CHAPTER 10: SERPENTINE SLUMBER AND GILDED BLOSSOMS
An ominous, gray sky peered in through the petite, lead-framed window panes, each speckled with raindrops. The persistent wind played tricks, pasting a vibrant red leaf against the window before snatching it away.
The weather outside was undeniably dreary. Fleur gracefully slipped into the room through the timeworn, weather-beaten wooden door, her experienced eyes sweeping over the familiar surroundings.
Viktor Krum leaned nonchalantly against the far wall, his brooding countenance obscured by the thick, dark brows that descended low over his eyes. His robes bore the telltale signs of a recent struggle, with mud stains speckling the hem. Igor Karkaroff, ever the vigilant guardian, stood beside his champion. His lips remained sealed, and his grip tightened on his small, silver goatee, while his other hand clung to his wand. His watchful gaze darted toward anyone who ventured too near him or his protege.
Cedric Diggory occupied the room's center, swaying lightly on his heels as if in a trance. His schoolmate had become the unwitting target of the reporter Rita Skeeter, who had ensnared him in the only available corner. She expertly coiled her peroxide-blond curls around her finger while engaging the young champion in conversation.
Fleur couldn't help but feel relieved that the spotlight was on him and not her. After all, Rita Skeeter should have been focusing her attention on the champions with a genuine shot at victory. Diggory maintained an effortless, charming smile, a demeanor that Fleur herself was often on the receiving end of. He nodded politely to the reporter, offering nothing beyond that warm grin and a few vague words. Rita Skeeter's bright green quill hovered in anticipation behind her, dancing, twirling, and occasionally inching toward her notepad, though never quite making contact to record any words.
A Quick-Quotes Quill, Fleur observed with a hint of disdain, was a clear indicator of the type of reporter who relished embellishing their articles to the point where their subjects couldn't recognize their own words, a penchant for dramatic flourish over truth.
Rita Skeeter's eyes gleamed with a sinister delight, while her quill seemed to writhe in apparent agony. Fleur couldn't help but notice the tip of Harry Potter's wand, cleverly concealed within his sleeve, snug against the inside of his palm, emitting a faint, subtle glow. A faint glimmer of amusement danced in the young wizard's eyes.
Fleur acknowledged his tactic with a fraction of a smile. Those who reveled in spinning falsehoods about their superiors deserved any cunning response they received.
Albus Dumbledore, as unassuming as ever, shuffled his way to the room's center, declaring, 'I think it is time the ceremony began. If you'd be so kind as to release our youngest champion, Rita.'
'Of course, headmaster,' Rita replied, retreating to the back wall to peruse her notepad. A flush of embarrassment painted her face a puce hue, and a malevolent glint simmered in her eyes.
When Harry Potter beamed at Rita Skeeter, her countenance contorted, revealing cracks in her foundation smeared across her forehead and staining her collar.
Dumbledore then took the opportunity to introduce the room to Mr. Garrick Ollivander, renowned as Britain's premier wand-maker. He graciously stepped aside.
A tall, slender figure with striking, silver eyes drifted into the room. In a soft, dry voice, he suggested, 'Ladies first, perhaps.'
Fleur, as always determined, stepped forward, extending her wand to him. She couldn't help but wonder what this English wandmaker would make of her wand's unique core.
Mr. Ollivander took her wand in his long, delicate fingers and examined it closely. 'Nine and a half inches of unyielding rosewood, but with an extraordinary core,' he remarked, casting a keen eye over Fleur.
Fleur's anticipation held her in a tense grip as she awaited Mr. Ollivander's analysis of her wand.
"Veela hair, I would imagine," he mused, deftly twirling her wand in his fingers, his silver eyes flitting between her and her wand with a keen curiosity. "A beautiful wand, both inside and out. You share a strong bond with your partner, Miss Delacour."
"Thank you," Fleur replied with a soft murmur, relieved by the wandmaker's assessment.
"Orchideous," Ollivander uttered, conjuring a vibrant bunch of bright yellow roses before gracefully returning Fleur's wand to her.
As she retreated to a spot beside Madame Maxime, the thirteen roses tumbled to the floor, creating an elegant contrast with the room's chaotic atmosphere. Cedric stepped forward, offering his wand for inspection.
"Pay attention, Fleur," Madame Maxime whispered. "You can learn a great deal from a wizard or witch's wand."
Fleur nodded in agreement, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and listening intently.
Ollivander smiled faintly as he examined Cedric's wand. "Ah, I remember this wand. Twelve and a quarter inches in length, made of ash, and as springy as the day it left my shop. You've taken excellent care of your wand, Mr. Diggory."
"I polish it often," Cedric replied.
"As we all should," Ollivander remarked, running a finger along the wand's length. With a flick of the wand, he sent a graceful stream of burgundy wine gushing to the floor.
Observing the yellow roses now amidst the puddle of wine, Fleur couldn't help but wrinkle her nose at the mess Ollivander was creating.
"Mr. Krum?" Ollivander beckoned the stern-faced Bulgarian forward with an outstretched finger.
Krum thrust his wand toward Ollivander, then stepped back, inadvertently tracking through the wine puddle. Crumpled yellow rose petals clung to the heels of his boots, leaving a trail in his wake.
"Hornbeam, ten and a quarter inches, thicker than the usual, and quite rigid," Ollivander remarked, testing the wand's flexibility with pursed lips and a subtle frown. "An intriguing style of alchemy. Familiar to me, though."
Krum nodded in agreement. "Da."
"This is a creation of Gregorovitch. Given your age, it must have been one of his last," Ollivander observed.
"Da," Krum confirmed. "His apprentice sold it to me. One of the last few left."
"A truly exceptional wand maker, Mykew Gregorovitch, with a knowledge of wand lore that's second to none," Ollivander commented as he swirled the hornbeam wand through the air. "Avis."
In response to his incantation, a small flock of white birds, adorned with vibrant green and red bands on their wings, fluttered into the room's rafters, chirping and chattering.
"Excellent," Ollivander concluded, and then his attention turned to Harry Potter. His crooked white teeth formed a broad grin. "And Mr. Potter, last but not least."
The young wizard slid his wand from his sleeve and handed it to Ollivander, prompting a fleeting frown from Albus Dumbledore as the fourteen-year-old presented his wand.
"A wand reborn," Ollivander whispered, twirling it in his fingers. "Ebony, eleven and a third inches, in such impeccable condition that it could have been crafted just yesterday."
A faint, shared smile graced both the young wizard and Ollivander's faces.
"Perhaps my finest work," Ollivander murmured. "Certainly the most complex. The shards of the phoenix feather core of your first partner, consumed by basilisk venom. A liquid heart."
The revelation that the boy had two wands surprised Fleur. Typically, only aurors and wizards with particularly perilous vocations ended up with multiple wands. She scrutinized the boy's enigmatic smile and considered the unique combination of a liquid core of basilisk venom—something that should have destroyed the wood.
Ollivander's smile broadened. "A bond that has survived destruction and risen again, stronger than almost any I have seen over the last fifty years." He ran a fingertip down the wand as though caressing a cherished child. "What has this wand seen?" Ollivander closed his eyes, and his expression shifted.
He dramatically waved the wand through the air at Harry Potter's chest. In response, a sinuous, silver serpent, as long as Fleur's arm, materialized and coiled around the boy's shoulders before fading away.
"Perfect," Ollivander breathed.
Fleur, though unimpressed, tossed her hair nonchalantly. Conjuring snakes was one of the simpler feats of magic, but at least it didn't cause any further mess.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, and his gaze remained on the boy. Small lines creased his brow, but a faint smile curved his lips.
As they returned to the Great Hall, Fleur briefly contemplated the idea of trying to speak with Harry Potter. However, the boy slipped away from the group midway, leaving her to conclude that he probably wouldn't have been interested in conversation anyway.
Madame Maxime signaled Fleur, snapping her fingers to get her attention. "Come with me, Fleur," she commanded, striding toward the carriage. Her eyes scanned the nearby rooms and corridors as she spoke. "I trust you were paying attention to the ceremony. There was much to be learned about your rivals from it."
"I was," Fleur responded.
Madame Maxime probed further, "What did you deduce?"
"Cedric Diggory is steadfast, hardworking, and honest," Fleur began, offering her analysis. "But while he is gifted, he doesn't strike me as an exceptionally powerful wizard. Viktor Krum, on the other hand, is powerful, stubborn, and unyielding. He will be my fiercest competition."
"What about Harry Potter?" Madame Maxime inquired.
Fleur took a moment to consider her response, studying her fingernails. "He is unusual. Ollivander seemed to favor him."
Madame Maxime acknowledged Fleur's insight with a nod. "Perceptive as always. I believe you are right about Hogwarts' original champion. Krum, though, has hidden depths, and judging by the spell Ollivander performed, excels in the air."
"He is a Quidditch seeker for his country," Fleur added.
Madame Maxime offered a cautionary note, "Be wary of the Potter boy, Fleur. I have never seen a liquid core wand, nor do I know what it implies about his magic. However, ebony denotes power, and having a basilisk venom core speaks for itself."
"I will be careful of him," Fleur assured.
Madame Maxime tempered her warning, "He is unlikely to prove a rival being fourteen. However, he may provide one or two surprises that could harm your standing against the others." She then led Fleur to one side of the path. "The other champions will soon, if they haven't already, be told about the first task. This is to be expected."
Fleur inquired, "Will I be told as well?"
"Of course," Madame Maxime affirmed. "I am... stretching the boundaries a little, but we are going to get a glimpse of it now. Follow me, Fleur."
Fleur couldn't help but reflect on the ethics of this plan. Cheating, she thought. But then, she remembered her determination not to lose, realizing that if everyone else was taking such measures, she had no choice but to follow suit. After all, she hadn't come to the tournament with the intention of losing.
Madame Maxime bypassed the carriage and ventured into the edge of the forest that bordered the school. Fleur made a displeased expression and gingerly navigated through the muddy ground. The heels of her shoes clung to the earth and made squelching sounds. Annoyed, she shook her head, then deftly withdrew her wand and transfigured the muck beneath her into a solid, stable surface.
Madame Maxime led her onward. The trees grew denser as they ventured deeper into the woods. Dark, weathered pines thrust upward through a tangle of dead, brown branches and needles. Occasionally, glimpses of green filtered through openings in the decaying canopy.
Fleur's mind raced with thoughts of the creatures rumored to inhabit these woods: Acromantula, werewolves, centaurs, giants, and worse. She couldn't help but wonder if the first task might be set in this mysterious and foreboding environment.
As they pressed on, a wavering, reddish-orange glow flickered through the dense pines.
Madame Maxime guided her toward the source of the light. "As it's somewhat unusual for me to bring you here, you should cast a disillusionment charm. I know you're quite skilled at it."
Fleur mused silently about how Madame Maxime knew this, but she cast the spell nonetheless. "Good," the headmistress commented, closing one eye and appraising Fleur with a once-over. "You've improved. Follow me."
Waves of sweltering air billowed past Fleur, carrying the heat of the flickering light. Her hair danced in the hot breeze, and the dew on her shoes and calves turned to steam.
Madame Maxime made her way through a patch of dead bracken toward a gap in the trees, leading Fleur to the source of the glow.
As Fleur emerged from the tree line, the hot wind intensified. In a clearing, four massive cages dominated the scorched brown earth, scattered with charred tree stumps. White-hot flames leaped from the cages, turning the metal bars incandescent orange. Dark silhouettes huddled behind them, shrouded in mystery.
Merde. Fleur clenched her fists tightly to prevent them from trembling. Dragons. I would have preferred giant spiders.
Madame Maxime's silhouette vanished as she moved around the far side of the clearing. Fleur contemplated her options. Even her innate resistance to fire would offer little protection against dragon flames. She cautiously approached the fiery spectacle. Rivulets of sweat coursed down her forehead and back, and her uniform clung to her like a second skin. She considered her enchantment expertise. I have a sleeping charm that could work on them, but I'd need to amplify it significantly for creatures of this size.
The nearest cage housed a red-scaled, snub-snouted dragon, which writhed and spat fire, pushing its bulging eye between the bars to observe Fleur. A gleaming, viridian green dragon tracked her as it flared its nostrils. It appears the tournament is resuming from where it left off with that perilous cockatrice.
In the furthest cage, a shadow loomed. A massive creature with black, jagged scales gleamed beneath tattered, ebony wings that enveloped its serpentine form. Its back and tail bore cruel, curved spines, adding to its menacing appearance.
That's a dragon to avoid.
The dragon's head snapped around, locking eyes with Fleur. A wild, furious intelligence radiated from its gleaming, golden orbs. Molten malevolence seethed from beneath its four bronze horns. It hissed and lashed its tail through the bars, gouging a deep scar into the ground. Barbed spikes adorned its tail, visible as the creature retracted it between the bars.
Definitely a dragon to avoid, Fleur thought, inching back from the clearing, making sure to keep a safe distance from the scorched earth and charred leaves.
Madame Maxime reemerged from behind a tree. "What do you think?"
Fleur shared her thoughts, "I think whoever draws the black one from the goblet will likely regret it. If they survive, that is."
"The Hungarian Horntail. I'm not even sure it's tamed, given what I've heard from Hagrid and his dragon-keeper friend. They had to send a fourth one in very short notice," Madame Maxime explained.
Fleur muttered a few words her mother would have never expected to hear from her. "So, it's the boy's fault that thing is here. If I have to face that beast, I'll hex him halfway to death afterward."
Madame Maxime inquired, "Do you have a plan?"
Fleur replied, "My enchantment, the sleeping one."
"The one that makes use of your Veela nature. A good plan, but I would have a backup in case they're more resistant to magic than usual. Some higher classes of dragons have been known to be."
Fleur nodded. "I know to go for the eyes. And I know enough curses and hexes that once I hit it, it will stay blinded."
Madame Maxime advised her to practice, then headed toward the carriage. "Do not mention the dragons, Fleur. I wasn't supposed to show you this, even if the others will likely know by the end of the day."
Back in her room, Fleur retrieved an old school book on magical creatures. It reminded her that dragons had few weaknesses. If one had to fight a dragon, the best course of action was to distract it and flee. If fighting was unavoidable, the weak spots were the eyes, and on some weaker breeds, the softer-scaled belly and armpits.
The ebony monster she had seen earlier did not seem like one of the weaker species. Fleur shuddered at the memory, thinking it resembled something straight out of one of Gabrielle's old nightmares.
She closed the book with determination and placed it back on the shelf. "My enchantments will work. As always." Fleur's confidence in her abilities remained unwavering, even in the face of such formidable adversaries.
A soft pang of sympathy twisted in Fleur's stomach as she considered the boy's impending encounter with the Hungarian Horntail. She suspected that he might not be likely to survive a confrontation with such a formidable creature. Moreover, it seemed clear to her that he wasn't genuinely invested in the tournament, and he might opt to withdraw once faced with the reality of his perilous task.
Fleur retrieved a sachet of hot chocolate powder from beneath a book, tore it open, and poured its contents directly into her mouth. The warm, rich flavor enveloped her senses. "Perfect," she mused as she savored the taste. "I wonder if the boy will be able to resist the pull of the magic of my enchantment, too."
She harbored little doubt that he wouldn't. Her enchantment had a potent allure, and only exceptionally powerful or strong-willed wizards could resist its influence. Her confidence remained unshaken; her enchantment could put any dragon to sleep. However, the memory of malevolent yellow eyes and a tail adorned with bone-barbed spikes reminded her of the one exception: the dreadful Hungarian Horntail.
Harry, standing on a ladder, vigorously cleared a line of dust off the books that adorned the shelves surrounding him in the circular library. The peculiar thing about this library was that it had oddly pristine, dust-free shelves, and the imprints of Harry's footsteps marked the wooden floor in a circular pattern.
Salazar, reclining in his painting, was rudely awakened by the activity. He pushed his snake companion away from his eyes and let out a yawn. "It's today?"
Harry nodded. "Yes."
Salazar's frustration erupted, his voice transitioning into the hissing tones of Parseltongue, his curses too rapid for Harry's human ears to discern. "I told you to come see beforehand so I could teach you things!"
Harry defended himself, "I did come. I'm right here."
Salazar explained, "I can't teach you right before the task begins. You'll need your strength for the competition, and blood magic is a demanding field." His snake companion, coiled around his neck, sensed the tension and repositioned itself on his right shoulder.
Desiring to make the most of the time they had left, Harry inquired, "You can't even teach me the theoretical aspects?"
Salazar responded, "There's not much point, is there? Magic is best learned practically and actively, not by simply listening to a painting."
Harry, pushing a book titled 'Secrets of the Darkest Arts' aside, sat on the edge of the desk. "Well, we've got a little bit of time."
Salazar, always one to appreciate cunning and strategy, asked, "What is the task?"
Harry admitted, "I have no idea. I think it's meant to be a surprise."
Salazar, in disbelief, raised his hands in exasperation, inadvertently displacing his snake companion. The snake hissed in annoyance and slithered up Salazar's leg to reclaim its perch. "Where is your cunning?" Salazar chastised. "What kind of Heir of Slytherin are you? You should have gone and found out."
'From where?' Harry inquired with a hint of sarcasm. 'The big book of future tournament tasks?'
Salazar couldn't help but snigger and playfully pointed at the desk situated behind him.
Harry swiveled his chair to face the desk and discovered a fresh, unblemished piece of parchment resting on top of a stack of books. It was held down by a crystal vial, adding an air of significance to it. Harry let out a resigned sigh. 'The big book of future tournament tasks…'
Salazar, with a knowing grin, reminded him, 'You left that there just before you arrived, saying that I'd understand it shortly.'
Harry recalled his earlier time-travel using the Time-Turner and glanced back at the desk, only to find that the golden necklace had disappeared. 'Where am I?'
Salazar, ever enigmatic, replied, 'You mentioned you were going to practice occlumency exercises. Read the rest aloud for me.'
Harry reluctantly began reading the words on the parchment, his voice shaky with trepidation. 'Dragons. Distractions work best. Don't ignore Katie.'
The mere mention of dragons caused Harry's heart to race and his breath to hitch. He couldn't help but think, And I thought baby Norbert was bad.
'Dragons,' Salazar mused, stroking his chin. 'Could be worse.'
Harry wiped the sweat from his palms and whispered, 'Dragons seem pretty bad.'
Salazar countered, 'It could be worse, you know. It could be another basilisk. A dragon typically attacks by breathing fire, which they can only do in one direction. That's fairly easy to anticipate. The gaze of the king of serpents, on the other hand, is much more subtle and deadly.'
Harry, still wrestling with his anxiety, stated, 'If I'm hit by the fire, it really won't matter.'
Salazar's response was cryptic yet reassuring, 'You survived to warn yourself. The plan must have worked, and now you know it, because you will have done it, succeeded, and told yourself.'
Harry blinked, a bit overwhelmed. 'Run that by me once more.'
Salazar let out a patient sigh. 'You left yourself a message instructing you on how to complete the task and telling you to trust yourself. Just go with it.' He peered over Harry's shoulder and frowned. 'What else does it say?'
Harry read aloud the puzzling phrase on the parchment. 'The small one bites.'
Salazar shook his head in bewilderment. 'I have no idea what you were trying to tell yourself. I hope it wasn't crucial.'
Harry raised an eyebrow. 'I can't imagine leaving myself an ambiguous note if it didn't need to be ambiguous. Do you know anything about dragons?'
Salazar replied with a hint of humor, 'I am Salazar Slytherin.'
Harry sighed. 'You only ever say that when you don't know.'
Salazar retorted, 'I wasn't foolish enough to pick a fight with one. Avoid the fire, the claws, and the teeth. Their senses of smell and hearing are good, but not exceptional. Once it's blinded, you can remain undetected if you're cautious.'
Harry admitted, 'Some of that actually sounds useful.'
Salazar couldn't resist a parting jab. 'I hope the dragon gets you.'
Harry quipped, 'I'm sure quite a few people feel that way.'
He idly bounced his wand on his palm, contemplating his approach. 'I'll think about what to do on the way there. The rupturing curse should work on the eyes.'
Salazar, recognizing the dire circumstances, conceded, 'A bit cruel, but if it's that or be turned into a small pile of ash...'
Harry sighed, 'I know. But if it works...'
Salazar, offering some strategic advice, suggested, 'I recommend attempting to use simple spells to find an elegant and straightforward solution. Keeping your true potential hidden is generally a wise idea if you don't want to suddenly become a threat to a lot of powerful wizards and witches.'
'An easy distraction and the rupturing curse, then,' Harry declared. 'No conjuring basilisks out of dragon fire.'
Salazar offered some sound advice, 'If the simple approach fails, don't hesitate. It's better to have potential enemies and be alive than to end up as a dragon's meal.'
It was a new motto for House Slytherin, one rooted in practicality and survival.
Harry couldn't help but tease, 'You don't seem very concerned about your last living family member.'
Salazar responded with confidence, 'I know you survive. You're sitting in the pipes somewhere out there, after all.'
Harry mulled it over. 'I suppose. I guess the version of me who first undertook the task must've made such a mess of things that he had no choice but to resort to this. That version of me won't exist if the note changes things. As long as I remember to leave the note afterward, the loop will close. Right?'
Salazar smirked knowingly. 'Probably. There's also a chance you'll make an even worse mess of things and have to do it all over again.'
Harry contemplated this for a moment and then admitted, 'Maybe it's best not to think about it.'
Salazar gave him one final piece of advice, 'You should go. Don't want to be late and miss watching the other champions try to avoid being toasted. You might pick up something useful from them.'
With a sense of urgency, Harry hurried out.
Hermione's voice resurfaced in his mind, a warning about the perils of meddling with time, from only a few months ago. He forcefully pushed it aside, declaring, 'I'm not listening to you anymore.'
As he approached the venue, he couldn't help but notice a large white tent surrounded by reporters and teachers, positioned before a very Romanesque arena. The stage was set for a high-stakes competition with potentially deadly consequences.
Harry decided not to take any risks with Rita Skeeter a second time. He discreetly slipped around the back of the group and entered the tent from the side.
Inside, the champions were assembled. Cedric's pale face turned toward Harry, while Krum brooded near one of the tent poles, and the elegant French witch leaned against another, her demeanor suggesting she was patiently awaiting a drink with a fancy French name that his aunt would undoubtedly butcher.
Harry briefly contemplated whether he should warn them about the dragons. He glanced at Cedric and thought, No, they wouldn't have warned me, would they?
Their attention was soon captured as Bagman's booming voice filled the tent. 'You're all here.'
A stern-looking Mr. Crouch entered after Bagman, followed by Percy Weasley, his ever-loyal assistant.
Mr. Crouch wasted no time in directing the proceedings. 'Stick your hand in the bag to draw out your opponent. Your task will be to retrieve the golden egg from whichever creature you draw.'
Harry couldn't help but reflect humorously, And there I was at the World Cup, thinking I'd never be foolish enough to try and steal an egg from a dragon. Jokes on me, I guess.
Bagman, always the showman, urged, 'You first, Mr. Diggory. The home team has to set an example.'
Cedric, with a calm demeanor that left Harry suspicious of foul play, closed his eyes and reached into the bag. His hand emerged clutching a short-faced, silvery-blue dragon, which twisted and hissed in his palm.
Harry thought with a wry smile, He doesn't seem too surprised to see a dragon. Well, now I'm glad I didn't warn you.
Bagman cheered him on with a thumbs-up and a wide grin. 'And you, Mr. Krum.'
Krum, displaying his characteristic no-nonsense attitude, stomped across and selected a red, bulging-eyed creature from the bag. It prowled along the length of his palm, snorting small bursts of fire and stretching its bright crimson wings.
Finally, it was the French witch's turn, and she was introduced as 'Miss Delacour.'
The Delacour girl's face turned as pale as Aunt Petunia's precious pond lilies as she reached into the bag. Her clenched fist emerged, holding a dragon with green-brown scales. She released a long, relieved sigh, and color gradually returned to her cheeks. The model dragon in her hand obediently curled up and closed its eyes.
Percy Weasley turned his attention to Harry and handed him the bag. 'Potter.'
Harry met Percy's gaze with a smile reminiscent of Tom Riddle's, and Percy Weasley looked away. With deliberate calm, Harry reached into the bag. His fingers encountered something warm and small, and it squirmed. Harry drew it out to take a closer look.
The model dragon in his hand was as black as his wand, covered in jagged scales and spines, with a serpentine appearance, and it exuded an aura of fury. Harry observed it writhing along his palm, spitting small plumes of fire in all directions.
Bagman, ever the showman, announced the assignments, 'So Mr. Diggory gets the Swedish Short-Snout, Mr. Krum the Chinese Fireball, Miss Delacour the Welsh Green, and Mr. Potter has the Hungarian Horntail. How exciting!'
Mr. Crouch added, his voice rasping, 'We'll proceed in that order. At the sound of the cannon, you need only go through the entrance, and the task will have begun.'
A resounding boom echoed through the tent.
Bagman chimed in, 'I suppose that means you're out of preparation time, Cedric. Go show them why Hogwarts has won this tournament the most times.'
Cedric shot Bagman a fiery look and then swiftly exited through the tent entrance. Ludo Bagman, Mr. Crouch, and Percy Weasley followed suit, leaving Harry alone with the fierce-looking model dragon in his hand.
Harry studied the dragon, taking note of its barbed tail. The miniature creature stared back at him, its yellow eyes seemingly piercing into Harry's soul. Then, with unexpected speed, it twisted around and clamped its jaws onto the tip of Harry's finger.
'Bloody hell!' Harry exclaimed, flicking the dragon on its head until it reluctantly released his finger.
The cryptic message on the parchment echoed in his mind: "The small one bites."
The roar of the crowd in the arena and the enraged bellow of a dragon resonated through the tent.
'It seems a bit unfair that we can't watch as well,' Harry mumbled.
Krum chuckled. 'It would not be fair. Whoever went first would have a disadvantage.'
Harry nodded in agreement. 'True.'
The cannon boomed, signaling Krum's turn. He straightened up, cast aside his model dragon, nodded to Harry and Fleur, and then disappeared from the tent.
Harry couldn't help but think, I hope he survives. He seems like a decent guy under all that scowling.
The French witch took a step closer to Harry, her expression one of concern. 'Are you not nervous? This is not a tournament for the average wizard or witch.'
Harry raised an eyebrow, his gaze steady. 'I've seen that dragon up close when it was caged. I didn't want to be near it then, and I certainly don't want to now.'
Krum probably knew that too, Harry thought, a hint of frustration bubbling within him. Bunch of cheats. A surge of ambition coursed through him. Great. Now I'm starting to want to actually beat them.
'They're all pretty dangerous,' Harry responded, attempting to downplay his concerns. 'After all, they are dragons.'
The French witch eyed him carefully. 'You're only fourteen, Harry. There's no way you could've learned as much magic as we have. We are the best of our schools.'
Harry, with his customary self-confidence, replied, 'I have no choice but to compete. Why fear something if being afraid won't help? I've never been all that great at being afraid, either. It just doesn't seem to happen to me much anymore.' He then realized he didn't know her first name and asked, 'I'm afraid I don't know your name.'
She introduced herself, 'Fleur Delacour.' Her blue eyes narrowed as she added, 'I'll let you read it off the Triwizard Cup at the end, if you're still alive.'
The end of the conversation with Fleur was marked by the thunderous boom of the cannon, signaling her turn in the task. She shot Harry a heated look and swiftly exited the tent.
As he was left in solitude, Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for the dragon. He mused, "If it's anything like its model, it probably just wants to sleep. Now it's going to get more of an angry French witch than anyone deserves."
He sighed and spoke to himself, 'At least it's nice and quiet.'
The silence hung heavy in the air, interrupted only by the occasional thought that maybe Fleur had met an unfortunate fate. Harry's model dragon, a tiny version of the real Hungarian Horntail, provided some company in his hand as he played with it.
Just then, the cannon boomed, causing Harry to flinch. In his surprise, the model dragon lashed out with its tail and pricked him in the palm.
'Infernal creature,' Harry grumbled. 'If the real one is as bad as this one, I'm not going to enjoy this at all.'
A mischievous smirk crossed his face as he considered a plan. He declared, 'Yes. I think you'll be coming with me.'
Harry followed a short, rocky passageway from the tent, taking care to conceal the hand holding the model Horntail. He also slipped his wand out of his sleeve. The passage opened up to reveal a vast arena, but there was an unexpected absence.
Harry frowned, his curiosity piqued. 'Shouldn't there be an angry, fire-breathing reptile?'
He scanned the arena, noticing a rocky outcrop. Harry decided to test his theory and took aim at one of the rocks. 'Reducto.'
The rock erupted into a burst of sand, which quickly transformed into a searing column of flames. It was at that moment that the massive dragon, the real Hungarian Horntail, reared up from behind the rocks and unfurled its tattered wings to protect its nest. The creature's tail scraped against the rocks, producing a deafening screech that stung Harry's ears.
Taking a deep breath, Harry prepared himself for his daring plan. He hurled the model dragon to the far side of the arena, and with a determined expression, he carefully aimed his wand. He knew it would take a significant amount of magic to make the small model match the scale of the actual dragon.
'Engorgio,' Harry incanted.
The model dragon instantly swelled to match the colossal Hungarian Horntail and roared in challenge. The real dragon responded by whirling around and echoing the plastic model's defiance, thrilling the crowd.
In a hushed whisper, Harry aimed for the real dragon's eyes and cast his rupturing curse, 'Confractio.'
His first two attempts missed, flying between the dragons as they confronted each other. The third was deflected by the real dragon's jaw, but the fourth struck true and blinded the creature on Harry's side.
The Hungarian Horntail let out a blood-curdling scream and shook its head violently, causing drops of steaming blood to splatter the ground. In its frenzy, it swung its tail around in a vicious arc, obliterating a small outcrop of rocks and sending stone fragments tearing holes through the model's plastic skin.
The plastic dragon, undeterred, lunged at the original, and the two dragons crashed to the ground on the far side of the arena.
Seizing the opportunity, Harry stealthily crept toward the dragon's nest. As he drew closer to the golden egg, he observed the model dragon pinning down the real Horntail. The model's claws and teeth, however, did little more than scratch the dragon's ebony scales.
Harry couldn't help but realize, 'The moment it breathes fire, that model, and then me, are going to be in trouble.' Keeping a close eye on the tail of the downed dragon as it scraped across the ground, he inched toward the nest.
Suddenly, the real Horntail coiled its tail and impaled the model, then flung it away.
Harry knew it was now or never. He sprinted for the golden egg, with the angry dragon's yellow eyes fixated on the nape of his neck. In a rush, he snatched the egg and fled.
The crowd gasped as the barbed tail of the Hungarian Horntail slammed into the rocks beside Harry. Sharp fragments of rock flew past him, leaving fiery cuts on his face, arm, and thigh.
He dived behind a large rock for cover, while blistering heat descended upon him.
Hunched behind the large rock, Harry closed his eyes and waited for the fiery onslaught to subside. The Hungarian Horntail's enraged roars gradually faded.
Once the flames had dissipated, Harry cautiously emerged from his hiding place. He confronted the furious glare of the dragon's sole yellow eye. Harry steeled himself and declared, 'No more simple stuff; it's fire basilisk time.'
Before the dragon could respond, red magic streaked down from above. The Horntail wobbled and then thudded to the ground.
Harry couldn't help but feel relieved. 'That's lucky.' He clutched the golden egg in the crook of his arm and followed Mr. Crouch's gesture, directing him to the other white tent. His mind raced with anticipation, thinking, Whatever's in this egg better be worth it.
Inside the tent, he found the other champions. Cedric lay on one of the beds, bandages swaddling one side of his body. A thick, light blue liquid soaked the bandages in patches, releasing a strong minty scent that wafted in the dim light of the tent. Krum sported a few scattered patches of pink on his face and arms, and his robes bore scorch marks and holes. Fleur Delacour leaned against one of the tent's poles, untouched and immaculate.
Harry couldn't help but think, Not so much as a speck of ash on her. How annoying.
Trying to lighten the mood, Harry waved and quipped, 'Nobody died, then!'
Cedric replied, 'It was touch and go.'
Krum chuckled, and Fleur Delacour's gaze pierced through him like Petunia's Japanese kitchen knives slicing through his skin.
Krum spoke up, 'They will be doing your score. You should go look.'
Harry nodded and made his way outside the tent.
The five judges, positioned in an elevated box overlooking the arena, had their scores ready. Madam Maxime, the French headmistress, raised her wand and awarded Harry an eight. Professor Dumbledore followed with a nine, and the Durmstrang headmaster, Karkaroff, gave him a seven.
'Bagman gave you a ten, and Crouch gave you an eight,' Katie Bell informed him as she edged around the corner of the tent.
Harry, still reeling from the experience, turned away briefly, his thoughts racing. The note...
He took a deep breath, turned back to Katie, and said, 'Thanks. What are they out of?'
'Ten, of course,' Katie replied with a beaming smile. 'You did really well, Harry. I'm not sure, but I think they only took points off because you stopped to watch the dragons fight and took a little longer than the Beauxbatons champion.'
Harry asked, 'What did she do?'
Katie continued, 'She sang something, and then the dragon and every male in the audience fell asleep. Even Professor Dumbledore yawned. The judges all gave her nines, except Karkaroff, who gave her an eight.'
Harry pondered this for a moment and then inquired, 'And the others?'
Katie shared the details, 'Cedric did the worst. He transfigured a distraction and went for the egg, but the dragon got him with its wing and tail. You and Krum are equal. He blinded his dragon and collected the egg after it had flailed somewhere out of the way, but lots of the eggs got smashed.'
Katie glanced at Harry more closely. 'You didn't get anything more than scratches, did you?'
Harry assured her, 'Nope.'
Katie expressed her admiration, 'That's impressive. Angelina was really impressed too, you know.'
A shard of ice seemed to tighten in Harry's chest as he replied, 'I don't care what Angelina thinks.'
Katie shuffled her feet and admitted, 'She'll come to apologize soon. Like I have.' She offered a rueful grin.
Harry reminded her, 'Fred and George told me you tried to convince her to stop holding a grudge.'
Katie nodded, 'I did, but I still didn't speak to you.'
Harry observed, 'You are now.'
Katie confessed, 'I guess I am. I was afraid you'd just ignore me. I think I would've been quite angry if you'd done that. Hermione has been telling everyone how you've changed and won't forgive anyone. She's stopped a lot of people from apologizing.'
Harry concluded, 'I won't forgive them. But I won't hold a grudge or anything. I just know I can't trust them next time.'
'And Angelina?' Katie asked.
Harry admitted, 'She was the worst in the beginning. Don't think I don't know why everyone turned against me.'
Katie murmured, 'She was really angry. We all told her that she would get it, and she got convinced, then everything happened, and things got out of hand. I know you don't owe me anything, but would you consider giving her a second chance, if not for me, then for the Quidditch team? Gryffindor needs its Seeker.'
Harry relented, 'I'll listen to her if she comes to me, but that's all.'
Katie expressed her gratitude, 'Thanks, Harry.' She stepped closer and enveloped him in a hug.
Harry stiffened at first but then reciprocated, hugging her back. 'That was nice.'
Katie smiled and remarked, 'You're taller than you used to be.'
Harry quipped, 'I noticed,' as he looked down his nose at her and grinned.
She shot him a mock glare and waved as she made her way back toward the arena. Harry found himself reflecting on her kindness. 'How did she even find her way up here? You can't see me here, so she must've waited. That was nice of her.'
However, his musings were interrupted by the approach of Madam Pomfrey.
'Mr. Potter,' she called, her heels echoing between the tents.
Harry had a sinking feeling and replied, 'Uh oh.'
Madam Pomfrey held her wand in one hand and a bottle filled with thick, sludge-like brown potion in the other. 'I do not remember telling you that you could leave my medical tent, Mr. Potter.'
Harry retorted, 'You didn't say I had to stay either.'
Madam Pomfrey was adamant, 'In.' She pointed her wand at the tent. 'Now.'
Resigned, Harry complied and hurried back into the tent, realizing that this battle was far less winnable than his encounter with the dragon.
Krum inquired, 'What did you get?'
Harry replied, 'Forty-two points and a very stern lecture from Madam Pomfrey.'
Krum nodded and remarked, 'You have the same score as me. Well done. I did not expect it, but it is good to have competition.'
Cedric chimed in, 'I did the worst.' He peeled off some of his bandages, revealing fresh, hairless, pink skin.
Fleur Delacour's stare bored into Harry as she declared, 'Forty-four.'
Cedric grimaced and quipped, 'Are you sure you don't want to be Hogwarts' champion, Harry? You got eight more points than I did.'
Harry shrugged and said, 'It's just the first task.'
Fleur Delacour tossed her silver hair over her shoulder and turned away, no longer interested in the conversation.
Madam Pomfrey returned to the tent and ordered, 'Drink this, Mr. Potter.'
Harry eyed the brown concoction skeptically and protested, 'But I barely even got a scratch...'
She thrust the bottle into his hands and replied, 'When you've drunk it, you can all leave, Mr. Potter.'
Harry groaned, pinched his nose, and reluctantly gulped down the foul-tasting potion. Aniseed flooded his mouth, stinging his nose, and making his eyes water. He managed to suppress a gag and mumbled, 'That was awful.'
Madam Pomfrey, not one to tolerate complaints, took the bottle from him and said, 'You'd think you'd be more grateful after spending so much time in my care every year, Mr. Potter.'
With the task now behind them, Fleur Delacour and Krum made their way toward the carriage and the ship.
Cedric sighed, 'I want to sleep for a week.'
Harry offered a friendly grin and suggested, 'We're excused from lessons, go ahead.' He then tucked the golden egg under his arm and added, 'I think I'm going to go lie down for a bit as well.'
Harry's thoughts wandered to the upcoming Occlumency exercises, and he couldn't help but snort in mild disdain. He mused, 'Occlumency exercises. I'm going to use the time-turner to leave that note, then find a nice, wide point in the pipes and transfigure something into a bed.'
Step into the world of PEVERELL_MAGIC on P.a.t.r.e.o.n! Experience where tales unfold, magic ignites, and the future takes shape.
For exclusive support and early access to upcoming chapters, join us at PEVERELL_MAGIC on P.a.t.r.e.o.n.
Note: Get the scoop a day before anyone else! Updates release on P.a.t.r.e.o.n before they hit FanFiction. Join us for free to read ahead!