thing, but when you are dreading something and would give anything to slow down time, it has a disobliging habit of speeding up. The days until the first task seemed to slip by as though someone had fixed the clocks to work at double speed. Lyla's feeling of barely controlled panic was with her wherever she went, as ever-present as the snide comments about the Daily Prophet article.
On the Saturday before the first task, all students in the third year and above were permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade. Hermione told Arabella and Lyla that it would do them good to get away from the castle for a bit, and they didn't need much persuasion.
"What about Ron, though?" said Daphne. "Don't you want to go with him?"
"Oh. . . well.. ." Hermione went slightly pink. "I thought we might meet up with him in the Three Broomsticks. . . ."
"No," said Arabella flatly.
"Oh, this is so stupid—"
"I'll come, but I'm not meeting Ron," said Arabella.
"Oh, all right then. . ." Hermione snapped.
As the small group of friends made their way to Hogsmeade, Lyla felt wonderfully free. She watched other students walk past them as they entered the village, most sporting Support Cedric Diggory badges. But in the hustle and bustle, no horrible remark came their way for a change, and nobody was quoting that stupid article.
"The weather is perfect," said Draco, stretching his long arms out and sighing in contentment. "Best Hogsmeade visit ever…."
"No more school, no more worries," breathed Theo in pleasure.
Lyla smiled, happy to see that her friends all garnered the same sense of freedom as her. As they made their way down into the heart of the village, Lyla abruptly ducked and tried to conceal herself behind Blaise's tall frame.
"What's the matter?" asked Draco worriedly.
"Look behind you," whispered Lyla.
Rita Skeeter and her photographer friend had just emerged from the Three Broomsticks pub. Talking in low voices, they passed right by Hermione without hooking.
"That evil woman," growled Arabella, pursing her lips in a very Petunia Dursley kind of way.
"She must be staying in the village," guessed Daphne with a matching scowl.
"Bet she's coming to watch the first task," mumbled Lyla darkly.
As she said it, her stomach flooded with a wave of molten panic. She didn't mention this, of course, and soon the group of friends had sat down at a table in the far back of the crowded Three Broomsticks. With a sniff of distaste, Lyla spotted Ron, who was sitting with Fred, George, and Lee.
"Butterbeer for everyone?" asked Draco. "Daphne, come help me. I can't carry—"
As the two slowly made their way toward the counter, Hermione and Blaise leaned forward eagerly. It seemed they'd brought the notebook that kept records of the S.P.E.W. members.
"You know, maybe we should try and get some of the villagers involved in S.P.E.W.," Hermione said thoughtfully, looking around the pub.
"Yeah," said Blaise. "It might help the cause, you know? "
"When will you give up on this spew stuff?" asked Arabella distantly.
"When house-elves have decent wages and working conditions!" Blaise hissed.
"You know, I'm starting to think it's time for more direct action," said Hermione thoughtfully. "I wonder how you get into the school kitchens..."
"No idea. Ask Fred and George," said Arabella.
Hermione lapsed into thoughtful silence while Draco and Daphne sloshed their way back toward their friends. Lyla gazed around the pub, watching the other people curiously. All of them looked cheerful and relaxed. Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot were swapping Chocolate Frog cards at a nearby table, both sporting Support Cedric Diggory badges on their cloaks. Right over by the door, she caught sight of Cedric with a large group of friends. Every now and then, he'd shoot their table a hurried glance, a frown barely visible on his handsome features. Lyla couldn't help but grin when their eyes locked, which caused the sixth year to flush furiously.
"What are you smirking about?" said Draco, setting down his handful of butterbeers.
"Nothing," she responded, returning her attention to her friends. "Thanks for getting the drinks."
What wouldn't she have given to be one of the people, sitting around laughing and with nothing to worry about but homework. She imagined how it would have felt to be here if her name hadn't come out of the Goblet of Fire. Ron would be sitting with them, and they would be happily imagining what deadly dangerous task the school champions would be facing on Tuesday. She'd have been really looking forward to it, watching them do whatever it was… cheering on Cedric with everyone else, safe in a seat at the back of the stands…
She wondered how the other champions were feeling. Every time she had seen Cedric lately, he had been surrounded by admirers and friends, looking nervous but excited. She had caught glimpses of Fleur from time to time in the corridors, looking exactly as she always did, haughty and unruffled. And Krum just sat in the library, poring over books.
Lyla thought of Sirius, and the tight, tense knot in her chest seemed to ease slightly. She and Lyla would be speaking to him in just over twelve hours, for tonight was the night they were meeting in the Charms classroom fire— assuming nothing went wrong, as everything else had done lately…
"Look, it's Hagrid!" said Theo.
The back of Hagrid's enormous shaggy head appeared—- he had mercifully abandoned his bunches. Lyla wondered why she hadn't spotted him at once, as Hagrid was so massive, but standing up, she saw that he had been leaning low, talking to Moody. He had his usual enormous tankard in front of him, but Moody was drinking from his hip flask. Madam Rosmerta, the pretty landlady, didn't seem to think much of this; she was looking askance at Moody as she collected glasses from tables around them. Perhaps she thought it was an insult to her mulled mead, but Lyla knew better. Moody had told them all during their last Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson that he preferred to prepare his own food and drink at all times, as it was so easy for Dark wizards to poison an unattended cup. As she watched, she saw Hagrid and Moody get up to leave.
"Hagrid! Professor Moody! Over here!"
Both adults turned, Hagrid beaming brightly. They waded across the busy room.
"Alright, you lot?" said Hagrid cheerily.
"Hello," said Hermione, smiling.
"We're doing okay," said Draco pleasantly.
Moody limped around the table and bent down; Lyla thought he was reading the S.P.E.W. notebook until he muttered, "you alright there, Potter?"
Lyla stared at him in amazement. The large chunk missing from Moody's nose was particularly obvious at a few inches' distance, and Moody grinned.
"Hagrid," said Blaise fiercely. "You must join S.P.E.W."
Hagrid's blinked.
"Spew?"
"Not spew!" interjected Hermione hotly. "S.P.E.W., Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare! I've only just begun, and Blaise has been a great help— but you see, we don't have many members yet—"
Hagrid bent down and looked at the S.P.E.W. notebook, frowning.
"Lyla," he said in a whisper so low only the sisters could hear, "meet me tonight at midnight at me cabin. Wear that cloak of yours."
Straightening up, he thundered, "I'll be sure to think about it, Hermione. Nice ter see yeh all."
"Why does Hagrid want you to meet him at midnight?" said Arabella suspiciously.
"Does he?" asked Draco, looking startled.
"I wonder what he's up to…" Theo said thoughtfully. "I don't know whether you should go… Sirius…"
It was true that going down to Hagrid's at midnight would mean cutting his meeting with Sirius very fine indeed; Daphne suggested sending an owl down to Hagrid's to tell him that Lyla couldn't go. Lyla, however, thought it better just to be quick at whatever Hagrid wanted her for. He was very curious to know what this might be; Hagrid had never asked any of them to visit him so late at night.
At half past eleven that evening, Lyla, who had pretended to go up to bed early, pulled the Invisibility Cloak back over herself and crept downstairs through the common room. Quite a few people were still in there. Pansy and her gang sat around a fire talking amongst themselves, throwing Daphne and Theo looks of disgust, who sat only a few chairs away, hacking away at Divination homework.
Then Draco and Blaise opened the secret doorway that led to the Slytherin common rooms, just as they'd planned hours earlier. She slipped past them and whispered a hurried "Thanks!" before setting off through the castle.
The grounds were very dark. Lyla walked down the lawn toward the lights shining in Hagrid's cabin. The inside of the enormous Beauxbatons carriage was also lit up; she could hear Madame Maxime talking inside it as she knocked on Hagrid's front door.
"You there, Lyla?" Hagrid whispered, opening the door and looking around.
"Yeah," said Lyla, slipping inside the cabin and pulling the cloak down off his head. "What's up?"
"Got summat ter show yeh," said Hagrid.
There was an air of enormous excitement about the giant man. He was wearing a flower that resembled an oversized artichoke in his buttonhole. It looked as though he had abandoned the use of axle grease, but he had undoubtedly attempted to comb his hair— Lyla could see the comb's broken teeth tangled in it.
"What are you showing me?" she said warily, wondering if the skrewts had laid eggs, or if Hagrid had bought another giant three-headed dog off a stranger in a pub.
"Come with me, keep quiet, an' keep yerself covered with that cloak," said 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—"
But Hagrid wasn't listening; he was opening the cabin door and striding off into the night. Lyla hurried to follow and found, to her great surprise, that Hagrid was leading her to the Beauxbaton's carriage.
"Hagrid, what—?"
"Shhh!" said Hagrid, and he knocked three times on the door bearing the crossed golden wands. Madame Maxime opened it. She was wearing a silk shawl wrapped around her massive shoulders. She smiled when she saw Hagrid.
"Ah, 'Agrid . . . it is time?"
"Bong-sewer," said Hagrid, beaming at her and holding out a hand to help her down the golden steps.
Madame Maxime closed the door behind her, Hagrid offered her his arm, and they set off around the paddock's edge containing Madame Maxime's giant winged horses, with Lyla, totally bewildered, running to keep up with them. Had Hagrid wanted to show her Madame Maxime? She could see her any old times he wanted… the woman wasn't exactly hard to miss…
But it seemed that Madame Maxime was in for the same treat as Lyla because after a while, she said playfully, "Where is it you are taking me, 'Agrid?"
"Yeh'll enjoy this," said 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," said Madame Maxime, fluttering her long black eyelashes.
And still, they walked, Lyla getting increasingly irritated as she jogged along in their wake, checking her watch every now and then. Hagrid had some harebrained scheme in hand, which might make her late for Sirius. If they didn't get there soon, she was going to turn around, go straight back to the castle, and leave Hagrid to enjoy his moonlit stroll with Madame Maxime.
But then— when they had walked so far around the forest's perimeter that the castle and the lake were out of sight— she heard something odd. Men were shouting up ahead. . . then came a deafening, earsplitting roar.
Hagrid led Madame Maxime around a clump of trees and came to a halt. Lyla hurried up alongside them— for a split second, she thought she was seeing bonfires and men darting around them— and then her mouth fell open.
Dragons.
Four fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing onto their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting - torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks. There was a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground; a smooth-scaled green one, who was writhing and stamping with all its might; a red one with an odd fringe of delicate gold spikes around its face, which was shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the air; and a gigantic black one, more lizard- hike than the others, which was nearest to them.
At least thirty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, were attempting to control them, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs. Mesmerized, Lyla looked up, high above her, and saw the eyes of the black dragon, with vertical pupils like a cat's, bulging with either fear or rage, he couldn't tell which. . . . It was making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching scream.
"Keep back there, Hagrid!" yelled a wizard near the fence, straining on the chain he was holding. "They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know! I've seen this Horntail do forty!"
"Is'n' it beautiful?" said Hagrid softly.
"It's no good!" yelled another wizard. "Stunning Spells, on the count of three!"
Lyla saw each of the dragon keepers pull out his wand.
"Stupefy!" they shouted in unison, and the Stunning Spells shot into the darkness like fiery rockets, bursting in showers of stars on the dragons' scaly hides—
Lyla watched the dragon nearest to them teeter dangerously on its back legs; its jaws stretched wide in a silent howl; its nostrils were suddenly devoid of flame, though still smoking— then, very slowly, it fell. Several tons of sinewy, scaly— black dragon hit the ground with a thud that Lyla could have sworn made the trees behind her quake.
The dragon keepers lowered their wands and walked forward to their fallen charges, each of which was the size of a small hill. They hurried to tighten the chains and fasten them securely to iron pegs, which they forced deep into the ground with their wands.
"Wan' a closer look?" Hagrid asked Madame Maxime excitedly. The pair of them moved right up to the fence, and Lyla followed. The wizard who had warned Hagrid not to come any closer turned, and she realized who it was: Charlie Weasley.
"Alright, Hagrid?" he panted, coming over to talk. "They should be okay now— we put them out with a Sleeping Draft on the way here, thought it might be better for them to wake up in the dark and the quiet— but, as you saw, they weren't happy, not happy at all—"
"What breeds you got here, Charlie?" said Hagrid, gazing at the closest dragon, the black one, with something close to reverence. Its eyes were still just open. Lyla could see a strip of gleaming yellow beneath its wrinkled black eyelid.
"This is a Hungarian Horntail," said 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 looked around; Madame Maxime was strolling away around the edge of the enclosure, gazing at the stunned dragons.
"I didn't know you were bringing her, Hagrid," Charlie whispered, 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," shrugged Hagrid, still gazing, enraptured, at the dragons.
"Really romantic date, Hagrid," said Charlie, shaking his head.
"Four. . ." said 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," said 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 pointed toward the Horntail's tail, and Harry saw long, bronze-colored spikes protruding along it every few inches. Five of Charlie's fellow keepers staggered up to the Horntail at that moment, carrying a clutch of huge granite-gray eggs between them in a blanket. They placed them carefully at the Horntail's side. Hagrid let out a moan of longing.
"I've got them counted, Hagrid," said Charlie sternly. Then he said, "How's Lyla?"
"Fine," said Hagrid. He was still gazing at the eggs.
"Just hope she's still fine after she's faced this lot," said Charlie grimly, looking out over the dragons' enclosure. "I didn't dare tell Mum what the champions have got to do for the first task; she's already having kittens about her . . ." Charlie imitated his mother's anxious voice. "How could they let her enter that tournament? She's much too young! I thought they were all safe. I thought there was going to be an age limit!' She was in floods after that Daily Prophet article. 'He still cries about his parents! Oh, bless her, I never knew!"
Lyla had had enough. Trusting to the fact that Hagrid wouldn't miss her, with the attractions of four dragons and Madame Maxime to occupy him, she turned silently and began to walk away, back to the castle.
She didn't know whether she was glad she'd seen what was coming or not. Perhaps this way was better. The first shock was over now. Maybe if she'd seen the dragons for the first time on Tuesday, she would have passed out cold in front of the whole school. . . but maybe she would anyway. .. . She was going to be armed with only her wand— which, just now, felt like nothing more than a narrow strip of wood— against a fifty-foot-high, scaly, spike-ridden, fire-breathing dragon. And she had to get past it. With everyone watching. How?
She sped up, skirting the edge of the forest; she had just under fifteen minutes to get back to the fireside and talk to Sirius, and she couldn't remember, ever, wanting to talk to someone more than she did right now— when, without warning, she ran into something very solid.
Lyla fell painfully backward, clutching the cloak around her body. A voice nearby said, "Ouch! Who's there?"
Lyla hastily checked that the cloak was covering all of her and lay very still, staring up at the dark outline of the wizard he had hit. She recognized the voice almost immediately. It was Karkaroff.
"Who's there?" repeated Karkaroff suspiciously, looking around in the darkness.
Lyla remained still and silent. After a minute or so, Karkaroff seemed to decide that he had hit some animal; he was looking around at waist height as though expecting to see a dog. Then he crept back under the cover of the trees and started to edge forward toward the place where the dragons were.
Very slowly and carefully, Lyla got to her feet and set off as fast as she could without making too much noise, hurrying through the darkness back toward Hogwarts.
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