Chapter Thirteen: In With the Dragon
The long-awaited day of the Triwizard Tournament's first task had finally arrived, and to the relief of all, it had come with clear skies. Thousands had shown up from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and the greater wizarding community at large, and they all filtered into the massive arena that had been magically erected next to the Forbidden Forest.
The anticipation was palpable among everyone, and Albus Dumbledore not least among them. He may not have been a Tournament Champion, but he would still be facing his own dragon of sorts before the night was through.
Dumbledore flipped aside a tent flap as he entered the pavilion where tournament organizer Ludo Bagman had circled up the four champions. Each of them took turns drawing at random from Ludo's bag of miniatures to see which dragon they would be facing. Harry Potter went last, drawing the Hungarian Horntail, the largest and most temperamental of the four.
Dumbledore had faith that Harry would be able to reach the golden egg safely, but one mistake could still be fatal. He regretted that he would not be around to watch over the boy as he faced the creature, but comforted himself with the knowledge that others would be.
"Well Dumbledore, we have our order!" reported Bagman cheerfully. "Diggory will be first, then Miss Delacour, then Krum and Potter last."
Dumbledore nodded and Bagman left to make his final preparations for the event. All four of the champions appeared deeply nervous, either pacing around the room, or sitting in subdued silence as Harry was.
"Alright, Harry?"
"I suppose so, Sir," he said shakily.
Dumbledore knew the day would be an ordeal for the boy, but he hoped that by the end of it, Harry would be free of the copy of Voldemort's soul that resided within him. He deserved to be free of it, after everything he had been through.
If all went according to plan, then by the end of the night Voldemort and the Death Eaters would be defeated, Peter Pettigrew would be in custody and the confession of his betrayal of the Potters would be obtained. Sirius Black would be vindicated, and justice for Lily and James would have been served.
With the arrest of Harry's enemies, the refuge of the Dursley home would no longer be necessary to protect him. The boy would be free of his wretched aunt and uncle once and for all, and could be legally adopted by his Godfather Sirius and live with him in Grimmauld Place as a fully fledged member of the wizarding community.
Dumbledore only wished he could tell Harry what to expect at Riddle House. He wished he could tell him not to be afraid, that he would be there watching over him the whole time, but he knew he could not confide in the boy. Harry needed to save his focus for beating the dragon.
"Harry," Dumbledore squeezed the boy's shoulder reassuringly. "Listen to me. I want you to know that whatever happens today out there, you will not be alone."
Harry didn't seem to be comforted. "I know, Sir. I'll be in there with the dragon."
Harry's words echoed in Dumbledore's mind as he climbed the steps to the judge's box overlooking the arena.
"I know, Sir. I'll be in there with the dragon."
It was a more biting reply than he'd expected—more gallows humor than he had thought the boy capable of. He supposed Harry would come to understand his true meaning once he was at the mercy of Ollivander and Pettigrew at Riddle House. At least he hoped so, unless perhaps Harry would continue to believe that Dumbledore had only meant it as a trite platitude.
Potter should know by now that there's nothing trite about what I say.
Still, Harry's reply had unnerved him.
He had placed the boy into a risky situation, just as he had done with so many former students in the fight against Voldemort. While following his orders during the War, too many of them had died, and too many children had been orphaned. The Potters, the Longbottoms, the Prewetts, the Bones, the McKinnons...
Dumbledore shut his eyes and rubbed his after tonight, he would finally be able to forgive himself for all of them.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Lucius Malfoy climbing the box steps, trailed by his colleagues on the Board.
"Dumbledore," Malfoy said curtly.
"Malfoy," he replied flatly.
Lucius held a straight face as he continued up to the Governor's box.
Of course Lucius would be there, establishing his airtight public alibi for Voldemort's return, but it wouldn't protect him in the end. Once Voldemort was captured and testifying under three drops of veritaserum, he would spill the names of all his Death Eaters, Lucius among them. The wizarding world would finally know the truth about the Traditionalist party leader—that he was never imperiused during the War. Dumbledore would have Lucius Malfoy behind bars in Azkaban where he belonged.
The mustachioed Barty Crouch Sr. found his spot in the box next to him, wearing his best pinstripe coat and black tophat.
"Isn't it exciting, Dumbledore?" Crouch said, "A real Triwizard Tournament? After two hundred years! And they said it couldn't be done."
Dumbledore was not amused by the man's temerity to put on such a farcical show of enthusiasm in front of him. He wondered if it was an imperius curse that Barty was under, if the years had cracked him mentally, or if there was some other reason he had turned traitor.
Had Barty already managed to enchant the Hungarian Horntail's dragon egg into a portkey? Or had he been working with an accomplice?
"It will be a day to remember!" Barty said.
"I have no doubt of that," said Dumbledore, before noticing Mad-Eye Moody looking up at him from the teacher's stands. Meeting Dumbledore's gaze, Moody flashed him a thumbs up and a smile. Dumbledore nodded back.
Ron Weasley watched from the back row of the stands as Viktor Krum cast the conjunctivitis curse on the scarlet Chinese Fireball, which swelled its eyelids and temporarily blinded it. It snorted fire wildly, but it could no longer see the famous Durmstrang student as he ran towards the golden egg amid cheers from the spectators.
"Krum's going for record time!" howled the announcer.
Why did Krum always have to be the best?!
Roon looked at Hermione a few rows ahead of him watching her new boyfriend literally performing the feats of a hero from a story.
In truth, Ron was sick of caring so much. He regretted the scene he'd made at the Yule Ball, and he hated most of all that it had cost him Hermione's company at the Burrow over the Christmas holiday. He wished he could turn back time and undo all the stupid things he had said. He missed being on good terms with her.
Viktor levitated rocks from the arena at the dragon, which crumbled against its scaly hide. The Chinese Fireball whipped its spiky tail, but the blind beast couldn't see that Viktor was coming from the other direction.
When Viktor reached the golden egg, everyone but Ron in the crowd broke into cheers. Even Durmstrang's rivals had to admit the performance, a new Triwizard record, had been miraculous.
As the dragon keepers intervened and stunned the Chinese Fireball to make room for the next challenger, Ron looked up to the judges box to see how they would award points for Krum's performance. It turned out that Dumbledore was missing, and the other judges seemed somewhat embarrassed about it. They held up their scores anyway, which were all nearly perfect, and it was announced that the last score would be obtained shortly, just as soon as they'd located the fifth judge.
I bet Hermione's impressed too.
The resentful thought was half hearted. Ron's mind turned to Harry, who would be going up next. He hoped his best friend would fare well enough against the Hungarian Horntail. He wished there was more he could have done to help Harry, although he had succeeded in tipping him off about the fact that the task would be dragons.
His remembrall seemed to grow boiling hot in his pocket. He removed it and held it up in the sunlight, where it glowed bright green.
Dang it, Mum! Not now. Ginny's fine, she's right here in the stands next to—
Ron saw an empty space in the Gryffindor section where Ginny had been earlier.
Where'd she go?
Ron stood up on his bench to get a better view of the arena. At the bottom of the stands, he thought he caught a glimpse of red hair before it left.
Was that her?
He looked over the backside of the arena and saw that it was Ginny walking briskly away from the event.
"Ginny!" he shouted.
Of course she couldn't hear him over the sound of the crowds.
It's alright. She's probably just going back to the castle.
Just as Ron was about to turn away and forget about it, Ginny left the path. Turning sharpy, she descended the snowy slope into the thicket of trees at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
What is she doing?
Ron's heart leaped in his chest. He felt that something terrible was about to happen, like a repeat of the day when Ginny had lost her memory.
He looked around for his brothers and saw them in their striped sweaters, standing up on the benches trying to get the other Gryffindors to chant with them, "Harry! Harry! Harry!"
"Fred! George!"
"Join in, Ron!"
"Harry! Harry! Harry!'
Ron pushed his way through to his brothers and grabbed them by the jackets. "Listen to me! Ginny's gone into the Forbidden Forest!"
"What?" The twins sobered up from their antics.
"I just saw her leave. I don't know why, but she walked right in there, all by herself. We have to go get her!"
"Right," said George.
"Sorry Harry!" shouted Fred.
The scarf-wrapped, earmuff-clad Neville stepped forward. "I'll go with you too," he volunteered. Ron nodded, not seeing how it could hurt to have him along.
As the four of them descended the stands, Hermione caught sight of them. "Boys! Where do you think you're going? Harry's about to go on!"
"I just saw Ginny go into the Forbidden Forest on her own," Ron explained. "We're going to bring her back."
Hermione's expression softened, turning into concern for her friend.
"Right," she said. "I'll go with you."
Together, the five of them left the arena as everyone else waited to see whether The Boy Who Lived would become The Boy Who Got Cooked.
"Ginny!"
Ron, Hermione, Fred, George and Neville kept repeating the call as they scampered through the snowy forest floor crisscrossed with roots. The late afternoon sun hardly penetrated the thick canopy of the Forbidden Forest, with its tall, majestic trees. They could not be more than a mile from the arena, but the place was eerily insulated from all sounds of the tournament.
"I hope Harry's alright," said Hermione.
A black robed figure emerged from the trees and pointed a wand at them. "I'd be more worried about your own skin at the moment, Miss Granger."
Ron had a start before he realized it was Professor Snape, who gently lowered his wand.
"Turn around and walk back where you came from," Snape commanded. "The Forbidden Forest is named thus for a reason."
"We're looking for Ginny," Hermione said, "She's out here alone."
"I know," Snape said tersely, "I have it under control."
"It doesn't look like you do," Neville retorted, his defiance surprising everyone, even himself. Everyone knew that Neville was usually intimidated by The Potions Master.
"Six of us can cover more ground," Hermione argued.
"Please, let us help," added Ron, "That's our sister out there."
"One student in the forest is enough," Snape said, "Professor Dumbledore would not want that number compounded, no matter the circumstances."
"We're wasting time," Neville said, "Ginny needs us. I'm going after her." Neville started deeper into the forest.
What had gotten into Neville? He takes Ginny to a dance one time and now he acts like he's her protector or something?!
"Don't step there!" Snape shouted with urgency.
Neville tripped and fell flat on his chest.
The others moved to help, but Snape motioned for them to stand back.
Neville groaned, and appeared to be okay, but his feet were caught on a tripwire. Perhaps it had been transfigured into place, because the wire dissolved and a loud alarm began blaring—an unnatural siren coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once—the telltale signs of a magical source.
All but Snape covered their ears against it.
"What's that?" shouted Neville. "Shut it off!"
Snape tried different incantations for several minutes. One of them must have worked, because the noise finally abated.
"What was that?" Neville asked again.
Snape did not answer. He only scanned the area with growing concern as a strange din of noise was growing from deeper within the forest.
"Do you hear that?" Ron said.
"Yes," Hermione said.
As the noise grew louder, it came into focus. It sounded like… skittering.
Then Ron saw the spiders—acromantulas to be precise. There were thousands of them, stampeding straight towards them. The arachnids swarmed through the trees—black, hairy, eight-legged, with hundreds of eyes, ranging from the size of a muggle car to the size of a tarantula.
"No," Ron said with a whimper, "Anything but them."
Snape pulled Neville up by the arm to his feet.
The six of them crowded against a tree as the mass of spiders surrounded them on all sides. There's no escape! We're all going to die!
"Now would be a good time to use your wands!" Snape hissed as he began casting spells.
They all joined in, casting jinxes and stunner spells at the acromantulas, but the spiders kept closing the distance.
Snape whipped his wand in an arc around his head and a wall of fire rose around them in a circle, melting the snow around them and destroying the spiders. Ron could feel the heat, and hear the shriek of the spiders caught in the flames. Some of them made it through, still ablaze as they crawled forward.
"Ahhh!" Ron stepped back, kicking a flaming spider away as his back pressed against the bark of the tree.
Snow slopped down onto his head from above. He looked up and saw acromantulas skittering down the tree trunk! A swarm of them had climbed into the canopy!
He tried to yell, but found his voice couldn't form the sounds, as if he were in a nightmare.
"G-g-g-guys," He finally managed. "The t-t-tree!"
The others looked up and saw the spiders coming down. Snape was preoccupied with keeping up his wall of flames, but Fred, George, Hermione, and Neville began casting spells at the ones above them. Some of the cursed spider bodies fell down onto him.
"Ahhhh!"
Despite their attacks, the acromantulas continued gaining on them from above. Seeing the danger, Snape drew back his wand and reshaped the flames.
He cast two parallel rows of fire, forming a narrow lane heading back in the direction of the arena. With another whip of his wand, he created an opening in the circle of flame so they could enter the escape route.
"Run!" he shouted, and they all took off down the path he had carved out for them.
Snape took the rear, and swung his wand upwards. The flames ran up from the base of the tree where they had just been standing, incinerating all the acromantulas coming down the trunk.
Snape made a twisting and slicing motion as he magically severed the trunk of the great tree near its base. He swung his wand again and the whole tree came toppling down across the forest floor with a booming thud, squashing the vanguard of the spiders and forming a flaming wall behind them.
Ron had never seen a wizard create so much destruction with magic before, nor had he ever realized how powerful Snape was.
The Professor lingered behind to curse acromantulas that had made it through the flames. Ron lost sight of him through the trees as he retreated.
They all continued running until they reached the edge of the forest where they had entered, and they stopped to catch their breath.
"That tripwire was set using magic," Hermione said when she had recovered. "Whoever placed it must have known that noise would attract the acromantulas."
"Who do you think set it?" asked Ron.
"I don't know," she replied. "Maybe whoever drew Ginny into the forest."
"Why would somebody draw her into the forest?"
"Beats me. But it's not like her to just go in there alone."
"And if that trap was meant for someone who followed them..." began George.
"Then who was it meant for?" Fred finished.
Snape emerged from the trees behind them, his black hair matted with sweat, his expression livid. "To the castle with you all, now! Go straight back to your dormitories."
"Ginny's still in there!" Neville protested.
"For Merlin's sake, boy, would you just go!? Can't you see I'm trying to help you!?" Snape yelled with a hoarse voice. The wizard was clearly exhausted and at his wit's end from the exertion of the fighting.
Ron hated to admit it, but Snape had indeed helped them big time. If it weren't for the powerful Head of Slytherin House, they would have all been killed, and in the worst possible way—done in by spiders.
"It's alright Neville," Ron said, tugging his friend by the arm in the direction of the castle. "The teachers will find her."
"We can't just give up on Ginny," Neville said once they were out of earshot from Snape.
"We're not," said Ron, "But the dormitories will be a good start. I can get the invisibility cloak and the Marauders Map from Harry's trunk. We can use the map to find Ginny, and the cloak to avoid being seen by anyone."
"That's good thinking, Ron," Hermione said with a tone of surprise.
"Thank you," Ron said sincerely. The two of them locked eyes, but quickly looked away again.
"Was it just me or was Snape forgetting something?" Fred said, as they trudged up the snowy path.
"That's right, he forgot to deduct points from Gryffindor," George replied. "I had almost thought to remind him."
Lucius Malfoy watched Harry Potter flying his firebolt over the Black Lake. Lucius had harbored doubts about this part of the plan, which had required Potter to succeed in the first task, but now he had to admit that The Boy Who Lived was thriving.
First, Potter had been the only one of the Champions who had thought to summon a broom. Then, he had led the Hungarian Horntail to the far side of the lake before doubling back in a risky hairpin turn, skimming just over the dragon's wing to make his way back to the arena.
It was a bold plan for a boy of fourteen. Potter was not planning to incapacitate the dragon at all—he was betting on reaching the egg before it caught him!
Risky. The boy's got guts. Draco's been misrepresenting his qualities.
The dragon was gaining on Potter as they flew back toward the arena, but if Potter could maintain a lead—
Suddenly, the Hungarian Horntail spit the largest spray of fire Lucius had ever seen from a dragon. The boy disappeared in the plume.
The crowd gasped. Lucius's smile faded. Had the boy been killed, along with the Dark Lord within him? What would that mean for the plan—for everything?
Then a streak of red and gold athletic robes shot out from the billowing cloud of smoke. It was Potter, in a fast broom dive! The crowd went wild.
Lucius was actually relieved, but not for the boy's sake.
Impressive. He must have been practicing his shield charms.
As Potter neared the arena, he pulled up the nose of his firebolt and skimmed right over the Slytherin section. Draco and the others had to duck out of the way as The Boy Who Lived shot past them, heading straight for the unguarded egg.
Leaning to one side, and with the practiced technique of the Quidditch seeker he was, Potter reached out his hand and snatched the golden egg from the ground—and the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers.
Then, with a loud magical POP and a flash of smoke, Harry Potter vanished.