clxxxiv. from unlikely quarter
The best part of waking early on the day of the Triwizard Tournament's first task was opening the paper to find a scathing article on Neville Longbottom.
It was written pleasantly enough, the tone upbeat, but as Harriet scanned Rita Skeeter's story on the Prat Who Lived and spooned honey into her porridge, she spotted instances of Skeeter making blatant, demeaning digs.
"She said he's twelve," Harriet snorted, reaching for her tea. "And that he's a poor boy struggling against a witch and wizards so much more talented than himself."
Malfoy, across the table, laughed. "The rest of the Prophet eats out of Longbottom's hand, but Skeeter's never fed into the Boy Who Lived mania."
"Don't sing her praises. She feeds into it just fine when it suits her needs," Elara interjected from Harriet's side. She leaned closer to read the article beneath the large photo of Longbottom, Krum, Delacour, and Diggory. "Why is the majority of this about Longbottom? Is it not meant to be an exposé on all the champions? She doesn't even mention Diggory."
"Maybe he should be thankful for that. Merlin knows what she'd say about him." Harriet turned the page. "Oh, here she wrote that Longbottom had tears in his 'sparkling eyes' when he talked about his dead mother. That's a bit shit to bring his mum into things. It's also a bit shit I can't tell if Skeeter's lying or if Longbottom really decided to talk about his mum like this."
"You shouldn't take anything Skeeter says as true," Hermione reprimanded. She then eyed Draco. "And you shouldn't find blatant lying in what is supposed to be a reliable news source funny."
"Get off it, Granger. I'm mocking Longbottom, not the sanctity of the written word. The Prophet is hardly a bastion of truth."
"It should be, considering it's the main source of information for Magical Britain."
Harriet ignored the bickering between them as the rest of the post arrived, Sirius' owl Galahad—or Gally as Harriet called him—fluttered down to settle a letter before her. She stroked his tawny plumage as Elara nicked the paper from her hand and kept reading the article.
"You're much better behaved than Cygnus. Mean old bastard," Harriet murmured to the bird, feeding it a nibble of bacon. She said it to tease Elara—but Elara had her eyes fixed on the paper's photo. She noticed Harriet watching after several long seconds, then quickly folded the Prophet closed, shoving it out of sight.
Odd….
Casting Elara a final, strange look, Harriet turned her attention to Sirius' letter.
"Harriet—
It'd be a lie to say your last letter made me happy. I think if I were younger, running off into the Forbidden Forest to find a horde of dragons would sound like brilliant fun, but Merlin kid, reading that nearly gave me a heart attack. I had to have a sit and a tipple before writing this.
Don't go getting involved with the Tournament. Dumbledore's had a word with the old guard about keeping our ears to the ground, which means the Headmaster is more suspicious about goings-on than he lets the public know. In particular, you and Elara and Hermione need to keep away from Igor Karkaroff. He's a Death Eater—a real one. He was caught by our Ministry but released when he named others, and I don't know the details, but he managed to wriggle his way into Durmstrang for protection. There's nothing more dangerous than a desperate man, and though his return to Britain isn't permanent, Karkaroff will be desperate to either prove himself or escape the Dark wizards he back-stabbed. Just like Peter.
On a lighter subject, the Prophet's supposed to cover the Tournament's first task, but remember to send me a letter with the good details. We can't trust that rag to cover anything worth a damn. Outside spectating used to be allowed in the past, but current restrictions bar the public from attending, and Dumbledore's keen on keeping strangers off the grounds as much as he can.
Remember to keep your nose clean, but not too clean. A letter home here and there about some mischief just lets me know you're alive.
Tell your god-sister I'm still waiting for a reply.
Lots of love,
Sirius."
Elara glanced at the parchment and the owl now preening his bright feathers. "What does he want?"
"He wants you to write."
Elara sighed. "I'm working on it."
Harriet hummed, nodded. "He says Karkaroff is a Death Eater," she murmured, brow furrowed. "I didn't remember before, but…Dumbledore mentioned him once. Just the one time this summer when he talked to me about…about Snape." She fiddled with the parchment's corner, curling it in and then flat again. Gally gave one last click of his beak and took flight. "I only bring it up because Sirius pointed out Karkaroff named people to get out of an Azkaban sentencing, and Dumbledore told me he ratted on Snape. I knew he was a sketchy bloke."
Harriet and Elara glanced at the High Table, at the Potions Master seated by Slytherin. Snape was chewing on his toast and marmalade, clearly bored, but he felt the eyes on him and scowled. The two Slytherin witches quickly looked away.
As the rest of breakfast passed, Harriet considered Sirius' warning and the presence of Karkaroff by Professor Dumbledore. She didn't see him about much outside of meals or crowds; he skirted Slytherin at all costs, and if he had any sense in his head, he'd avoid Snape too. Harriet couldn't help but clearly remember Snape had been the one to find the dead body in her tent in 92'; he knew how to make someone disappear, and Karkaroff should watch his own backside.
Could Karkaroff be behind Longbottom's addition to the competition? Harriet wondered. But what would be his motivation? Was he trying to off the Boy Who Lived and earn the Dark Lord's regard? Or his leniency?
Harriet didn't know, but even in her head, the theory sounded patchy.
The time came for the crowd to depart the Great Hall, though not before the champions left, called out by Ludo Bagman in his ridiculous robes cut too small for his less than slim figure. Longbottom looked green, but Diggory flashed a slight grin toward the Slytherin table before running after the ex-Quidditch professional.
Soon enough, the Hogwarts students clamored to their feet and followed the directions of the Aurors out into the overcast morning. Moody stood at the doors, sweeping the throng with his swiveling blue eye. Harriet braced herself against the sudden brisk chill when she walked past him into the mist. Their path took them toward the outskirts of the grounds, not far from the Quidditch Stadium, to a spot where the Forbidden Forest and the cliffs met. Seemingly overnight, a new arena had been constructed on the spot.
It'd been made in a circular formation, but the rocks and rough terrain meant the stands were only connected by a few rickety rope bridges, and the seating congregated in clusters. All of this had been covered by colorful tarping, and farther away, settled on the sweeping lawns, waited a large, domed tent.
"Do they mean to bring dragons…in here?" Elara muttered in an undertone, lest they be overheard by the other students. Harriet could empathize with Elara's skepticism; one glance around proved the stands were made of little more than wood and flapping canvas. Nothing appeared particularly dragon-proof.
"Err…."
Whether or not Harriet wanted it, she had no choice but to move with the crowd, lest she be trampled by it. She and her friends climbed the spiraling steps upward until they emerged again higher in the gray light of day. The soft hiss of wind coming off the lake rippled through the banners hanging from the awning and played cold fingers across their cheeks.
The arena below stretched wide and large over the rocky tors and crags, the far side bracketed by the dense trees of the forest, a tunnel leading into the undergrowth. Several of the dragon tamers Harriet had spotted before now lurked on the bottom level of the stands, barely hidden from the arena itself, and a thick, glimmering ward stood between the stands and the inner area. In the very center of the arena rested a large nest shielded by broken rocks and charred wood. Huge eggs cluttered the nest, in the middle of which stood a golden egg glinting in the weak daylight.
In the distance, Harriet heard something inhuman scream, and the people around her exchanged nervous glances.
Harriet stuck her hand into her cloak's pocket and fished about. She withdrew the item she sought—and also a curious red snake who was most certainly not meant to be there.
"Oh, bloody hell," Harriet murmured as she brought Rick closer to her face, cupping her fingers to hide her mouth. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to stay home with the others."
"Rick isss sssneaky!"
"You certainly are." Huffing, Harriet shifted the Omnioculars and extended Rick to Hermione. "Here, hold him."
"Wh—?" Hermione opened her hands on instinct and jumped when warm coils slipped into her palms. "Harriet! you can't just drop snakes on people, for pity's sake!"
"Hasn't stopped her before," Elara muttered.
Harriet ignored them both, instead fiddling with the Omnioculars until she got the settings right. She pressed them to her glasses and squinted, searching the other stands.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking."
She spied Professor Dumbledore and the other school heads in what she presumed was the box meant for the announcer and judges. With them sat several other teachers, though she didn't see Snape or Slytherin, not that they were whom she sought. Harriet scanned the faces of the Ministry people—finding Bagman, Crouch, Percy Weasley, and the Undersecretary, Fudge. The bloke couldn't be mistaken under his green bowler hat.
She didn't, however, see Gaunt.
"The Minister's not here," she said, relieved, as she handed the Omnioculars off to Elara. Hermione returned Rick, and Harriet caught Malfoy's dubious glance from the other side of the bench, his eyes fixed on the golem.
"What are you looking at, Malfoy?" she demanded.
"Since when do you have a snake, Potter?"
"Since when do you ask so many questions?" She quickly stuffed Rick into her pocket again and cleared her throat. "Mind your own business, you pointy-faced ponce."
"Speccy cow."
"Doxy-brain."
"Naff minger."
"Bell end."
"Will you two be quiet?" Hermione snapped. "It's starting!"
Harriet fell silent—though not without giving Malfoy the bird, which the prat decided to ignore as he sat forward and stiffened his spine. She almost missed when Malfoy used to take the bait, but now he always minded his stupid manners, especially around Hermione.
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Bagman's voice boomed out, eliciting a stir of excited applause. "Welcome to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament! Our brave champions will be required to show their daring, their agility, and their magical prowess when they face today's challenge!"
At Bagman's pronouncement, a large, Charmed curtain got pulled aside from the far side of the area, where the darkened tunnel met the forest's mouth. The clattering of claws upon the rocks sounded—and the audience shrieked in alarm when a slender, vivid emerald dragon came slithering out.
"A Common Welsh Green," Hermione said, her eyes wide in interest as the large lizard sniffed the air and quickly honed in on the nest, circling it. "They're native to Britain and can still be found wild in Wales from time to time, along with the Y Ddraig Goch. They tend to avoid humans."
One of the bookish, bespectacled Slytherin second-years—Emile Elderberry, Harriet remembered—turned in her seat to stare at Hermione, addressing her in a thick Welsh accent. "My gran says they're still dangerous in the countryside."
"Oh, definitely. But many of the recorded incidents of damage inflicted by Common Welsh Greens in the last century or so is against livestock, pets, or herders attempting to protect their flocks." Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Hmm. I think it's a female. A nesting female. Clever."
Ludo Bagman cleared his throat. The Welsh Green snorted, clearly disliking the noise, but did not abandon the nest. "It will be the task of each champion to face one of four dragons and retrieve the golden egg in the center of the dragon's nest!"
"Looks like you were right, Elara."
"I often am."
Harriet shook her head, grinning.
The appearance of the first champion was marked by the sudden, if muted, bang of a cannon going off. The cheering riled the dragon, and paltry plumes of smoke rose from its tapered nostrils as its head turned back and forth on its long, slender neck. Harriet thought it was a beautiful creature and, for a mad moment, desperately wanted to try speaking to it in Parseltongue. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Hermione's reminded her dragons were lacertilian—lizard-like—and not at all close to snakes. It would be a lot more interested in snacking on her than it would be in having a chat.
Fleur Delacour stepped out into the arena from an entrance somewhere below Harriet, dressed in fitted, dark-blue dueling robes with her name neatly stenciled in silver across her shoulders. Her pale hair had been caught in a tight plait, and though she tightened her jaw and tossed back her head, Fleur did not appear surprised to see a bloody dragon waiting for her. Maxime had obviously informed her about the task.
Next to Harriet, Elara leaned forward ever so slightly.
Fleur whipped out her wand and cast a spell over herself. "Misceo Omnia!"
At first, Harriet thought it was a Disillusionment Charm, but Delacour didn't disappear. A murky mist dripped from her head to her toes, and Harriet felt as if her eyes kept slipping off the French witch, which was a disconcerting sensation.
"A Muddling Charm," Hermione whispered in her ear. "A seventh-year spell that makes it somewhat harder to discern a person through any of the five senses."
Delacour paced along the arena's outer edge and neared the dragon, who was still distracted by the crowd and Bagman's loud commentary.
"Oh I'm not sure that was wise!" the man cried when Fleur tripped on a rock and the dragon's head tipped in her direction. Luckily, it didn't spot her—or, it did and didn't perceive her as a threat just yet. "Oh…nearly!"
As Delacour neared the creature's flank, she slowed down and used more caution as she drew her wand and began to use an incantation, speaking too low for anyone to hear.
"What spell do you reckon that is?" Harriet asked Hermione, not letting her eyes leave the field.
"Judging by the downward, semi-circular motion moving both clockwise and widdershins…a hypnotism spell. But I'm not sure one of those would work on something like a dragon. I certainly wouldn't bet my life on it in a competition…."
Several minutes passed in which the audience held their breath and nothing seemed to happen, but the dragon grew more and more sleepy, its long neck bending downward until it at last curled about the nest and fell into a deep slumber.
Delacour stuck her wand between the front buttons of her dueling robes and moved quickly now, running for the golden egg. The spell obviously wouldn't last long.
"Careful now…!" Bagman chanted as Delacour stepped around the dragon's prone legs. Harriet wondered if the French witch could even hear the old windbag over the surging beat of her own heart. Harriet's heart was certainly beating fast, and Elara's gloved hand dug into her knee tight enough to leave bruises.
The Common Welsh Green drew a deep breath and exhaled a sleepy sigh. Unfortunately for Fleur, that included a small burst of sparks that caught her sleeve on fire.
"Good lord, I thought she'd had it then!"
But she did have it, yanking the golden egg from among the cluster even as she doused her burning arm in water from her wand. The crowd cheered as Delacour held up the egg and left the arena. The dragon minders made quick work of rousing the creature and removing it, which involved levitating the eggs out the tunnel and luring the dragon into following. New eggs replaced the old, a fresh golden egg set up, and the arena was ready for another contestant.
"Of course Karkaroff would give so few points," Elara complained when Delacour's scores were revealed. "He'd give Krum perfect marks even if his head was lopped off."
"I'm sure Fleur would be so happy to know you're defending her honor."
Elara elbowed Harriet in the ribs—or, rather, the chest, given their height difference.
"Oof."
"Don't be a brat."
"Steady on, Merlin…."
Diggory was the next person to come stumbling out into the rocky arena, joined by a dragon Hermione called a Swedish Short-Snout. As the name would suggest, the dragon had a short snout—and the prettiest scales Harriet had ever seen. They rippled in the light like the ocean's surface, a mixture of blue and green and silver, and they gleamed brilliantly when cerulean fire dripped from the creature's maw.
Diggory tried to distract the dragon by Transfiguring a rock into a dog and sending it running for the tunnel out of the arena. The dragon seemed interested—until it wasn't.
"Idiot," Harriet hissed, fists clenched in her lap. "It's a reptile; they can't see for shite. It looks like a dog, but it'll smell like a rock!"
"What do you expect from a Hufflepuff?" Draco sniffed. "Not a brain to be found in the lot of them."
Cedric did manage to reach the golden egg—receiving a nice face full of sweltering fire for his efforts.
"Twit," Harriet sighed after he left the arena on a stretcher—lucid but faintly smoldering—and Bagman announced scores. He'd gotten one point more than Fleur, and Harriet attributed that to sexism, given what a shoddy mess he'd made of it. Delacour at least walked out under her own power, and her plan had actually worked.
The next dragon was slightly larger than the Common Welsh and Short-Snout, and brilliant red in color. "Technically, it's a wyvern," Hermione explained to Elderberry, who listened to the explanation with rapt attention as the new dragon scuttled toward its nest. It had a strange, ungainly way of moving. "The wings of the Chinese Fireball are attached to the forelimbs. Hybridization became all the rage in the sixteenth century with dragon-breeders, and wyvernism is a dominant trait. The separate, detached wing trait has become extinct in several species."
Viktor Krum received the most considerable applause by far when he appeared, Hogwarts students included in the raucous cheering of "Krum! Krum! Krum!" He wore dueling robes like the others, trimmed in Durmstrang red, his haughty scowl prominent as he considered the Fireball. The dragon, in turn, considered the Bulgarian wizard, and a thin, forked tongue slashed in his direction.
Krum shuffled his feet, gravel crunching as he took a better stance. He tightened his grip on his wand, then snapped out a spell Harriet didn't catch the incantation for, the syllables foreign, probably something taught exclusively at Durmstrang. A net burst from the wand's tip—a metal net, and in an instant, it wrapped itself around the dragon's head, caging it in. A moment later, a chain from the net's end staked itself to the ground, and it yanked the Fireball's head into the rocks. The dragon shrieked—the same shriek that had sounded before the task began.
Krum walked into the nest and picked up the golden egg.
"Some very quick spellwork from Mr. Krum!" Bagman said as Viktor departed the arena, duck-footing it back outside. Karkaroff cheered louder than anyone else, his voice booming with "Well done, Viktor!"
"Tell me he didn't come into the task having researched that specific spell beforehand," Hermione scoffed, arms crossed. "Though, Mr. Bagman is correct. That was very cleanly done."
The minders released the dazed and furious Fireball, her departure taking longer than the prior dragons as she seemed much more interested in eating Krum than following her eggs. Eventually, the Fireball gave up, and her lingering shrieks faded into the distance.
Harriet and the others waited for the last dragon to be revealed. She didn't think Neville could top Krum's scores, but he could do better than Cedric. Had anyone told him about the task? She wouldn't put it past Diggory to have a sudden flash of conscience and share the news with Neville.
They reset the arena a final time—with one odd difference. A chain not unlike the one Viktor used got pinned to the arena's middle, just to the side of the nest, and it trailed off into the dubious dark of the tunnel. It clinked and rattled.
"Why d'you think they have this one chained?" Harriet asked, and Hermione could only give her head an uncertain shake.
"Maybe it's a breed more prone to flying. The others seemed interested in staying by the eggs, but perhaps this one's maternal instinct isn't as strong. Dragons are unique in having any maternal instinct at all; most reptiles eat their young, magical or not."
Harriet pulled a face and shivered.
A low, thrumming growl preceded the dragon before it came slithering into the light, seeming to drag the inky shadows along with it. Harriet drew in an audible breath as she saw the beast emerge, twice the size of any dragon they'd seen so far, covered in perilous horns and scales as black as night. It hissed, menacing and furious, flaring its leathery wings.
"Holy cricket. That's—that's a Hungarian Horntail," Hermione stuttered, her face paling. "Why on earth would they bring that here? They couldn't have thought—."
"What's wrong with it?"
"It's the most vicious kind of magical creature there is! They've been hunted almost to extinction because of how violent they are!"
The Horntail stalked the arena's edge, testing the chain, butting its large, scaly body against the ward. The ward shuddered and blinked under the weight dragging along it. Several people screamed as it leapt skyward—only to be yanked down by the chain, landing with an earth-shaking thud on the ground by the eggs.
"They weren't expecting four champions," Elara said, apropos of nothing. Her grip on Harriet's knee tightened again, and Harriet wiggled in discomfort.
"What?"
"Preparations for the Triwizard Tournament started months ago. Remember it being mentioned at Beauxbatons last Yule? I think Henchizo brought it up. They started arranging the events before then…so when a fourth champion was chosen, they would have needed to find another nesting dragon on short notice. Instead of a nice, calm Common Welsh…."
A gout of flame burst from the massive Horntail, and Harriet jumped.
Longbottom's entrance didn't receive the same excited cries and clapping Krum's did. Instead, people booed—Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and Slytherin for the most part, but the Hufflepuffs joined in, and so did the Ravenclaws. The sound echoed around the impromptu stadium in a deafening chorus and drowned out what support the Gryffindors offered.
Harriet stayed silent. She didn't like Longbottom. She wanted him to lose and thought his ego could use a good puncturing—but he appeared very young just then, standing in his new dueling robes, stunned motionless by the sight in front of him. He deserved to lose, but not to be heckled when about to face something that looked as if it had snuck its way out of hell's depths.
No one had told him about the dragon, obviously. The noise irritated and enraged the beast, restless twitches arresting its huge, muscled body. The Boy Who Lived looked petrified.
Fear or no, he stepped forward under the menacing glower of the beast and raised his wand.
"Stupefy!"
A red streak struck the dragon—and did nothing.
"You'd think after the ruddy Basilisk, he'd know magical creatures are resistant to spells…."
He remembered that fact after the first spell and turned his attention to the terrain, hitting the rocks with all manner of Charms and rushed Transfigurations that fizzled out as soon as they landed. A stray hex struck the dragon's eye, infuriating it. The Horntail lunged, Longbottom fell back—and the chain jerked the Horntail to the ground.
The obstacle enraged the creature. It lunged again and again, and the minders exchanged alarmed glances as its wings unfurled, and it bellowed out a roar that hurt the ears of everyone listening.
And then—.
Hot flames surged to life, pouring scalding and red hot on the chain until it glowed like the north star, then snapped. People screamed, the minders running out from their positions, slinging spells the dragon dodged. It threw itself to the side, slamming its tail against the ward hard enough to crack and buck it. One of the stands tipped and started to collapse, students yelling.
"What in God's name are they doing—?!"
The Horntail jumped, powerful wings outspread, and Harriet thought it meant to take flight—but the eggs remained in the arena, and so too would the dragon, though not without tearing it to shreds first. It thrust its wings downward in a knowing manner, and the fierce draft scattered the minders, bodies rolling across the rocky ground.
The dragon lunged again—this time at the stands Harriet and her friends sat in. Of course, no one was seated any longer. All Harriet could hear was their screaming and the ominous, spine-chilling creaks and cracks of the Horntail scaling the scaffolding. Too many bodies ran for the narrow opening to the stairs, and suddenly—.
Suddenly the snout of a fifty-foot dragon crested the railing, and one leering, yellow eye peered in at the scuttling humans. The slender pupil contracted.
Two students still stood at the front, frozen in terror.
"Move!" Harriet shouted. She dove over the benches to grab both boys by their robes—a distant part of her mind noting it was Gabriel Flourish and his scrawny mate Walt Murton.
"Harriet—!"
Yellow light crawled up the dragon's throat like magma about to crest the earth, and Harriet had her wand in hand, gasping, "Aculei Ignis!"
The spell sucked the flame from the dragon's mouth, and it expelled a sulfurous cloud of ash. The sweltering heat seared the air in Harriet's lungs, and she tried to hold her breath, watering eyes squeezed shut tight, feeling the wood beneath her tremble with the Horntail's mounting growl—.
Sweaty hands grappled at her arms, attempting to pull her and the boys back—.
Furious footsteps pounded over the connecting bridge, and suddenly Snape burst into the box, out of breath with his wand out, already alight with a spell. "Protego Flammae Totalum!"
A thick, nearly opaque shield caught the next burst of dragonfire. The explosion rocked the stands and nearly tore the Horntail from its chosen roost. Stunners rained upon its scaly hide from the field, but the creature persisted.
Slytherin was at Snape's heels. He stepped around the Potions Master, unsmiling, something like malice alight in his horrid red eyes. He held up a slim, soft hand, no wand in sight, and magic spilled from his outward-facing palm. A blast of violet color burst from him—and Harriet recoiled at the vile feeling that followed. Dark magic licked against her skin like careless, hungry teeth.
The spell broke Professor Snape's shield as if it were paper. It cleaved through the Horntail's skull—and Harriet looked away from the abrupt halo of blood and unmentionable bits, knowing the sheer noise of bones being crushed would haunt her dreams for years to come. The Dark spell left a resounding silence in its wake. Harriet's ears popped.
Only minutes had passed since Longbottom first stepped into the arena. A few swift, simple minutes was all it took for everything to go to pieces.
As the slaughtered dragon arched away, falling, its claws tore the awning. Colorless daylight seeped through the rips, and in that light, Harriet looked up through stinging eyes to see Professor Slytherin still standing with his hand held out.
Blood misted his handsome face—and a savage grin full of white, too-sharp teeth split his mouth wide.
A/N: A few of Bagman's comments are from the book, CH: 20.
I was considering the canon scores for this task and I have no idea what kind of drugs those judges were on. Krum destroys half the eggs? Tie for first, obv. Cedric does half-assed Transfiguration the dragon doesn't go for and gets roasted? 2nd! Fleur successfully puts her dragon to sleep and inadvertently catches her skirt on fire because she didn't anticipate it snoring? Last. Wth is that? I demand a recount.
It's noted in canon how something alwaysgoes wrong in the trials in past Tournaments, and I can't believe that it's only in modern times they'd think "Welp, better add some more safety precautions!" I think having to include a dragon twice the size and considerably more vicious than the others could possibly throw the precautions the Ministry put into place.
Slytherin: "Oh yeah. I'mthe good guy this chapter."
Snape: "What is this world coming to."