Yo! Thank you to all readers so far!
The days continued to pass, and as they did, Harry only grew more and more stressed. He still knew absolutely nothing about what this bloody task was going to be! How was he supposed to prepare for it!? He wondered if the other three champions knew anything and if there was any way he could glean some information from them.
He debated on that for some time, wondering who the weakest link would be. Cedric was out altogether. Harry didn't want to have anything to do with him. That left Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum. Hmm, who would be more ready to give him information?
The more he thought about it, the more he leaned toward Fleur. She already thought of him as a little boy and had been quite polite to him since the 'reveal' of him being a Parselmouth. He could go to her, putting that little boy act on, innocent and terrified with no idea what he was going to have to do, and couldn't she please, please help him because he was really scared and what if he died?
Harry wasn't scared of death, and he'd always been a vindictive little bastard-the type of person who would return to haunt his enemies as a ghost after his death. He didn't particularly want to humiliate himself in front of her like that either, so he let that plan fall to the back of his mind. He wasn't putting it away entirely though. It would be a last resort, he decided.
What else could he do?
But Harry wasn't the only one getting stressed. It was clear to him that his fellow competitors were starting to worry as well, but honestly, Harry had no sympathy for them. They'd made their choice, and now they had to live with it, whatever it entailed.
The day before the first task happened to also be the first Hogsmeade visit of the year. Harry and Hermione went to the village together, soon joined by Neville. Ron, they noticed, had decided to hang out with Dean and Seamus instead.
Well, that was fine.
Harry didn't want to be around him until he apologized anyway. And it was Hermione's choice to stick with Harry, instead of betraying him too, though it was clear that she did somewhat miss Ron. Harry couldn't fault her for that, but they didn't talk about it.
Instead, seated at a table at the Three Broomsticks, the three discussed the tournament, none of them particularly pleased or eager for the event.
"Do you have any idea what the task tomorrow will be?" Neville asked curiously.
Nursing his Butterbeer, Harry shook his head. "None. I've been practicing, or at least trying to, but it's kinda hard to do that when you have no idea what you're practicing for, you know?"
"Well, we know it's going to be quite dangerous," said Hermione. "I've done some reading on previous Triwizard Tournaments, and every single task, without fail, has been deadly in some way."
"Have people died in every tournament?"
"No, not at all. There were some where no one was even hurt! Actually, it was the last few tournaments where the problems started. I don't know what changed, but something did, because, in the last seven Triwizard Tournaments in a row, every single competitor died. That's twenty-one children!
"The age law in this year's tournament wasn't in place back then, meaning students eleven to seventeen were all able to compete, so the vast majority of those who died weren't even of age yet! Of course, adding them to those who had already died in earlier years makes the death toll quite-quite high."
Neville looked horrified. "I can see why Dumbledore wanted the Age Line put in this year. Merlin."
"Not that it worked," Harry muttered, green eyes flickering to the table a few feet away, where Ron, Dean, and Seamus were seated, the three boys chortling loudly at some joke or another.
"No," said Hermione with a sigh, "not that it worked..."
Harry lay in bed that night, unable to sleep and utterly terrified. Not that he would ever admit that. And though Neville wasn't in as deep a sleep as usual, judging by his lack of snoring, the same couldn't be said for the other three they shared the dorm with. They didn't feel any sort of concern going into tomorrow. In fact, they were excited.
Harry wished he could be excited too. Wished he, like everyone else, could look forward to sitting in the audience and watching the three willing competitors challenge themselves to the limit for gold and fame. Who would he have been rooting for in that case?
Would he have been showing school pride and rooted for Cedric? Would he have rooted for the international Quidditch player Viktor Krum? Or would he have rooted for the pretty, intelligent, part Veela, Fleur Delacour?
He would have loved to sit and watch them, would have loved to discuss and bet on who would win with his best friends Ron and Hermione.
But he couldn't. Because he was Harry Potter and he was fate's whipping boy. And it sucked, it really did, but honestly, what was complaining going to do? He could fight and argue all he wanted and that was fine, but if there was one thing his time with the Dursleys had taught him, it was that complaining not only never helped, it generally only made things worse.
That's it for now. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!