Chapter 35 – A fiery revelation
The morning light seeped in through the cracks in the curtains, casting an ethereal glow on Harry's closed eyelids. He stirred, momentarily caught between sleep and waking. For a fraction of a second, he hoped—no, he wished—that yesterday's events were nothing but the figments of a particularly unsettling nightmare. Yet, as his eyes blinked open and the sitting room materialised into focus, the contours of the sofa underneath him sent a painful reminder. No, it wasn't a dream; it was a stark, jolting reality. His name had been pulled from the Goblet of Fire, making him the fourth champion in the Triwizard Tournament. A tournament he never wanted any part of.
A warm, sweet aroma hit his nostrils as he sat up. There on the coffee table, a steaming mug of hot chocolate awaited him, and neatly folded beside it was a fresh set of clothes. A small note read, "For Master Harry." Kreacher's work, no doubt. The house elf never missed a beat. Harry felt a slight lifting of his spirits; small comforts could sometimes make all the difference.
The bathroom door creaked open, and out stepped Rigel and Daphne. Rigel's black hair was damp, hanging loosely around his temples, while Daphne's blonde locks shimmered as they caught the morning light. They both wore expressions of concerned anticipation, like sentinels coming to check on a wounded comrade.
"Morning, Harry," Rigel said, his blue eyes meeting Harry's green ones. "How're you holding up?"
Daphne moved closer, her hand lightly touching Harry's shoulder. "We'll sort this out, Harry. You're not going through this alone."
Harry looked into their faces—his brother and his sister-in-law to be—and felt an almost tangible sense of relief. He wasn't alone; he had a family, friends who would stand by him. "Thanks, both of you," he managed, his voice steadier than he felt.
Rigel nodded, squeezing Harry's shoulder affirmatively. "You're stronger than you give yourself credit for. Remember the duelling lesson? You've got skills most fourth years can only dream of."
Daphne added, her eyes meeting Harry's with utmost sincerity, "And you have us. We're not just going to stand by and watch, you know."
In their words, Harry found strength. Yes, the tournament would be dangerous, perilous even. But he wasn't the average fourth-year student; he was ahead, and he had the support of people who loved him. Harry took a sip of his hot chocolate, its warmth spreading through him, symbolic of the warmth he felt from his friends. Winning was not on his agenda. Surviving was. But if someone had to win, he'd rather it be Rigel, as they had initially planned.
Feeling bolstered, Harry picked up the fresh set of clothes. "Well, I suppose I should get ready. Another day in paradise, eh?"
Rigel chuckled, and Daphne's lips curled into a smile. "Another day in paradise, indeed," she echoed.
And so, clothed in fresh resolve as much as in fresh attire, Harry felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. With friends and family at his side, what was there to fear? The Triwizard Tournament was a curveball, a complication, but it wasn't insurmountable. Not when they stood united.
Just as Harry, Rigel, and Daphne reached for the door handle, ready to make their way to the Great Hall for breakfast, a soft "pop" filled the room. Kreacher materialised out of thin air, his aged eyes widening momentarily as he took in their presence.
"Apologies for the intrusion, Master Rigel, Master Harry, Mistress Daphne," Kreacher said, bowing slightly. His gnarled hand extended, offering a red envelope to Rigel. The wax seal confirmed its nature: a Howler.
No sooner had Rigel touched the envelope than it burst into a screaming diatribe. Walburga Black's voice filled the room, a cacophony of scorn and disdain. "Rigel Sirius Black! I have just learned, through reliable contacts, about the outrageous news that will no doubt grace the front page of today's Daily Prophet! Both you and Harry Potter as Triwizard Champions? I expressly forbade you from entering such a preposterous spectacle!"
The air in the room turned icy, each word laced with decades of familial expectations and imperious traditions. "The House of Black does not need to stoop to such levels to prove its worth! We do not parade our skills like common performers!"
Her voice then dripped with contempt. "I had such high hopes for you, Rigel. Hopes that you wouldn't turn out like your useless father. But it seems my disappointment is beyond articulation."
As if turning its focus, the Howler then spat venom at Harry. "As for you, Harry Potter, I always knew the House of Potter was lacking. But to enter the tournament? A child! A fourth contestant, no less! My words can't capture the depths—"
Before Walburga could unleash any more wrath, Rigel's face tightened, his eyes narrowing into slits of rage. With a fluid motion, he whipped out his wand, shouting, "Confringo!" The Howler exploded into tiny, flaming fragments that disintegrated before they could touch the ground, a burst of incendiary defiance.
Rigel turned to Kreacher, his voice tinged with controlled anger. "Kreacher, tell Grandmother she can be as furious with me as she wishes. I entered this tournament by choice. But if she has any ill words for Harry, I won't stand for it. He didn't ask for this; he was forced into it. If she has a way to free him from this situation, then her advice would be most welcome."
Kreacher bowed, his eyes reflecting a complicated mix of servitude and personal sentiment. "I will deliver your message, Master Rigel," he said, then vanished with a "pop," leaving the room to recover from the storm that had just swept through it.
~~~o~~~
As Harry, Rigel, and Daphne neared the entrance of the Great Hall, a sudden rush of footsteps sounded behind them. Tracey, Neville, and Hermione rounded the corner, their faces etched with concern.
"Harry!" Tracey exclaimed, throwing her arms around him in a warm hug. Hermione followed suit, her eyes searching Harry's for a sign of well-being.
"We were so worried about you, mate," Neville said, his voice tinged with unease. "You never came back to the common room last night."
Harry managed a weary smile. "I spent the night in Daphne and Rigel's suite," he explained, his voice tinged with a blend of gratitude and exhaustion. "I'm alright—just a little shaken, is all."
Nodding, the group moved toward the Great Hall, a united front as they braced themselves for breakfast. Upon entering, Harry felt the weight of hundreds of eyes upon him. Whispers broke out like a wildfire, each hushed tone filled with suspicion and scepticism. Harry squared his shoulders, trying his best to block out the murmurs. But the atmosphere curdled when copies of the Daily Prophet arrived, the headline screaming about the 'Unprecedented Fourth Champion' and heavily implying that Harry had cheated his way into the tournament.
He glanced at Neville and Hermione, who were seated next to him. Both offered silent support, their eyes empathetic. For the first time, Harry found himself wishing that Walburga Black might succeed in something—getting him out of this tournament, stopping the world from tilting any further out of control.
The last of the sausages and scrambled eggs were consumed when Fred, George, Ginny, Luna, and Astoria approached, each wearing various expressions of encouragement.
"We know you didn't ask for this, Harry," Fred began.
"So don't let the Prophet or anyone else tell you otherwise," George finished.
Ginny chimed in, her eyes fierce. "We believe you, Harry."
Luna offered a serene smile, her voice dreamy yet sure. "The truth will come out, it always does."
Astoria, normally reserved to all but a few, gave Harry a measured nod, signalling her own, less overt, support.
Feeling a warm surge of gratitude, Harry's spirits lifted. Even if the world seemed against him, knowing that his friends—his family—stood beside him, made everything suddenly more bearable.
Days melted into one another, and a frosty undertone marked Harry's interactions with most students at Hogwarts. Whispers, cold glances, and the not-so-subtle jabs of "cheat" and "liar" became an almost daily routine. But through this icy fog of mistrust, Rigel and Daphne emerged as beacons of unwavering support. Their presence, akin to a protective barrier, kept most of the barbs from ever reaching Harry. Their stark defence, especially Rigel's, sent a clear message that saw even some of the boldest offenders hesitate.
Surprisingly, the shadowed corridors of Slytherin became somewhat of a safe haven for Harry. Except for Draco and his ilk, the house, which traditionally revelled in all things anti-Gryffindor, was eerily supportive, or at the very least, neutral. The silent yet powerful endorsement of Rigel was no doubt a significant influence.
In the comforting arms of his friends and family, Harry often tried to lose himself, ignoring the hostile world around him. But Hermione, ever the concerned voice of reason, often argued that burying his feelings wasn't the answer. She and the others gently reminded him to stand up for himself, to establish his boundaries. This gentle prodding, though done with the best of intentions, sometimes brought to surface the wounds Harry had long buried—those inflicted by the Dursleys. The realisation that he was still scarred by those early years sometimes overwhelmed him, but his friends' unwavering support was a balm to his wounded soul.
However, as days turned to weeks, the cloud of the Triwizard Tournament was temporarily overshadowed by another significant event—the first Quidditch match of the season. Gryffindor vs. Durmstrang. The excitement in the air was palpable. This match held a special allure for Harry, as it pitted him against Viktor Krum, arguably the best Seeker in the world. Harry, ever the eager learner, was certain this was an opportunity to grow, to learn, to challenge himself.
Training under Angelina's captaincy was a new experience. While different from Oliver's fervent and sometimes manic leadership, Angelina was just as intense and focused. Another significant change in the lineup was Cormac McLaggen, who had stepped in as Keeper after Oliver's graduation. The team felt ready, each practise session sharpening them further. But as the match day neared, Harry's stomach churned with a cocktail of emotions—anxiety, excitement, determination.
As the Gryffindor team stepped onto the freshly manicured pitch, the Durmstrang team emerged from the opposite side, their crimson and silver robes catching the early morning sun in a sharp contrast to the Gryffindor scarlet and gold. The two teams faced off, and as tradition dictated for inter-school matches, began the customary introductions.
Viktor Krum stepped forward first, his tall, lean figure dwarfing many of his teammates. "Viktor, Seeker," he announced with a nod, his sharp brown eyes scanning the Gryffindor line-up. The crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers and murmurs, his reputation preceding him.
Next was Linnea, the petite Chaser with vibrant red hair that seemed to ignite in the sunlight. Her face broke into a confident grin. "Linnea, Chaser. Pleased to meet you all." She said, her Danish accent evident.
Then came a burly, square-jawed boy with deep-set blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. "Lukas, from Germany. Beater," he stated, swinging his bat in a subtle display of prowess.
Following Lukas, a tall, slender girl with long raven-black hair and strikingly pale skin stepped forward. "Elena, from Romania. Chaser," she introduced herself, her gaze unwavering.
Beside Elena was a boy of average height but with an athletic build. His short-cropped brown hair and hazel eyes shone with determination. "Marco, from Italy. Keeper," he declared confidently.
The next Durmstrang player was a broad-shouldered boy with short, curly dark hair and olive skin. "Nikos, from Greece. Beater," he introduced, matching Lukas's display by swinging his bat with grace.
The final player from Durmstrang - a girl with a tall, athletic frame, ash-blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes stepped forward, "Anja, from Sweden. Chaser," she announced.
As the introductions ended, the teams exchanged nods of respect. It was clear to all present that this was going to be a match to remember.
The steady hum of excitement echoed through the Quidditch stadium as both teams soared into the air. Harry's eyes darted across the stands, catching glimpses of his friends. Their cheering faces were all adorned in Gryffindor scarlet and gold, with banners of encouragement fluttering proudly against the wind. A particularly large sign read, "Potter for the Win!" which made Harry grin despite his nerves.
Madam Hooch blew her whistle and the Quaffle was released, immediately snatched up by Alicia. The Gryffindor chasers—Angelina, Katie, and Alicia—moved together like a well-oiled machine, dodging and weaving past the Durmstrang players.
Suddenly, a blur of red hair shot past them—Linnea, the petite Danish Chaser for Durmstrang. With a surprising burst of speed, she intercepted a pass intended for Katie and spun in the opposite direction. Her fellow Chasers, Elena and Anja, fell into a fluid formation around her.
Linnea passed to Elena, who ducked a Bludger expertly sent her way by George. Then, with a quick flick of her wrist, Elena sent the Quaffle hurtling towards the Gryffindor goalposts. Cormac, the new Keeper, lunged sideways, managing to block it with the tip of his fingers. The Gryffindor crowd erupted in a cheer.
Back and forth the Quaffle went, the intensity of the match evident in the sweat glistening on the players' brows. Both teams were evenly matched in skill and determination, but Durmstrang was relentless. Every time Gryffindor scored, Durmstrang answered back with two more.
Nikos and Lukas, Durmstrang's Beaters, were causing chaos with their expert handling of the Bludgers. Fred and George were hard-pressed to keep them at bay. Several times, Harry had to swerve dangerously to avoid a Bludger aimed straight at him.
While the Chasers and Beaters were embroiled in their own battles, a separate game was unfolding high above them. Harry and Krum, the two Seekers, circled and dived, their eyes always on the lookout for the glint of the elusive Golden Snitch.
Then, as the match neared its peak, a streak of gold fluttered near the Durmstrang goalposts. Both Harry and Krum noticed it at the same time. They surged forward, racing each other with everything they had. The crowd was on its feet, the tension palpable.
As they neared the Snitch, Krum did something incredible. He executed a perilous dive, nearly brushing the grass with his fingertips, then pulled up sharply, spiralling into a corkscrew manoeuvre that left Harry trailing behind. It was a move full of risk, but it paid off. Krum's fingers closed around the Snitch just as Harry reached out for it.
The Durmstrang team erupted in joyous celebration as their supporters cheered their victory. Harry landed gently, his heart heavy with disappointment but also filled with respect. He looked over at Krum, who was now surrounded by his team. Their eyes met, and Krum gave a nod of acknowledgment.
Harry might not have won the game, but he had witnessed a move he would never forget. And amidst the camaraderie and sportsmanship, the true spirit of the game shone through.
~~~o~~~
A parchment, crisply folded, had been handed to Harry, Rigel, and Daphne during dinner. Its simple message read: "Report to the Headmaster's office immediately." No explanations, no embellishments.
As the trio approached Dumbledore's office, the unmistakable sound of raised voices reached their ears. At the centre of this maelstrom was none other than Walburga Black, Grandmother to Rigel, matriarch of the ancient Black family, and a force to be reckoned with in the wizarding world.
"...and you dare tell me," she was saying in a voice dripping with venom, "that there is no way to revoke their entries? That the Goblet's decision is absolute?"
Crouch, looking decidedly uncomfortable, responded, "Madam Black, the magical contract is binding and predates even the Ministry. It's not a matter of desire; it simply can't be undone."
Walburga's piercing gaze switched from Crouch to Bagman, then finally rested on Dumbledore. "Albus, surely you, of all people, can find a solution?"
Dumbledore, ever the embodiment of calm, replied, "I deeply understand your concerns, Madam Black, but Mr. Crouch speaks the truth. The Goblet of Fire's decisions are irrevocable."
Their entrance didn't go unnoticed. Walburga's eyes flicked towards them, her expression momentarily softening as she registered Rigel. But the hardness returned almost instantly. "Grandmother," Rigel greeted with respect evident in his voice.
"We must speak," she said, her voice a touch softer but still carrying an edge. The power dynamics in the room were clear: despite the three influential wizards present, it was Madam Black who held command.
"In private," she added after a beat.
Rigel immediately offered, "Let's retreat to our suite then, Grandmother"
Walburga nodded, her decision made. Dumbledore, Bagman, and Crouch exchanged glances. There was a collective feeling that it would be wise not to challenge or agitate the formidable matriarch any further.
As the quartet made their way out of the office, Harry felt the weight of the situation settling onto his shoulders. Whatever Walburga wanted to discuss, it was undoubtedly significant. He could only hope that this private conversation would provide some clarity amidst the brewing storm.
The opulent suite that belonged to Rigel and Daphne was bathed in the dim glow of the setting sun. A stark contrast to the fading light was the fiery energy of Walburga Black, a tempest ready to release. As soon as the door shut behind them, she unleashed her fury.
"Those Ministry nincompoops!" she seethed. "Believe me, if there were a way out of this, I would've found it. But, it appears that the two of you are, lamentably, ensnared in this dangerous charade."
Harry shifted uneasily, sensing there was more she had yet to disclose. He was right.
"Harry," Walburga began, her tone more urgent, "I must warn you. Something nefarious is in play. Phineas Nigellus Black, my esteemed ancestor, has been keeping an eye on things at Hogwarts for me. He overheard a rather disconcerting conversation. They plan to use you, Harry. They want to see how events unfold with you in the fray, to discern the purpose behind your mysterious tournament entry."
Harry felt the ground beneath him shift. The colour drained from his face, his breathing grew shallow. But Walburga pressed on before he could react.
"However," she continued, determination in her eyes, "if I can't extricate you two from this situation, I will arm you with every possible advantage." With a snap of her fingers, Kreacher appeared, placing a parchment onto the table.
It outlined four distinctive dragon species, each more intimidating than the last.
"These dragons," Walburga explained, "will be your adversaries in the first task. You must retrieve a golden dragon egg from the clutches of a nesting mother. They will be fierce, relentless."
Rigel, trying to digest the gravity of what he was hearing, interjected, "Grandmother, how did you come by this information?"
A sly smile played on her lips. "My dear, in our world, gold opens doors and loosens tongues."
She then leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. "I've commissioned specially reinforced gear for you both, designed to resist dragon fire. Remember, your aim is the egg, not to defeat the dragon. Use your wits. Dragons might be powerful, but they are not impervious to clever strategy."
Gratitude welled up in both Harry and Rigel. "Thank you, Grandmother," Rigel whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Standing, Walburga nodded. "I will be in touch once your gear is ready. Until then, I'll be unearthing details of the second task." With a final nod, she exited the suite, leaving Harry, Rigel, and Daphne to digest the magnitude of the challenges ahead.
The weight of the evening's revelations hung heavily in the room. Harry, trying to think of every possible advantage, finally voiced a thought that had been nagging at him. "Do you think," he began, looking earnestly at Rigel and Daphne, "that our animagus forms might offer any advantage for the first task?"
Daphne frowned slightly, her grey eyes thoughtful. "Given that none of us have completed a full transformation yet, it doesn't really seem possible, given that the task is so close," she replied. "Though the prospect of having another tool at our disposal is tempting."
Harry's mind began to wander, thinking back to their recent animagus sessions. After delving into deep meditation sessions in the Room of Requirement, each of them had discovered their inner animal forms. Rigel's animagus form was, fittingly, that of a sleek black cat, very similar to the cat form he previously inhabited. Daphne's animagus form was similar, being that of a graceful grey tabby cat. Given the undeniable bond she shared with Rigel, being soulmates and all, the similarity wasn't entirely unexpected. Harry's animagus form, however, was a stark contrast. He was a white hawk, a symbol of freedom and sharp vision, soaring above the rest.
Harry chuckled, thinking about an incident that had taken place a couple of weeks ago. Daphne, while practising transfiguring individual body parts, had struggled with her left arm, leaving her with a furred grey paw for an entire day. The comical sight of Daphne trying to hide her feline paw still brought a smile to Harry's face.
"Remember that, Daph?" Harry asked with a grin. "You looked ready to chase a mouse with that paw."
She playfully swatted at him with her now very human hand. "Oh, don't remind me. Madam Pomfrey had such a hard time containing her laughter."
Breaking free from the trip down memory lane, Harry sighed, "You're right, Daph. It was a silly idea."
She reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "It wasn't silly, Harry. It's just... maybe not the most practical for this situation. But your flying skills, on the other hand," she winked, "those could be the key. Summon your broom during the task. With your ability to weave and dodge, you might be able to outmanoeuvre the dragon."
Harry nodded, taking comfort in the idea. The task ahead was daunting, but with every strategy and advantage they could think of, he felt a tad more prepared.
The thick air of tension and determination permeated the room. Rigel, ever the pragmatic one, broke the silence. "We need to set up training sessions. Let's create mock scenarios and practise how to tackle these dragons. As enticing as completing our animagus transformation is, we first have to ensure we come out of this tournament in one piece."
Harry locked eyes with Rigel, determination evident in his green depths. "Together, we can weather any storm." The heartfelt sentiment drew a smile from Rigel, who reached out to affectionately ruffle Harry's unkempt hair. "That's the spirit, little brother."
The castle's giant clock echoed in the distance, signalling that curfew was swiftly approaching. The need for Harry to depart was evident, lest he be caught out after hours. As Harry rose from the comfortable settee, Rigel looked at him, his usually stern face softening, "Harry, remember, if the nights get too cold or the company too hostile in Gryffindor tower, our sitting room sofa is always open for you."
A light chuckle escaped Harry's lips. "Thanks, Rigel. Hopefully, it won't come to that." He paused, his gaze shifting between Rigel and Daphne. "Goodnight, both of you."
"Goodnight, Harry," Rigel and Daphne replied, their voices gentle.
Harry exited the suite, and as he walked through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, his mind raced. Dragons. Of all the challenges, it had to be dragons. The thought of facing such a monstrous creature, with its thick scales and roaring flames, was daunting. But as he replayed Daphne's idea in his mind, hope ignited. With a solid strategy and the support of those he loved, Harry felt that perhaps, just perhaps, he stood a fighting chance.
~~~o~~~
As the golden rays of morning sunshine streamed through the towering windows of the Great Hall, Harry, Hermione, and Neville settled down for breakfast. The enticing smell of freshly baked bread, sizzling bacon, and fried eggs filled the air, but the weight of the impending first task overshadowed Harry's appetite.
With a deep breath, he began recounting the previous night's revelations to his friends. As he spoke of the dragons, the egg, and the ominous task at hand, Hermione and Neville listened with rapt attention.
Hermione, ever the problem solver, chimed in as soon as Harry finished. "I've read a few books on dragons, but there's one that could be particularly helpful that I haven't checked out yet—'Drake's Guide to Dragon Dynamics.' Harry, would you be able to get it from the library after classes today? We can go through it tonight during our study session in the Room of Requirement."
Harry frowned, "Why don't you check it out yourself, Hermione?"
She pushed a strand of her bushy hair behind her ear, "Well, at the same time, I'll go to my dormitory and collect the other relevant books I have. It'll save time."
"Alright," Harry replied, nodding. "I'll get 'Drake's Guide' then."
The day seemed to blend into a blur of lessons, scribbled notes, and the ever-present hum of anticipation for the Triwizard Tournament. Before Harry knew it, the final bell had rung, and as promised, he made his way to the library. With the weight of the upcoming challenge pressing on him, he hoped that 'Drake's Guide to Dragon Dynamics' would offer some crucial insights. Meeting up with Hermione and Neville later in the Room of Requirement would be the next step in their collective plan of action.
The towering bookshelves of the Hogwarts library, each crammed with volumes of ancient wisdom, cast long, mysterious shadows over the aisles. Harry stepped in, the soft chattering of students and the rustling of pages filling his ears.
Spotting Madam Pince behind her desk, he approached her. "Excuse me, could you tell me where I can find 'Drake's Guide to Dragon Dynamics'?"
She peered at him over her glasses, her usually stern expression softening ever so slightly. "Aisle seven, shelf four, right in the middle." She replied crisply.
"Thank you," Harry said, making his way towards the indicated shelf. He quickly located the book, its intricate cover depicting a dragon mid-flight. As he was about to tuck it under his arm and head out, a familiar and distinctly disdainful voice reached his ears.
"Well, if it isn't the so-called 'Hogwarts Champion'." Draco Malfoy sneered, flanked by his usual henchmen, Crabbe and Goyle. The trio stood in Harry's path, blocking his way. "Tell me, Potter, how does it feel to cheat your way into the limelight once again?"
The library fell silent. Every student's gaze was drawn to the brewing confrontation, the tension palpable.
"I didn't cheat, Malfoy," Harry retorted, eyes fixed on Draco's cold, grey ones. "But then again, honesty isn't something I'd expect you to understand."
Draco's face contorted with anger, but before he could reply, Harry, not wanting to give Draco the satisfaction of a scene, pushed past him and headed towards the library's exit. Draco's taunts faded behind him, drowned out by the murmurs of the watching students. Harry clutched 'Drake's Guide to Dragon Dynamics' a little tighter, knowing that the challenges ahead were far greater than any schoolyard feud.
~~~o~~~
Susan PoV
Through the crowded rows of towering bookshelves, Susan Bones exchanged glances with her best friend, Hannah Abott. Their study session in the library was abruptly interrupted by the increasing volume of Draco Malfoy's voice. They watched, eyes wide, as the confrontation between Harry and Draco unfolded.
Susan's heart raced a little faster whenever she looked at Harry. There was something about him that always drew her in. Maybe it was the stories about his bravery she'd heard growing up or his emerald eyes that held tales of countless adventures. Hannah noticed Susan's lingering gaze on Harry, a smirk growing on her face.
"Now's your chance, Susan," Hannah teased, giving her friend a playful nudge. "Ask him out! It might just be the distraction he needs."
Face flushing, Susan retorted, "Hannah! It's not like that."
But Hannah's knowing look made her trail off. In truth, Susan had always had a soft spot for Harry. Seeing him caught in this tempest of hostility and scrutiny from the school, Susan wondered if maybe Hannah was right. Harry could probably use a friendly face now more than ever.
Taking a deep breath, Susan said, "Alright, I'll do it."
Before she could second-guess herself, Susan dashed out of the library, catching a fleeting glimpse of Harry's black hair as he turned a corner. Picking up her pace, she finally reached him, calling out, "Harry! Wait up!"
He turned around, confusion evident in his eyes. They'd never really spoken outside of the occasional classroom interaction, so Susan's approach was unexpected.
Feeling a twinge of nervousness, Susan blurted out, "Would you... would you want to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?"
For a moment, Harry looked absolutely flabbergasted. "Are you... is this some kind of joke?" he asked, uncertainty lacing his voice.
Susan's cheeks turned a brighter shade of red. "No, Harry. It's not a joke. I've... I've liked you for a while now." She lowered her gaze, adding softly, "But I'd understand if you don't feel the same."
There was a pause that felt like eternity to Susan. Finally, Harry replied, "It's just... I didn't see this coming. But sure, why not? Let's go to Hogsmeade together."
A smile broke across Susan's face. "Great! I'll meet you at the carriages."
Harry nodded, a timid smile forming on his lips. "Sounds like a plan."
As they parted ways, Susan felt a rush of euphoria. She'd taken a leap of faith, and it had paid off. Determined, she thought to herself, "I won't let this chance go to waste. This could be my chance to be with the Harry Potter."
~~~o~~~
As the cold wind ruffled his hair, Harry's thoughts raced faster than his feet. A date? With Susan Bones? It was unexpected and a strange twist in what had already been a whirlwind day. Not that it wasn't a pleasant surprise. The weight of being chosen for the Triwizard Tournament, coupled with the brewing resentment of students, had left Harry feeling isolated. Susan's approach, however, brought warmth amidst the cold glares of many.
Upon entering the Room of Requirement, the murmurs and discussions of his friends greeted him. The room had morphed into a comfortable space with a round table, scattered with books, scrolls, and quills. Hermione, Neville, Tracey, Daphne, and Rigel were all there, deep in conversation.
Tracey was the first to notice him. "Harry," she began, "You're late. What happened?"
Harry sighed, taking a seat. "Ran into Malfoy. Tried to act all superior. You know the drill."
Hermione's eyes narrowed with concern. "You didn't...fight him, did you?"
"No," Harry responded, shaking his head. "I'm trying to avoid trouble, not look for it."
With the mention of Malfoy out of the way, the group's focus shifted to the pressing issue at hand: the dragons. Each dragon had its unique abilities and temperaments, and the group meticulously dissected each detail.
After much discussion, Rigel spoke up, "Harry, your flying skills are your greatest asset. We need to capitalise on that."
Neville, flipping through a page of his notes, nodded in agreement. "The dragons are massive, but they're also not as agile in the air as you'd be on your Firebolt."
Harry considered this. "So, the plan is for me to summon my broom, zip around the dragon, grab the egg and get out?"
Daphne jumped in, "Exactly. But we'll need to devise training exercises. You'll have to dodge fire, tail swipes, and pick up the egg in one fluid motion."
As for Rigel, Hermione suggested, "Your skill with illusion magic is unparalleled. You can create a distraction while you retrieve the egg."
Rigel smirked, "So, an illusion of me engages the dragon while I, under a disillusionment charm, take the egg. I like it."
The room was filled with a new sense of determination. Plans were set into motion. While the dragons represented a formidable challenge, with strategy and teamwork, they believed they could overcome anything. Harry felt a renewed sense of confidence, not just in the tasks ahead, but in facing the challenges of his personal life as well.
The clock's hands inched closer to curfew, and the Room of Requirement was bathed in the soft glow of the evening light filtering through its magical windows. As the group packed their materials, Harry's distant expression didn't escape Tracey's watchful eyes. She had been observing him, trying to decipher the storm of thoughts swirling behind those green eyes.
"Harry," Tracey began, her voice dripping with concern, "you've seemed... off tonight. Something on your mind?"
Harry hesitated for a split second, but it felt like an eternity. The room grew silent, all eyes now focused on him. The weight of their collective gaze forced him to exhale deeply, "You remember Susan Bones, right? Well, she asked me out on a date, right after my altercation with Malfoy."
The surprise in the room was palpable. Everyone was well aware of Harry's status as a heartthrob, but the suddenness of the revelation took them all by surprise. Tracey's eyes widened, her heart racing as she tried to process the information. Swallowing the lump forming in her throat, she managed to ask, "And what did you say?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension in the air, "I... I said yes. I don't really know why, it just... felt right at the moment."
A cold silence enveloped the room. And then, without a word, Tracey's chair scraped back, and she dashed out of the Room of Requirement, her face a mix of anger and hurt. The swift movement caught everyone off guard.
Daphne and Hermione shared a knowing glance. They were both well aware of Tracey's feelings for Harry, and the revelation had hit her like a freight train. Without uttering a word, the two girls followed her out, hoping to provide some solace.
Harry, left in the midst of the storm he had unknowingly caused, stared at the door, a deep frown marring his face. "Did I... do something wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine confusion.
Neville, equally baffled, could only shrug, his face a mask of bewilderment. Rigel, however, simply shook his head, a weary sigh escaping his lips.
"It's complicated, Harry," he began, placing a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "But, one thing is for sure. The Triwizard Tournament isn't the only challenge you'll be facing this year."
~~~o~~~
Daphne's heart ached as she followed Tracey, her shoes clicking against the stone floor of Hogwarts, echoing through the dimly lit corridor. The distinctive sound of a door slamming led them straight to the Girls Bathroom. Upon entering, they were met with the heart-wrenching sight of Tracey, tears streaming down her face, her mascara smeared.
"Why, Daphne? Why?!" Tracey cried out, her voice filled with frustration and pain. "I've practically thrown myself at him! I let him touch me, teased him, hinted at my feelings. And yet, the first time some girl asks him out, he says yes?!"
Daphne took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully, as she wrapped an arm around her best friend. "Tracey, I understand how you feel. But have you ever considered maybe asking him out yourself?"
Tracey's tear-filled eyes looked at Daphne, disbelief etched across her face. "I shouldn't have to!" she retorted bitterly.
Hermione, ever the voice of reason, chimed in gently, "Tracey, sometimes we can't wait for things to happen. We have to make them happen."
But Tracey wasn't having any of it. "You know what? Forget Harry Potter! There are plenty of other boys at Hogwarts. And if he's going to move on, so will I!" Her tone shifted from sorrow to determination, "In fact, both of us should get boyfriends! It's high time!"
Hermione blinked, taken aback. "Wait, why me?"
"Because, Hermione," Tracey sniffled, wiping away her tears, "Our days as single ladies are over! Maybe we could even go on a double date."
Hermione, flustered, tried to object, but Tracey's enthusiasm was infectious. There was no stopping her now.
As Daphne observed the two of them, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness. Harry and Tracey had shared so many moments, so many hints, and yet they had somehow missed each other. But deep down, she still held onto hope. Maybe, just maybe, the universe would give them another chance. And when that moment came, she would be right there, cheering them on.
~~~o~~~
The Room of Requirement had transformed into a vast, open space, the high, arched ceiling disappearing into an illusion of the open sky. At the centre of the room was a wooden post with a shiny, golden egg perched on top, representing the real deal. Surrounding the makeshift arena, Harry's friends watched with intense focus.
The gentle hum of the enchanted clothing enveloped Harry as he pulled on the gear that Walburga had sent. The fabric felt soft, lightweight, and extremely comfortable, but it held an underlying strength. He tugged on the cloak, fastening it securely, its cool, silky touch contrasting with the warmth of the enchanted gear beneath. He felt powerful, protected.
"All set?" Rigel called out from across the room, wand at the ready.
Harry nodded, mounting his Firebolt. The broomstick's handle felt familiar in his grip, an extension of his very being. Daphne raised her wand, her face a picture of concentration, and alongside her, Rigel mirrored her stance.
"On three," she counted. "One... Two... Three!"
The two wands shot jets of blazing red, the incendio spells flying towards Harry. He leaned left, expertly dodging the first, then dove down sharply, narrowly avoiding the second. The fire felt warm as it brushed past him, a testament to the effectiveness of his dragon-proof gear.
He swooped low, accelerating towards the post. At the last possible moment, he reached out, grasping the golden egg and pulling it to his chest. With the prize secured, he banked sharply to the right, evading another jet of fire, before coming to a hovering stop in front of his friends.
"Excellent work, Harry!" Hermione cheered, clapping her hands in excitement.
Harry grinned, feeling a rush of confidence. Each day of practise was making him better, faster, and more sure of himself. He handed the egg to Neville, who was in charge of replacing it for the next round.
"Again!" Harry exclaimed, feeling the adrenaline surge through his veins. If this was any indication of how the real task would go, he felt he genuinely stood a chance. The fear that once gripped him was now replaced by a burning determination. He was ready to face the dragon.
After Harry's rigorous training, the focus of the room shifted towards Rigel. The tall, dark-haired boy exuded an air of concentration as he prepared his spells. With a swift motion, a perfect replica of Rigel appeared beside him. The illusionary double blinked, mirrored Rigel's expressions, and even matched his breathing patterns. It was utterly convincing.
"Let's begin," Rigel whispered, and the illusory version of him started moving, effectively drawing everyone's attention.
Unknown to the others, the real Rigel was casting a disillusionment charm on himself. Slowly, his figure began to blur and fade, seamlessly blending with the surroundings. To the naked eye, he was practically invisible. Without a sound, the concealed Rigel moved swiftly towards the post, grabbed the golden egg, and returned to his original position. As he dropped the charm and the illusion simultaneously, the entire room erupted in applause. It was clear; Rigel's gift for deception magic was unparalleled.
~~~o~~~
The following days were a blur of emotions for Harry. As the first task approached, the shadow of his upcoming date with Susan Bones loomed large. The dynamics within their close-knit group had shifted. The usual collective outings to Hogsmeade were different this time. There was a palpable tension in the air, especially when Tracey's eyes met Harry's. Her cold, distant look sent chills down Harry's spine. He didn't understand what he had done to earn her disdain. Hermione, on the other hand, seemed less than thrilled about her double date with the Weasley twins, her expression betraying her discomfort.
As the day of the trip to Hogsmeade arrived, the usual camaraderie was replaced with anticipation. The cobblestone path leading to the carriages was filled with chattering students, their breaths turning into mist in the cold air. As Harry approached, Susan's warm smile greeted him. Without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. The unexpected gesture caught Harry off guard, but he gently returned the embrace.
After breaking away, the two climbed into a carriage. Inside, Daphne and Rigel sat opposite, exchanging secretive smiles. The atmosphere was thick with unsaid words and stolen glances. As the carriage set off, Susan's fingers brushed against Harry's, and she leaned in to engage him in light conversation. The journey to Hogsmeade was filled with her laughter and tales, her touch lingering on his arm. Harry tried his best to engage, but his thoughts were elsewhere, filled with the challenges ahead and the intricate relationships forming around him.
The soft clopping of the carriage horses slowed to a gentle rhythm, making for a calm, introspective atmosphere. Daphne's inquisitive nature found voice as she delicately broached the subject. "So, Susan," she began, her voice light, "what made you decide to ask Harry out now?"
Susan glanced over at Harry, her cheeks tinged with a hint of blush. "Well," she began, "I've always had a bit of a soft spot for Harry. And with how the school has been lately, being so hostile towards him for the whole fourth champion thing, I thought...maybe now was the best time."
Daphne's blue eyes twinkled, clearly curious, "And what are you two planning for today?"
Susan's eyes sparkled, "I was thinking of going to Madam Puddifoot's, and after that... well, we'll see where the wind takes us."
Harry, taking a momentary respite from his whirlwind of emotions, inquired, "What about you and Rigel? Got any plans?"
Rigel, always the man of few words, replied, "Just shopping for some supplies and then heading back. We've got some last-minute preparations for the tournament."
Harry's mind immediately darted to the broadcasting project they had in the works. He'd loved the idea when it was just a concept, but now as a participant, his enthusiasm had understandably waned.
The carriage soon arrived at its destination, and the rustic charm of Hogsmeade welcomed them. As they descended, Daphne and Rigel parted ways, leaving Harry and Susan to navigate the cobbled streets towards Madam Puddifoot's.
Stepping into the tea shop, Harry was hit with the strong aroma of freshly brewed tea and an overwhelmingly saccharine atmosphere. Lace-trimmed tables dotted the room, each occupied by couples who seemed lost in their own worlds. He noticed a table near the window and led Susan there.
A waitress approached, "What will it be for you today?"
"I'll have the chamomile, please," Susan requested, her voice gentle.
"And for you?" she asked, turning to Harry.
"Earl Grey, thank you," he replied, eager for something familiar.
As they sipped their teas, the room's ambience began to weigh on Harry. Couples laughed, flirted, and shared intimate moments. Watching them, his mind wandered. How would it feel to kiss someone? But he caught himself – it was only their first date and with someone he barely knew. He shouldn't get ahead of himself.
Inside Madam Puddifoot's, the atmosphere was heavy with the scent of brewing tea and the gentle hum of whispered conversations. Harry took another sip of his Earl Grey, its familiar bitterness grounding him in the face of this unfamiliar experience.
"You play Seeker, right?" Susan asked, her fingers brushing her tea cup.
"Yeah," Harry replied, "Been playing since my first year. I love the feeling of flying."
Susan's eyes lit up. "I've always wanted to learn. It must be exhilarating, feeling the wind against your face, soaring above everyone."
Harry chuckled, "It is. But there's a lot of pressure too, especially when the match is close. How about you? Do you play any sports?"
Susan shook her head, letting her hair cascade around her shoulders. "Not really. I'm more of a spectator. But I love cheering for our team during matches."
As they chatted, Susan made subtle efforts to reach out, her fingers occasionally grazing Harry's hand. It was evident she was into him, trying to bridge the gap. But for Harry, everything felt new, and he was unsure about how to respond.
Once they finished their tea, they stepped out into the cool air of Hogsmeade. Susan's fingers found Harry's arm, intertwining gently as they strolled down the cobbled streets, a gentle nudge towards intimacy.
However, their moment was disrupted by a familiar sneer. "Potter," Malfoy's voice oozed with disdain. His two goons, Crabbe and Goyle, flanked him, looking as brutish as ever. "Is this your girlfriend?" he taunted, an edge of cruelty in his voice.
Susan's face turned a shade of crimson, and she instinctively moved slightly behind Harry, who tensed up.
"Leave her out of this, Malfoy," Harry's voice held a warning.
Malfoy laughed, his silver-blonde hair shimmering in the daylight. "Susan, dear, you could do so much better. Why settle for him?"
Harry's green eyes bore into Malfoy's cold, grey ones. "Enough, Malfoy. We've got better things to do than listen to your nonsense."
With that, Harry steered Susan away, leaving Malfoy and his goons behind. The weight of the encounter lingered, but Susan's grip on his arm tightened reassuringly. Even if he was still undecided about where things stood, Harry knew he wouldn't let anyone belittle Susan or their time together.
The streets of Hogsmeade, still buzzing with the weekend activity of students, saw Harry and Susan bump into Hermione, who looked decidedly out of sorts. Her normally bright eyes were shadowed, her hair frizzier than usual, as if she'd been running her hands through it repeatedly.
"Hermione?" Harry began, concerned. "What happened?"
Hermione sighed deeply, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I left the double date," she explained, her voice betraying a hint of annoyance. "Tracey, Fred, and George... they were moving way too quickly. I wasn't comfortable with how fast things were progressing. I mean, I didn't expect them to start... kissing on the first date!"
A feeling he couldn't explain overtook Harry at the mention of Tracey and the twins. There was a tightening in his chest, a bitter taste at the back of his mouth. He tried to dismiss it, focus on Hermione's words, but his mind kept drifting to the image of Tracey with someone else. Why did this bother him so?
Hermione, astute as ever, caught onto the subtle change in Harry's demeanour. She threw him a sharp, knowing look. It wasn't just sympathy; it was a silent admonition, a silent, "You've made a mistake, Harry." However, she refrained from commenting, especially with Susan nearby.
Realising the lateness of the hour, Hermione added, "I think I'll head back to Hogwarts now. It's getting late."
Harry, with thoughts of Tracey still swirling and making him uncomfortable, said to Susan, "I hope you don't mind, but maybe we should call it a day too?"
Susan's face fell momentarily, her eyes betraying her disappointment. She pouted slightly but then smiled a bit hesitantly. "It's okay, Harry, as long as we have another date. Promise?"
Harry nodded, feeling even more guilt pile onto his already confused emotions. "I promise."
Together, the trio made their way to the carriages. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the cobblestones accompanied their journey back to the castle. Inside the dimly lit carriage, Harry's mind was a tumult of emotions, and he felt a pang of remorse for cutting his time with Susan short. The revelations of the day had struck deeper than he'd imagined, and he was only beginning to understand the depths of his feelings.
~~~o~~~
The morning sun hung in the sky, but its warmth couldn't penetrate the cold nerves gripping Harry. The day of the first task had finally arrived. Even though the chill was subtle, it seemed to echo the collective anxiety of the champions. Daphne and Rigel flanked Harry, their attempts at jovial conversation meant to distract and calm him. It worked, but only to an extent.
The champions' tent buzzed with muted conversations, the rustle of clothing, and the clinking of gear. There was a palpable sense of tension, an undercurrent of fear mingled with excitement. The time came for the champions to part from their friends and supporters. Rigel and Daphne, their bond evident, shared a lingering, passionate kiss. "Promise me you'll stay safe," Daphne whispered, her voice filled with worry.
Rigel nodded, his face serious. "I promise."
As the friends left, a new trio made their entrance — Dumbledore, Bagman, and Crouch. The champions, now left alone, waited for instructions. Bagman, his voice booming with a mix of enthusiasm and nerves, laid out the challenge.
"Alright, champions, you will each face a dragon," he began, a touch of excitement evident in his voice. "Your goal is to retrieve a golden egg from them and return safely to this tent. The judges will score you based on the time you take, any harm to the dragon, and any injuries you sustain."
Crouch then stepped forward, his eyes scanning the champions. "In addition, thanks to the MystiLens and MystiFrame system, this task will be broadcast across nearly every public space in Wizarding Britain. Everyone will be watching."
A collective gulp went through the champions.
"Now, for the dragons," Bagman continued, producing a small, velvet bag. "Ladies first," he gestured towards Fleur.
With a cautious hand, Fleur reached into the bag, producing a small model of the Common Welsh Green. Krum was next, pulling out the Chinese Fireball. Rigel, with a deep breath, got the Swedish Short-Snout, leaving Harry with the Hungarian Horntail.
Harry felt his heart sink. The Hungarian Horntail was notorious for its brutality.
With the order decided by the dragons they'd chosen, Rigel was up first. As the distant roar of the crowd reached them, the sound of a cannon echoed, signalling the start.
Harry, his nerves momentarily pushed aside by deep concern for his brother in all but blood, pulled Rigel into a supportive hug. "Good luck," he murmured.
With a nod and a determined glint in his eyes, Rigel stepped out of the tent, ready to face the dragon and the watching world.
As Rigel emerged from the tent and into the expansive arena, his eyes were immediately drawn to the vast stands. The cheers and roars of the spectators filled the air, but it was the shouts of familiar voices that captured his attention. There, with a proud gleam in their eyes, were his father Sirius and Remus, fervently cheering him on. Amidst the crowd, he also spotted his close-knit group of friends: Hermione, Neville, Tracey, Astoria, Ginny, and Luna, all of whom were on their feet, showing their unwavering support. But it was the sight of Daphne, his soulmate and betrothed, that made his heart skip a beat. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, everything else faded. There was an unspoken promise in her gaze – a bond of love and trust that transcended the situation. The sight emboldened him; it was a poignant reminder that he wasn't alone in this. The absence of his grandmother in the stands didn't go unnoticed, but he took solace in the fact that she would be watching from the safety and comfort of their home, eyes glued to a MystiFrame.
Determined to leave an impression on the crowd and to come out of this unscathed, Rigel steadied his breathing and prepared his next move. With practised ease, he conjured a perfect illusion of himself, almost indistinguishable from the real deal. Simultaneously, he concealed his real self with the disillusionment charm, blending seamlessly into the background.
The illusionary Rigel, full of bravado, leapt into action, capturing the attention of the fierce dragon. With deliberate movements, it led the dragon into a high-stakes dance, drawing it away from the nest that held the coveted golden egg. The arena echoed with the collective gasps and shouts of the spectators, enthralled by the illusion's display.
With the dragon distracted, the real Rigel moved swiftly and silently. With barely a rustle, he reached the nest, grabbed the gleaming egg, and began his retreat back to the tent's entrance.
The crowd's focus, however, remained on the illusionary Rigel, which was now seemingly cornered. In a heart-stopping moment, the dragon's massive tail swiped at the illusion, causing a gory scene of 'Rigel' bleeding out. The arena echoed with a symphony of horrified gasps and shrieks. Many believed they had just witnessed a tragic end.
But in the next instant, the disillusionment charm was dispelled, revealing the real Rigel, completely unscathed, holding the golden egg triumphantly above his head. The sudden turn of events left the crowd in stunned silence for a beat before a roaring cheer erupted, echoing throughout the arena. With a triumphant smirk and a nod of acknowledgment to the crowd, Rigel disappeared back into the tent.
The atmosphere in the tent was thick with tension, but as Rigel pushed through the entrance, Harry's immediate reaction was to dash forward. Their reunion was brief but filled with emotion. The two brothers pulled each other into a tight hug, relief evident in both their postures.
"You did it, Rigel!" Harry exclaimed, a weight lifting from his heart to see Rigel unharmed.
Rigel chuckled softly, "Thanks to the training. And speaking of which, don't you worry, Harry. That dragon might be menacing, but you've prepared for this. You've got the skills. Just remember what we practised, and you'll have that egg in no time."
Harry nodded, drawing in a deep breath, but the nervous fluttering in his stomach remained. He watched as Fleur confidently stepped out, her silhouette eventually disappearing into the vastness of the arena. It felt like only moments later when she returned, her triumphant smile evident even from a distance, clutching her prize—the golden egg.
Next, the stoic Krum made his way out. Harry's anxiety grew with every passing second. He could hear the distant roars and the thudding impacts. It wasn't long before Krum too returned, looking a bit more worn but still in one piece, egg in hand.
The weight of what was about to happen settled on Harry. He was next. The Hungarian Horntail awaited him, and with every beat of his racing heart, the cannon's inevitable boom loomed closer.
And then it sounded. The cannon's booming roar echoed through the tent, signalling Harry's turn.
Rigel, sensing Harry's mounting fear, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "You've got this," he whispered.
Taking one last deep breath, Harry pushed through the tent flap, stepping out into the open and ready to face his destiny. The challenge of the dragon awaited him.
The deafening noise of the crowd enveloped Harry as he stood alone in the vast arena. Lifting his head, he allowed himself a brief moment to scan the stands for the familiar faces of his friends. Their cheers resonated through the cacophony, boosting his confidence—Sirius, Remus, Hermione, Neville, Tracey, Daphne, Luna, Ginny, and even Astoria all cheered fervently for him. Then he spotted Susan and her best friend, Hannah, waving enthusiastically and offering words of encouragement.
But not all faces in the crowd wished him well. Draco, looking amused and expectant, wore a sneer that left no doubt as to his hopes for the outcome of Harry's challenge.
Before he could dwell on it, a thunderous roar ripped through the air. Harry's reflexes kicked in just in time to sidestep the intense flame spewed by the ferocious Hungarian Horntail. The fire was close enough for Harry to feel its heat and, while his gear was enchanted against dragon fire, it wasn't something he wished to test.
With utmost urgency, Harry bellowed, "Accio Firebolt!" But the moments it took for the broomstick to arrive felt like an eternity. The dragon, sensing its prey, was relentless in its pursuit. Each roar, each snap of its jaws, kept Harry perpetually on the move, darting and weaving across the arena.
The distinctive whizz of his Firebolt reached his ears, and with a surge of relief, Harry leapt onto the broom, immediately soaring upwards. The plan was simple, a manoeuvre practised countless times: face the dragon head-on, dodge its flames, grab the golden egg, and pull up sharply to avoid its deadly tail and claws.
Elation filled Harry as the plan went off without a hitch. The golden egg was in his grasp, and victory seemed within reach. But that relief was short-lived. A loud crash and the beast's frenzied roars alerted Harry that the Horntail had broken free of its chains and was now in hot pursuit.
Harry's thoughts raced as the dragon closed in. Deciding on a daring move, he sped away from the arena, aiming to circle back to the tent after leading the beast astray. Unbeknownst to Harry, the MystiLens continued to track his every move, broadcasting this high-stakes chase to every MystiFrame.
As he neared a stone bridge leading to Hogwarts, the dragon unleashed another jet of flames. The force and heat were too much this time. Harry was blasted off his Firebolt, tumbling through the air before landing in the squelching mud beside the river. Pain jolted through him, his vision blurred momentarily, and the cold mud seeped through his gear. Dazed, he took a quick stock of himself, hoping against hope that nothing was broken.
The cold mud squelched beneath Harry's fingers as he pushed himself upright. Dazedly, he scanned the surroundings. The glint of polished wood further upstream revealed the location of his Firebolt. Yet, just as he started towards it, a tremendous gust of wind followed by a heavy thud alerted him to the Horntail's landing. In an instant, the colossal creature reared up, placing itself between Harry and his beloved broomstick.
The Horntail's powerful tail whipped towards Harry with deadly precision. He rolled out of the way just in time, narrowly escaping a painful fate. Recalling a piece of wisdom about dragons, Harry remembered their eyes being a vulnerability. An idea formed. If he could just momentarily blind the dragon with a stinging hex, he could make his escape.
His wand movements were swift and precise, yet dodging the relentless assault of the Horntail took immense concentration. After what felt like an eternity of ducking, weaving, and casting, Harry finally saw his opportunity. With a triumphant shout, he cast the stinging hex straight into the dragon's eyes. The Horntail roared in pain and confusion, its eyes clouding over.
Seizing his chance, Harry sprinted towards his Firebolt. But as his fingers nearly brushed the handle, a scorching gush of flame hurtled in his direction. Time seemed to slow. The inferno advanced, and Harry knew he wouldn't be able to dodge it. Desperation filled him. Lifting his wand towards the oncoming blaze, he poured every ounce of his magical energy into an attempt to repel it. He didn't know any spell for this situation; he acted purely on instinct.
To his astonishment, the ferocious flames bent to his will. They swirled and spiralled, gathering around the tip of his wand. He felt an intense heat, but not the burn he expected. With a forceful push of his wand, he moulded the fire into a dense fireball and hurled it back at the Horntail.
Upon impact, the dragon staggered, releasing an agonised cry that echoed throughout the grounds. Dazed and in pain, the beast unfurled its wings and, with a powerful beat, took off into the sky, fleeing the scene.
Harry stood there, panting heavily, trying to process what just happened. But there was no time to ponder. Gripping his Firebolt tightly, he mounted it and soared back to the arena, the roar of the crowd and the thumping of his own heart merging in his ears.
The flap of the tent burst open, revealing a dishevelled but very much alive Harry. The moment he entered, Rigel enveloped him in a tight embrace, his words filled with exhilaration. "That was absolutely brilliant, Harry!" he exclaimed.
Still panting from his ordeal, Harry gave him a confused look. "How did you...?" His gaze drifted to the gleaming MystiFrame, which displayed a replay of his daring face-off with the Horntail. Realisation dawned. "So you all saw everything," he muttered.
The gentle murmurs and anxious chatter of the tent stilled as a cavalcade of adults arrived. Bagman, his face flushed with excitement, stepped forward, clapping Harry and Rigel on the back. "Congratulations to all four of you! You've all done a commendable job." He held up one of the golden eggs, its surface shimmering with a faint glow. "This, champions, is your clue for the second task. It's scheduled for February."
Crouch, looking stern but relieved, took over. "What remains now is the scoring. Each judge will award a score out of ten."
Rigel was beckoned first. Crouch raised his wand, revealing a bold '10'. Bagman and Dumbledore followed suit, each displaying a '10'. Maxime, however, looked slightly hesitant, finally revealing a '5'. Harry could feel the tension in the tent. But it was Karkaroff's paltry '1' that caused an audible gasp. Outraged murmurs filled the tent. Harry gritted his teeth. Rigel's performance was nothing short of phenomenal. The score was utterly unfair.
The scoring for Fleur and Krum went by in a blur: Fleur with 28 and Krum with 32. Then, all eyes turned to Harry.
Bagman wasted no time, displaying a proud '10'. Crouch and Dumbledore both held up an '8'. Maxime's '7' seemed fair, but Harry's heart sank when Karkaroff smirked and revealed a '3'.
Quick calculations ran through his mind. He and Rigel both held a total of 36 points. Harry frowned, not satisfied. His brother had clearly outperformed him. But as he glanced at Rigel, he saw no trace of annoyance or frustration. Rigel simply smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, as if to say it didn't matter.
Harry decided to keep his thoughts to himself. They'd survived the first task, and that's what counted. For now.
Rigel and Harry stepped out of the tent, ready for a bit of relaxation after the demanding task. However, they were instantly overwhelmed by a throng of well-wishers. Amidst the sea of familiar faces, Daphne stood out, locking eyes with Rigel and making a beeline towards him. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him, their lips meeting passionately. Tracey and Sirius, sharing a sense of mischief, wolf-whistled in tandem, causing a few heads to turn. But the couple remained unfazed, lost in their world.
Before Harry could process this display, he was suddenly ensnared in a tight embrace. It was Susan, her face wet with tears. "I was so scared for you," she whispered, her voice quivering with emotion. He gently patted her back, trying to console her, but her grip only tightened.
Remus, with a concerned look, commented, "That scoring was absolute rubbish." Harry, surprised, queried how they knew. "The MystiFrames," Remus replied. "Everything was broadcasted."
While attempting to comfort Susan, Harry's eyes met Tracey's. He flinched at her cold, piercing gaze, and a surge of confusion washed over him. "What did I ever do to her?" he wondered.
Shifting the mood, Remus said, chuckling, "Harry, you certainly have a knack for surprises. First Parseltongue, now this affinity for fire? What's next?"
Harry blinked. "Affinity for fire? Is that why I could control the dragon fire?"
Remus nodded, "It's the only plausible explanation. There are few known magical affinities, and even fewer wizards with such a skill."
Harry pondered on this. It was a new dimension to his magic, and something they'd have to delve into further.
Sirius, clapping his hands, lightened the mood. "Alright, enough of this heavy talk. To the Three Broomsticks, everyone! Drinks and food are on me. It's a celebration after all!"
The suggestion was met with a chorus of agreement. As the group strolled towards Hogsmeade, with Rigel and Harry leading the way, Harry felt a warmth spread through him. Not only had they endured the gruelling first task, but they stood tall, side by side, as victors. Life, in that moment, felt just about perfect.