The encouragement continued for Harry in the days to come, in the form of several letters from familiar faces. Sirius and Remus both sent kind words of support, urging him to prepare hard and not worry about the lies Rita Skeeter was printing about him. Lily also sent a terse letter expressing her disapproval in his involvement with the Tournament, but wishing him luck and urging him to prepare hard for his first task. It was a small gesture, but another reminder that Harry was not alone in this situation and he had people in his corner rooting him on.
But the one person Harry hoped to hear most from, Saul Croaker, remained maddeningly silent. Harry had sent a quick coded message the day after his selection, seeking any information about what might have happened. He doubted Saul would know anything he didn't, though, and it was probably for the best that he didn't write back. If anyone spotted him opening a letter from Saul, it would only intensify the scrutiny and suspicion upon him.
Besides, finding the culprit would have to be a secondary priority now that a much more pressing issue loomed: survival. His first step would be to ensure that the First Task was the same as in his last timeline. He waited until his roommates went to sleep one night before casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself and sneaking out of Ravenclaw Tower. He'd been practicing the spell in the mirror in the bathroom for weeks, and while it wasn't as perfect as his trusty Invisibility Cloak, it would allow him to avoid detection from anyone not looking directly at him.
Harry crept through the castle, fortunately meeting no resistance en route to the grounds. He made his way to the broom shed outside the Quidditch stadium, unlocking it with a whispered "Alohomora" and slipping inside. His plan was to grab his Firebolt and fly out over the Forbidden Forest to locate the dragon enclosure he suspected would be there by now. However, when he reached the stall that should've held his prized broomstick, he found it empty.
His heart skipped a beat. Did somebody steal my Firebolt?! Harry thought with alarm. That was concerning enough as is, but his whole plan for beating the First Task had been to outfly the dragon as before. He couldn't do that on just any school broom...even with a Firebolt, the Hungarian Horntail had nearly eaten him for breakfast. But he couldn't dwell on it at that moment. He borrowed a broom from one of the neighboring stalls and took off into the night sky.
It took him an hour of silently circling over the trees to locate it: a heavily-warded clearing deep in the Forest, where four furious dragons were being wrangled by their handlers. Harry took stock of each of them, noting that they appeared to be the same breeds as before. He could not tell if any of them were nurturing eggs, but he had to assure the task would be the same as in his first timeline. He circled around and returned to the castle grounds, determined now to solve the case of the missing Firebolt.
Harry was tempted to raise the alarm immediately, but didn't want to alert the staff (or his classmates) that he'd been sneaking out of the castle late at night. So he waited until after his next Charms lesson to approach Professor Flitwick about the matter. "Mr. Potter!" Flitwick squeaked excitedly. "Preparing for your first task, I hope?"
"Yeah, sure am," Harry said evasively. "Sir, I went into the broom closet yesterday and found that my Firebolt was missing. D'you reckon somebody stole it?"
Flitwick sighed deeply at this, suddenly looking very guilty. "Ah, yes, I intended to tell you earlier," he muttered. "Your mother wrote to me a few days ago and requested that your broomstick be retrieved and owled back home."
"What!? Why?" Harry yelped in alarm.
"She seemed awfully concerned about your safety in the Tournament, being underage and all," Flitwick said sadly. "Said in her letter that you 'didn't need the distraction' at this point in time, and that you should focus on your preparation instead."
Harry cursed under his breath at this. He knew Lily didn't intend to sabotage his performance in the First Task, but he equally knew how stubborn his mother was and how unlikely she would be to change her mind. Now he would have to come up with an alternate plan to retrieve the egg safely.
That wasn't to mention the difficulties he would now have in the Quidditch league, as he relayed to Fred and George later that evening. "Ah, shame, that," Fred commiserated. "But that's alright. Even on a school broom I reckon you can outfly most folks here."
"Not like we're playing for anything but pride, anyway," George shrugged, also seemingly unconcerned. "Winning isn't everything."
"Just don't tell that to Angelina," Fred said in a more hushed tone. "She's determined to get first place at all costs."
"She's agreed, then?" Harry grinned. "And Katie and Alicia?"
"Sure have," George confirmed. "We found a Keeper, too – some Durmstrang bloke named Volkov. Dunno if he's any good, but beggars can't be choosers, I suppose."
"Brilliant," said Harry, figuring this could be a good opportunity to bond with students from the other schools. "I'm a bit busy preparing for the First Task at the moment, but I look forward to flying with you all."
"We'll plan on holding our first practice the week after the Task," said Fred.
"Assuming you survive it, of course," George winked.
"Not that we doubt you or anything."
"But do try not to get maimed, will you? We'd prefer our Seeker to have all four limbs intact!"
Harry laughed and bade them goodbye. He was grateful to still have the Weasley twins on his side – they brought a much-needed levity to his dire circumstances. It still stung to have Ron dead-set against him, but that was at least understandable – he was even more loyal to his best friend in this timeline due to his time spent among Hufflepuffs. If that meant Neville had steadfast support all throughout the Tournament, Harry could handle a bit of ill will in the short term.
It turned out that the twins weren't the only Weasleys in his corner, either. He was in the library working on Ancient Runes translation worksheets one afternoon when Ginny, Dahlia and Astoria walked up to his table, sitting around him without asking. "What's your blood type?" Dahlia asked without preamble.
"Erm...sorry?" Harry asked, bewildered. "No idea."
"Whatever; I'll just ask Mum," Dahlia sighed. "Madam Pomfrey asked me to help Snape restock potions for the First Task. Based on some of the supplies she's having me prepare, she seems to expect the Champions to get torn to shreds."
"Well, we each have to fight a dragon," Harry shrugged. "So that's a very real possibility."
All three girls' eyes widened at this information. "Blimey, a dragon?" Dahlia breathed. "That explains all the burn ointment I've had to mix this week…"
"But you're only fourteen!" Ginny gasped. "How do they expect you to take down a dragon?"
"They didn't expect any of us to be fourteen, for one thing," Harry sighed.
"What are you going to do?" asked a horrified Astoria.
"I have some ideas," Harry said vaguely, though he truthfully wasn't sure what his game plan was yet. "I'm more worried about Neville, to be honest."
"Everyone is," Ginny grimaced. "Besides my brothers, all of Gryffindor is rooting for him."
"And us," Dahlia said adamantly. "I've already hexed three people for spouting that Skeeter nonsense in the common room."
"You don't have to defend me," Harry said with a sad smile. "I can deal with the hate on my own."
"It's not just about you, dimwit," Dahlia scoffed. "Dad's reputation is on the line as well. He's threatening the Prophet with legal action, did you know? But so far they haven't issued a retraction."
"Controversy sells," Harry muttered bitterly. The Prophet had continued its speculation into the Potter family misdeeds in the weeks since Rita's first piece, as it was clearly a popular topic of interest. The more revered a man was in society, the more people wanted to see him knocked down a peg, Harry supposed.
"Well, good luck with your dragon, idiot," said Dahlia, standing to leave. "And try not to piss off any more reporters, will you?" And the Terrible Triplets departed, leaving Harry to his homework.
Dahlia's parting words did give Harry an idea, however. He packed up his things and headed to the Ravenclaw common room in search of somebody. He found her at a corner table, radish earrings swaying to and fro as she frantically filled out a dream chart, words spilling out over the intended boxes on the worksheet.
"Enjoying Divination, Luna?" asked Harry as he sat to join her.
"It's alright," Luna sighed, setting down her quill and flexing her hand. "The material is interesting, but I don't think Professor Trelawney understands it that well. She just spends all day predicting someone's imminent death in the castle."
"She's like that sometimes," Harry agreed. He too had noticed Trelawney's more morbid disposition this term, though with what he knew about the Dark Lord's bid for resurrection, it might be somewhat warranted. "Say, how's your dad doing? I've been meaning to write to him and thank him again for having me this summer."
"He was happy to have you," Luna beamed. "I know Daddy worries about me not having any friends at Hogwarts. Not that I need that many, of course – the voices always keep me company."
"...Right," Harry chuckled awkwardly. "Listen, d'you think he'd be interested in publishing a rebuttal in the Quibbler to Rita Skeeter's articles about me and my dad? I think people might be interested in reading that."
"Oh, I'm not so sure," Luna hummed thoughtfully. "It might interfere with coverage of wrackspurt mating season...Daddy said we printed over one hundred copies last month alone!
"I'd love to ask him anyway," Harry shrugged. "Maybe I can meet him for the next Hogsmeade weekend or something."
"Ooh, that's a splendid idea!" said Luna. "It's my first year going to the village myself...we can all get lunch together!"
"I'd like that," Harry smiled. He remembered how useful The Quibbler had been as a tool to fight back against the Daily Prophet's lies in his original fifth year, and figured it could once again help to curtail the effects of Rita Skeeter's vengeful rampage. He just had to hope that Xenophilius Lovegood could be convinced that such a story was worth risking his reputation for (whatever reputation that may be).
But once again, such matters would have to wait until after the First Task, which was fast approaching. Harry spent all his free time in the library, looking into potential methods of dealing with the dragon. His backup plan would be the Conjunctivitis Curse, which could blind the dragon and give him a brief window to sneak past it, but it was risky and far from foolproof. He hoped to think of something better suited to his own skill set and less prone to getting himself injured in the process.
The Monday before the task, Harry awoke early as usual and headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast before anyone else was awake. He found it was the only way to enjoy his meal in peace without gaggles of onlookers glaring daggers and gossiping behind his back. He was surprised to learn that he was not the only person employing this strategy, as he spotted Neville Longbottom alone at the Slytherin table, quietly consuming his meal. Perhaps he too was avoiding the crowds, or was nervous under so much scrutiny as a school Champion.
Harry knew he might never get another opportunity to talk to the boy alone, so he strode over and sat opposite Neville. "Morning, Nev," he said casually, causing Neville to jump.
"Harry!" he stammered, looking around for any other familiar face (which there was none in sight). "W-what is it?"
"Dragons," said Harry in an undertone.
"Sorry—what?" Neville asked, frowning.
"The First Task is dragons," Harry said. "We each have to face one, and retrieve an egg from its nest."
Neville frowned at this information. Then, to Harry's surprise, he said, "I know."
"You do?" Harry asked. "How?"
"Hagrid," Neville muttered, glancing up at the Head Table as though he'd get in trouble for ratting the man out. "He took me out to the Forest the other night."
"Oh...good, that's good," Harry nodded. "So, what's your plan?"
"Come again?"
"Do you have a strategy to beat it?" Harry pressed. "You have put thought into it, haven't you?"
"I...I mean, of course I have—" Neville stammered.
"If you need pointers on beating a dragon," Harry said, "there are a few books in the library I would recommend checking out—"
Suddenly, Harry felt a firm hand grasp his shoulder from behind. "Trying to steal secrets from the enemy, are we, Potter?" growled Ron, having just arrived into the Hall.
"Neville's not my enemy," Harry said smoothly, standing from the Slytherin table. "Just seeing if he needed any help with his task."
"Your help isn't appreciated, Potter," Ron snapped. "You probably want to feed him false information to embarrass him, don't you?"
"Are you really accusing me of trying to get Neville killed?" Harry scoffed, incredulous. "Blimey, Weasley, I knew you were thick, but I assumed you had more than one brain cell functioning up there!"
Ron looked very much like he wanted to haul off and hit Harry for this, but they were interrupted by a new arrival. "Is there a problem here, boys?" Professor Snape asked in a drawling tone, eyebrow arched suspiciously at their aggressive postures.
"Not at all, sir," Harry said, backing away from the situation. "Just wishing Neville good luck with his task." And he returned to the Ravenclaw table, hoping that Neville would be able to figure out the dragon on his own.
Later that morning, Harry received a memo requesting his presence at Professor Moody's office after afternoon classes concluded. He arrived at the DADA classroom and spotted a familiar figure waiting outside – one sporting spiky neon-green hair, leather jeans and a biker tee. "Wotcher, Tonks," he greeted the Metamorphmagus.
"Well well, if it isn't the newest Hogwarts Champion," Tonks said, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Who'd you piss off this time, Potter?"
"A Dark Lord," Harry shrugged casually. "I'll have to prank him twice as hard next time I see him."
"Funny," Tonks said sardonically. "Attitude like that, and you might set a new Tournament record. For quickest death, that is."
"I'm nothing if not an over-achiever," Harry quipped back. "What're you doing at Hogwarts, anyway?"
"Moody sent for me," Tonks shrugged. "He must've missed me after I graduated the training program last spring...poor guy missed being teased about his scars all day!"
"Who wouldn't?" Harry grinned. "After you, Madame Auror."
Harry followed Tonks into the Defense classroom. Moody was waiting for them, pacing restlessly at the front of the room. "Wotcher, Mad-Eye," Tonks greeted the man with a casual salute, jumping up to sit cross-legged on a nearby desk.
"Not so fast, Nymphadora," Moody growled. "Don't you have something to ask me first?"
"Come off it, I know it's you—" Tonks sighed.
"Humor me," Moody snapped.
"Fine," Tonks huffed. "What was the first comment you made to me when I was assigned as your trainee?"
"I believe I asked when the circus was in town, due to your pink hair at the time," Moody grinned. "And I told you to remove those gaudy earrings you had on, as they would be liabilities in combat."
"They were my grandmother's," Tonks muttered bitterly. "Can we move on now?"
"Not until I have verified your identity," said Moody. "What remark did you make about Harry when we left Godric's Hollow two summers ago?"
Tonks reddened furiously at this. "Ask me something else, Mad-Eye," she groaned.
"Answer, Nymphadora, or I can't know that it's you!" Moody demanded.
"Fine," Tonks huffed. "I said, at this rate, Harry will grow up to be as much of a heart-breaker as his father. Happy?"
Moody roared with laughter as both Tonks and Harry awkwardly avoided eye contact with one another. "Alright, you kids, enough teasing," he chuckled. "Let's get down to business. Potter has a task to prepare for, and we have to make sure he gets through it in one piece."
"Are teachers supposed to help the Champions with their tasks?" Tonks frowned.
"Nope," Moody shrugged. "But fourteen-year-olds aren't supposed to be able to enter, either. To hell with the rules! There's treachery afoot, and I don't give a damn about what's fair."
"Maybe I'll get disqualified for cheating," Harry grinned. "That would be the best outcome, really – then I can focus on helping Neville through the Tournament."
"Being alongside him presents potential opportunities to help, however," Moody pointed out. "You may be able to assist him better from there rather than the sidelines."
"Not for the First Task, anyway," Harry frowned. And he explained what he'd seen in the Forbidden Forest, and what he suspected (or rather, knew with near certainty) the task itself would comprise of.
"Bloody hell, they're making you fight a dragon?" Tonks whistled. "Is the Ministry trying to get you all killed?"
"They won't have to kill the dragons, just distract them long enough to retrieve the egg," Moody mused. "Certainly doable if you're clever enough. Got any ideas, boy?"
"I was going to use my broom to lure the dragon away," Harry admitted. "But I don't have access to my Firebolt right now, and don't trust the school brooms for the job."
"Nor should you," Moody agreed. "Your father tells me you have a Kneazle core wand. You may have an aptitude for illusory magic, which is why I've invited Tonks today to teach you a few tricks."
"Sorry to break it to you both, but I've never fought a dragon before," Tonks snorted.
"But you've used illusory magic in combat!" Harry insisted. "You can probably teach me a thing or two about deception to keep myself alive."
"There's something in that," Moody said thoughtfully. "Why don't we start with a warm-up duel? James tells me that young Harry here has become something of a force in that department."
"Oh, I wouldn't want to be responsible for bullying a school Champion so soon before a task," Tonks said, a mirthful twinkle in her eye.
"No risk in that happening," Harry shot back with a grin. "My mother taught me to never hit a girl, but I can make an exception."
"Ooh, you're asking for it now, Potter," Tonks grinned. She strode to the opposite side of the room as Moody cleared space for them to square off against each other. Harry was eager to test himself against Tonks once again – she'd bested him thoroughly the last time they dueled two years prior, but he'd gotten much stronger since then.
"Begin!" shouted Moody.
Tonks did not go easy on Harry, launching into a furious offensive that forced him onto the back foot. He quickly realized that she had grown stronger, too – she was no longer just a trainee, but a fully-fledged Auror herself. "What's the matter, Potter?" Tonks laughed. "Can't handle the heat?"
"Just letting you get comfortable," Harry quipped in response. He retaliated with a counter-offensive of her own, forcing her to dance away from his barrage of jinxes and hexes. Neither she nor Moody commented on Harry's use of dangerous curses like the Bone-Breaker – it must be standard procedure for Aurors to deal with after all.
"You've gotten better since the last time we fought," Tonks remarked as she spun away from a barrage of spellfire. "Your father's taught you well."
"I'm a quick learner," Harry shrugged, not letting Tonks' banter break his concentration.
"Unfortunately for you, I know your father's fighting style inside and out," Tonks grinned. And she launched back into the fight, keeping Harry on his toes, alternating between shielding and dodging spells. She's good, Harry thought. But she's not invincible. I just have to wait for an opening.
That opening seemed to come when Tonks stumbled slightly, losing her balance and nearly tripping over her own feet. Harry pressed forward for the winning blow, but Tonks thrust her wand at the ground and raised a plume of smoke, obscuring his view of her. He fired a few test spells into the haze, but none connected. "Hiding, are we, Nymphadora?" he taunted. "Afraid of getting bested by a teenager?"
A blur of motion caught his eye to the left, and he saw Tonks sprinting out of the smoke for the cover of a nearby toppled desk. She fired a few spells at him as she ran, which he easily sidestepped, sending a barrage back at her. His aim was true; Tonks was caught with his Tripping Jinx, sprawling to the ground on all fours. Harry followed it with a Binding Curse and Disarming Charm, watching triumphantly as Tonks was bound in heavy ropes and her wand clattered out of sight.
"Were those theatrics really worth it?" Harry scoffed, lowering his wand at the sight of his defenseless opponent.
"Weren't they?" a voice whispered coyly in his ear, as Harry felt a wand tip pressed to the back of his neck. "Drop it, Potter."
Harry groaned and dropped his wand, turning to see the real Tonks standing behind him, smirking in triumph. "How'd you do that?" he sighed in defeat.
"Diversion," Tonks grinned, summoning Harry's wand to hand and giving it back to him. "Your eyes were drawn to my clone leaving the smoke, so you didn't notice the real me Disillusioning myself and sneaking around behind you."
"But your copy was casting spells!" Harry protested, looking back to the spot where he'd seen Tonks trip and fall (which was now vacant).
"A trick you'll want to learn for yourself," said Tonks. "In order for illusions to be successful, you have to make your enemy believe they are real. Once the immersion is broken, all effectiveness is lost."
"I would have known that wasn't the real Nymphadora as soon as she tripped," Moody chimed in. "She may be clumsy, but she would never face-plant like that without rolling into the momentum."
"Exactly," said Tonks. "I was too focused on getting behind you to maintain the perfect illusion for my clone. You have to watch for tiny imperfections like that."
"But shouldn't I be learning how to do this myself, instead of how to counter it?" Harry frowned.
"What kind of asinine question is that?" Moody snapped. "Understanding the limitations of a branch of magic is the first step towards mastering it! You must learn what not to do in order to avoid making novice mistakes."
"We'll focus today on training you to recognize the flaws in illusory magic," Tonks agreed. "Tomorrow we can start easing you into using it yourself."
"Fine," Harry sighed, as Tonks crossed the room to prepare for another duel. He still felt entirely clueless about what he was supposed to be looking for, but figured it was good practice one way or another.
And as their duels wore on that afternoon, Harry gradually began to notice the small nuances in Tonks' illusions that she was talking about. Deviations from her usual movement style; behaviors that didn't perfectly line up with the flow of battle. He finally succeeded in recognizing another sneak attack an hour into their session; he ignored the version of Tonks that was sprinting head-on at him and spun around with a Shield Charm to deflect the real version's Stunner from behind.
"Good, Potter, good!" Moody barked. "That's a good place to stop for the day. You're beginning to get a handle on these things."
"Not perfect, but impressive for your first day encountering it," Tonks agreed.
"Thanks," Harry panted. He was tired from the physical and mental strain of their battles, but nonetheless pleased with himself.
"We'll reconvene same time tomorrow," said Moody. "But first, Potter, I want to give you something."
"Aw, Harry gets a gift and I don't?" Tonks pouted.
"Not a gift," Moody growled. He reached into his robes and withdrew what looked like a small, misshapen glass cube. Moody handed it to Harry, who turned it over in his palm; it was comprised of several different compartments, each containing a liquid of a different color and consistency.
"What's this?" Harry frowned.
"An Auror's Toolkit?" Tonks said in recognition. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Moody?"
"Reasonably so," Moody shrugged. "Every Auror worth his salt carries one of those around at all times, boy. It contains a small sample of key potions one might need out in the field. Poison antidote, Blood Replenisher, Veritaserum, Thief's Downfall—"
"And Polyjuice Potion," Tonks frowned. "Surely an underage student doesn't need access to this, Mad-Eye—"
"Harry is no ordinary underage student," Moody argued. "He understands that this is not a toy, or something to be abused. This is for life-or-death situations only, got it?"
"Got it," Harry agreed. He could see the dangers in giving such potent tools to a teenager, but had no intention of abusing the privilege. "But why are you giving it to me?"
"Because someone's out to get you," Moody growled. "Dumbledore may be convinced the impostor lies outside this castle, but I'm not so sure. Keep that on you, boy, just in case you need to get out of a tight spot. You're a clever lad; I'm sure you can come up with some creative solutions."
"Alright," Harry shrugged, slipping the cube into his robes. It must have been charmed, because he barely noticed it resting against his hip – not nearly the imposition he thought it might be. He had no idea what use he might have for such powerful potions, but it was better to have them and not need them than the other way around.
"Speaking of which, best not tell the Headmaster about this," Moody muttered. "I don't think he would agree with me giving you this. But then, Albus has never liked any plan that he is not completely in control of himself."
"Never thought I'd see the day you defy Dumbledore's wishes, Mad-Eye," Tonks whistled. "You have more of a rebellious streak than I gave you credit for."
"Soon he'll be dyeing his hair green and supporting the Weird Sisters," Harry quipped, earning him a scowl from the ex-Auror as he and Tonks shared a laugh at his expense.
Harry continued learning illusory magic from Tonks over the subsequent week, feeling gradually more confident that he understood the fundamentals well enough to perform it himself. In addition to self-cloning, Tonks taught him a few other useful tricks, such as creating copies of other people and objects, many of which fooled him into believing they were real. It was remarkably similar magic to Transfiguration, Harry realized, only instead of altering an object's properties, he was projecting those properties onto nothing.
One memorable duel came late in the week, when Tonks summoned a projection of Dahlia in an effort to divert his attention into protecting her from incoming spellfire. "Good work ignoring that one," Tonks admitted when Harry didn't take the bait. "How'd you know that wasn't your real sister?"
"Just a hunch," Harry shrugged. He'd only known his sister for three years in this timeline, but she didn't seem the type to scream 'Save me, Harry!' like a helpless child. She probably would have found some clever way to insult him, or blame him for involving her in the situation, rather than beg for help.
The only thing Tonks refused to teach him was the Body-Mirroring Charm, claiming that he was too young for it. But she didn't know he'd undergone the Ritual of Ontogenesis, and could likely handle the added strain to his magical core. A game plan was forming in his mind about how to deal with the dragon, and he felt more and more confident about it as the week went on.
But all that confidence evaporated on the day of the First Task. He entered the Great Hall early as usual, but found it already packed with excited students, eager for the festivities to begin. He had to endure the jeers and taunts of the other students as he ate, doing his best to ignore them along with the butterflies flapping madly in his stomach.
Fortunately, it wasn't all ill-will towards Harry. Luna sat across from him and offered kind words of encouragement, and he heard a few whispers of 'good luck' as he got up to leave the Hall. Fred and George Weasley loudly trumpeted his exit with an improvised song proclaiming his imminent victory in the task, which made him snort with laughter. It was a much needed reprieve from the stress of what the day would bring.
Harry arrived at the tent that had been erected at the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, where he found Krum and Fleur already inside. Neither of them acknowledged his presence, going through their own mental preparations. Neville arrived soon after, looking pale and clammy; Harry thought about offering words of encouragement, but didn't think he could formulate words of his own due to nerves. He busied himself with stretches until Ludo Bagman arrived to begin the proceedings.
"Welcome to your first task of the Triwizard Tournament, Champions!" Bagman greeted the four of them. "I'm sure you're all anxious to learn what today's task entails...you will be facing dragons!"
He paused for dramatic effect, but none of the Champions reacted; clearly they already knew about the dragons. "Right, well," Bagman chuckled, clearing his throat. "You must retrieve a golden egg from the nest of your assigned dragon. Points will be awarded for creativity, showmanship, and of course, not getting burned to a crisp!"
Bagman again paused, this time for humorous effect, but again got no reaction. "Let's see who will be facing which dragon!" he chuckled awkwardly, procuring a small red bag to determine the order.
Fleur reached her hand in first and withdrew the Welsh Green, with a number three around its neck. Krum went next and procured the Chinese Fireball, wearing the number two.
Then it was Harry's turn. He wasn't sure which he was dreading more: facing the Hungarian Horntail again, or being forced to watch Neville do so himself, unable to assist him. Harry reached his hand in, feeling mixed emotions when he pulled out the Swedish Short-Snout, wearing the number one. That left a trembling Neville with the Hungarian Horntail in fourth position.
"Splendid!" Bagman said, clearly not sensing the palpable tension in the room. "Give us just a moment to set up, Mr. Potter, and we'll call you out to begin your task."
Harry nodded as Bagman departed from the tent, leaving the four Champions alone. Krum and Fleur walked to separate corners, pacing in place or muttering to themselves, mulling over their strategies in their heads. Neville was rooted to the spot, still staring down at the Horntail, shaking badly.
"Alright there, Neville?" asked Harry, walking over to the boy.
"Y-yeah," Neville said shakily. "You?"
"Hope so," said Harry. "Listen...there's no shame in surrendering if you can't complete the task. You may not get points, but surviving is the most important thing."
Neville's eyes suddenly snapped up to Harry's, peering at him with an intensity Harry didn't expect. "I'm not a quitter," he said adamantly. "I'm going to get that egg."
"You have a plan, then?" Harry asked hopefully.
"Yeah," Neville nodded. "We'll see if it works."
"Good luck, Neville," Harry said, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. He was surprised by the determination in Neville's expression now; his fear clearly had not overcome him like Harry suspected. Maybe he does stand a chance, he thought to himself, leaving the boy alone to prepare in peace.
First he had to get past his own dragon. And he didn't have long to prepare himself before a distant cannon blast beckoned him into the arena. "Good luck, everyone," he announced to the tent before leaving, striding purposefully down the narrow path through the trees to the arena entrance. No turning back now, Harry thought to himself as he stepped out into open air to begin the First Task.
The crowd roared at the sight of him, an equal measure of cheers and boos. Harry tuned them out and squinted across the clearing towards the Swedish Short-Snout, which was eyeing him dangerously, crouched low over its nest. Harry crept forward, inching ever closer, though those reptilian eyes never left his, daring him to make a move, to make a mistake.
Harry stopped halfway across the clearing. Here goes nothing, he thought to himself as he drew his wand. "Homunculi speculo!" he shouted, flourishing his wand through the air.
Harry once again felt a horrible sensation of his mind being ripped apart, but he did not black out this time. He opened his eyes, and found himself staring at five separate dragons, still leering menacingly at him. Or rather, the same dragon viewed from five different perspectives.
"A flawless Body-Mirroring Charm!" Ludo Bagman shouted into the microphone as the crowd roared its approval. "Mr. Potter has created five identical clones of himself...but which one is the real one? That's for the Short-Snout to figure out!"
In reality, as Tonks had taught him in their last lesson, all of the clones were the real Harry, and also none of them. Harry found that he could shift his perspective between them, as though inhabiting each briefly before his consciousness moved to the next. So long as he was not present within the copy of himself that the dragon chose to attack, it would not be able to physically harm him.
Harry decided to test this by sending one of his clones sprinting directly at the nest. The dragon roared its displeasure and sent a jet of flames at him; Harry abruptly pulled his consciousness from the clone, and when the flames subsided, his copy was slowly backing away, remaining perfectly intact. The crowd screamed in unison at this stunt, sighing with relief when they saw Harry unharmed.
"An unbelievable feint from Potter!" Bagman screamed with glee. "No free meals for this dragon...but can this strategy actually pay dividends?"
Harry knew the dragon would not be easily fooled. It was an intelligent creature, and already it seemed to be understanding the trick, still eyeing all five clones as equal threats. Harry slowly spread his forces out, his five copies forming a wide semi-circle around the dragon, forcing its attention in multiple directions. But the Short-Snout wisely stayed put, refusing to leave its nest to lash out at any of the clones just out of reach.
Luckily, he'd planned for such an outcome. His success in the previous timeline was not actually outflying the dragon, after all – it was tricking it into taking flight and leaving the nest unattended. And trickery was his new specialty.
Harry focused his attention away from his clones momentarily and onto the dragon itself. His next stunt would once again risk over-exerting his magical core, but he felt good so far. Hopefully the Ritual of Ontogenesis has completed its work by now, he thought as he brandished his wand once more. "Effingo creatura!" he shouted.
For a moment, nothing happened. The crowd murmured silently in confusion, unsure what his spell was meant to do. Then, there was a distant roar, and all eyes were drawn to the opposite end of the arena: a second Swedish Short-Snout had appeared, perching at the edge of the stadium and leering at the original.
The nesting Short-Snout bellowed angrily at the new arrival, but still did not leave its nest to meet the new challenge. Stubborn, are we? Harry thought irritably. Let's test your patience, then.
He sent his projection of the dragon airborne, flapping its massive wings over the crowd and diving towards the real thing. Harry muttered a hushed Incendio to add real heat to the projected flames shot from his illusion, flying over the head of the real dragon. The crowd must have felt the heat themselves, because they roared in appreciation at the spectacle. Even Ludo Bagman was rendered speechless, his commentary abandoned in favor of jumping up and down in his seat with glee.
Harry made his conjured dragon circle around in midair, swooping down low again over the Short-Snout for another feigned attack. This time he succeeded in getting the nesting dragon to rear up onto its back legs, swiping at the illusion with its front talons. It was no longer paying attention to Harry's clones, fully focused on the dive-bombing false dragon circling overhead. Come on, Harry silently egged it on. Just a little more...take off…
Harry urged his illusion in for another swoop, lower this time. The nesting mother actually flinched at the low approach, ducking out of the way of the swipe the illusion took at its head. This time the real dragon actually took a small leap after the retreating illusion, landing a few feet in front of the nest, leaving a small opening from behind…
The cheering crowd must have alerted the dragon to the danger, as it spun around just in time to see Harry sprint towards the nest and scoop the golden egg up in his arms. The Short-Snout roared angrily and whipped its tail around with alarming speed; it caught Harry fully in the chest, crushing his egg and sending him flying, over the arena wall and out of sight.
The crowd screamed in horror as the dragon roared in triumph. But both were too late to realize the truth: the dragon turned back just in time to see the real Harry, all illusions now dispelled, grabbing the real golden egg and sprinting out of reach. The Short-Snout sent a jet of flame after his retreating form; Harry felt the heat singe his backside as he dove for safety, the egg safely clutched under his arm.
"I don't believe what I've just seen!" Ludo Bagman shouted hoarsely as the crowd went wild. "Harry Potter has successfully retrieved his egg with impressive use of illusions! I don't think anyone was expecting such advanced magic from the youngster!"
Harry did not stick around to acknowledge the chants of "Harry! Harry! Harry!" rising from the stands. He was too relieved that his gambit had worked, and judging by the pain radiating from his back, the dragon flames had actually made contact with its intended target. He limped through the clearing towards the medical tent, where Madam Pomfrey shooed him inside and beckoned him towards a nearby cot.
"Forcing teenagers to fight dragons," Pomfrey scoffed as she waved her wand over Harry to examine him. "Never thought I'd see the day...Miss Potter, do you have the burn ointment?"
"Yes, ma'am," said a nearby voice. Harry realized they were not alone; Dahlia approached from the corner, dressed in white Healer trainee robes. "Let me see your back, idiot."
"Should I remove my shirt?" Harry asked.
"What shirt?" Dahlia grimaced.
Harry looked down, he hadn't realized that his shirt was barely clinging to his front in tatters, while the back must have been burned away entirely. He felt a sharp pain as Dahlia began to apply the cool ointment to his back, his burn wounds more severe than he realized.
"Quit squirming!" she chastised him. Harry sat still as Dahlia rubbed the ointment into his back. Gradually the pain began to lessen, replaced by a faint tingling sensation as the healing process began. Madam Pomfrey circled around to examine her work.
"Well done, Miss Potter," she appraised the girl. "Now, how do we go about bandaging the wound?"
"We don't," Dahlia recited at once. "Open air is the best way to let the ointment do its work."
"Well-reasoned, young lady," Madam Pomfrey smiled at the girl. "Five points to Gryffindor. Now up you get, Mr. Potter; you've got to go receive your scores from the judges."
Harry gingerly got to his feet, glad to learn that he could walk under his own power. "Feel alright?" Dahlia asked him.
"Yeah, right as rain," he nodded. "Thanks."
"Good," said Dahlia. Then she shoved him hard in the chest, nearly causing him to topple over. "Never pull a stunt like that again!" she wailed. "I thought you'd been killed."
"No dragon could ever hope to catch me," Harry winked as he wrapped his sister in a tight hug. "And now I know I'll always have you waiting to patch me up after."
Harry departed the tent and walked back out into the arena, nodding politely at the cheers sent his way from the stands. "And now, for the judges' scores!" said Bagman. He went first, sending a shimmering 10 into the air, earning the approval of the crowd. Wonder if he's got Galleons on me winning in this timeline as well? Harry wondered, slightly bemused.
Dumbledore was next, awarding Harry a 9. To no surprise, Karkaroff gave him a 4, drawing boos from the crowd; Madame Maxime clearly still held a grudge against Harry, for she too only gave him a 6 for his efforts. But Harry didn't care one bit about his score – he was just glad to be alive, and still consumed with worry for Neville's safety.
Harry was directed to a side section of the stands, where his family was waiting for him. "That was some of the best illusory magic I've ever seen!" laughed Sirius, wrapping Harry in a tight hug. "I told you that you could do it."
"Well done, son," James said, patting Harry on the shoulder affectionately.
Lily was beside herself with tears. "I th-thought we'd l-lost you," she sobbed, launching at Harry with a hug. "Don't ever s-scare us like that again."
"I won't, promise," said Harry, struggling to breathe through his mother's vice grip. A familiar face was peeking out at him from beyond the red hair in his face, and he laughed in recognition. "Uncle Remus!"
"Hey, Harry," Lupin grinned as Harry embraced him. The man looked more youthful and full of energy than Harry had ever seen; vacation had clearly done wonders for him. "I'd like to introduce you to somebody."
Harry realized that Lupin was holding hands with a young witch he didn't recognize, with sun-bleached hair and a friendly face. "This is Alessia," Lupin said, beaming at the woman and receiving a radiant smile in return. "We met in Italy a year ago."
"Almost a year and a 'alf now, darling," Alessia said in a heavy accent, giving Lupin a gentle kiss.
"And you've been traveling with him all this time?" asked Harry.
"Yes, well, it turns out I didn't make it much farther than Italy after all," Lupin smiled sheepishly. "My first stop was a Healer academy in Milan, to assist them with some werewolf-related medical research. I only intended to stay for a week or two, but then I met Alessia studying there, and well, I decided to stay."
"And here I thought you were living your best bachelor life all this time," Sirius grumbled, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "You went and domesticated yourself in the first month abroad."
"You're just jealous that he found a more beautiful partner than you could dream of getting," Harry quipped, drawing roars of laughter from Sirius and James. "Nice to meet you, Alessia."
The reunion was cut short by Ludo Bagman's magically amplified voice. "And here comes our second challenger!" he announced. "Put your hands together for Viktor Krum!"
The Swedish Short-Snout had been replaced by the Chinese Fireball, and Harry watched as Krum entered the arena and began his task. Harry's thoughts were still preoccupied with Neville's looming showdown with the Hungarian Horntail, barely able to focus on the action before him. Things seemed to be progressing much the same as in the last timeline anyway; Krum went for a Conjunctivitis Curse on the dragon's eyes, causing it to stomp painfully around and lose him points for smashed eggs, though he successfully retrieved his own.
Fleur was next, and Harry was impressed by her entrancing melody as she sang the Welsh Green (and half the crowd) to sleep. Only James, Harry and Lupin remained unaffected, watching as Fleur nearly escaped unscathed before a spurt of flame shot from the dragon's nose mid-snore and set her skirt ablaze, docking her more points.
Finally, it was time for the fourth and final test. Harry watched as the dragon handlers wrestled the massive Hungarian Horntail into the arena and shackled it into place. "Blimey, they're making Longbottom fight that?!" James whistled. That certainly didn't help Harry's nerves, as he said a silent prayer for Neville's survival, wondering how on earth the boy planned on succeeding in his task.
Soon the cannon blast heralded his arrival, and Neville shuffled into the arena, looking horrified by the sight of the dragon. It leered menacingly at him, already puffing hot flame in anticipation of roasting him alive. This cannot end well, Harry thought desperately. They really should stop this before he gets killed.
But Neville pressed onward. Harry realized that the boy was holding something in his free hand behind his back, though he could not see what it was. "What's his plan?" Sirius muttered worriedly. "He's got to do something…"
Neville drew his wand and muttered a quiet incantation. The small object in his hand zoomed forwards, landing with a silent plop between the dragon's feet. The Horntail looked down at it and sniffed, seemingly sensing no danger, before it returned its attention towards Neville.
"That was, erm, an interesting attempt at diverting the dragon's notice," Bagman chuckled nervously. "You'll have to do better than that, Mr. Longbottom!"
Neville began inching to his right, not making any sudden movements. The Horntail followed with its head only, eyeing him suspiciously. Impatiently, it sent a jet of flame in Neville's direction; the boy dove behind a rock for cover, but wasn't quite fast enough. His shirt sleeve caught fire, and he hastily extinguished it with a jet of water.
Neville remained crouched behind the rock, nursing his now-injured arm and occasionally peeking out around the rock towards the dragon. The Horntail did not advance, remaining perched over its nest, occasionally sending more jets of flame to discourage Neville from coming any closer. But that didn't seem likely – Neville was making no attempt to move from his spot of relative safety.
Then, Neville stood from behind the rock and shot a fireball at the dragon. It landed well short, sending a small puff of smoke in the air. The crowd murmured uncomfortably at this feeble effort.
"Fighting fire with fire, eh, Mr. Longbottom?" Bagman chuckled awkwardly. "A valiant effort, but perhaps not the best solution here!"
But Neville seemed undeterred. He continued to pop up and shoot tiny bursts of flame at the Horntail before returning to his hiding place. The dragon seemed unaffected; even the one burst that made contact merely dissipated against its tough scales. "What the hell is he doing?" Sirius muttered nervously. "He's not gonna hurt the dragon that way…"
"He's not aiming for the dragon," Harry realized, sensing Neville's plan seconds before it sprang into action. The boy's next puff of flame hit the small package at the dragon's feet, bursting open and unraveling a tangle of what looked like green wires. They began wrapping themselves around the Horntail's feet, causing it to roar angrily at the writhing mass threatening to root it in place.
"Ah, a bit of plant trickery from Mr. Longbottom!" Bagman said in recognition. "The young Herbology prodigy trying a unique strategy to take down his fearsome foe!"
The Horntail began stamping at the vines wrapping around it, but it did not seem to help much. "Aren't plants weak to fire?" Lily murmured quietly to herself, as the dragon seemed to realize the same thing. It sent a jet of flame from its mouth onto the vines, and immediately Harry understood what was about to happen.
Rather than burn the vines away, the flames seemed to feed into them, causing the vines to strengthen and grow, tightening their grip on the dragon's legs. The Horntail began to panic, shooting more fire at the vines, not realizing that it was only causing the plant mass to grow even faster. It took a matter of seconds before the vines began to snake up its torso and completely engulf the dragon, causing it to topple over, away from its nest.
The Horntail continued to thrash and rage within its bindings, shooting more angry flames everywhere, which only worsened its predicament. Soon not even its head was visible anymore, buried beneath a snarling mass of vines. The crowd, realizing what had happened, exploded with cheers as Neville calmly walked forward and picked up the egg, walking back to the starting area without breaking a sweat.
"What an ingenious strategy!" Bagman shouted as the crowd cheered its appreciation. "Not everyday that you see the Indonesian Fire Vine used as a weapon...the rare magical plant that grows not on water, but on flames! And Longbottom escapes intact with his egg!"
Harry breathed a tremendous sigh of relief, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. This was the task Neville was the most likely to fail at, with Harry unable to assist him, and he'd passed with flying colors. And that was reflected in the scores; three of the four judges awarded him a 9, with even a begrudging Karkaroff forced to award him a 6.
"That concludes the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament!" Bagman announced excitedly. "In first place we have Neville Longbottom with 33 points! In second is Harry Potter with 29, followed by Viktor Krum with 26 and Fleur Delacour with 25. Champions, please join me in the holding tent for further instructions on your next task!"
"See you soon, sweetheart," said Lily, kissing her son good-bye. "Take care of your sister, will you?"
"Looks like she's the one taking care of him," James remarked, eyeing Harry's exposed back. "He's nearly healed by now."
"Arrivederci, Harry," said Alessia, shaking his hand in farewell as Sirius and Remus both clapped him on the shoulders with pride.
Harry returned to the Champions' tent, where Krum and Fleur stood chatting in one corner while Neville sat on a cot in another, Dahlia applying ointment to his arm. Harry awkwardly stood in his own corner until Bagman hustled in, beaming widely.
"Splendid work today, lady and gentlemen!" he appraised them. "Your second task will take place on the morning of February the 24th. I can't tell you what it is just yet, but if you open up that golden egg of yours, it may provide you with some helpful hints!"
Bagman winked before exiting the tent, leaving the four Champions alone again. "Well done, all of you," Harry said sincerely to the other three. "Especially you, Neville...I was really worried."
"What for?" Neville shrugged nonchalantly. "As soon as I learned what the task was, I knew a fail-safe way to beat it."
"Yeah, nice thinking with that fire plant thingy," Harry agreed. "That was impressive to watch."
"Was it?" Neville asked, suddenly rounding on Harry. "Or are you just shocked that I proved to be competent at something for once?"
"Of course that's not what I meant," Harry said, confused. "I knew you could do it—"
"I wish you'd quit treating me like a baby, Potter," Neville scoffed. "I'm more capable than you seem to think I am. And I'm going to prove it by winning this Tournament." And he stomped out of the tent, leaving a perplexed Harry alone with the two elder Champions.
"Is 'e always like that?" Krum asked, bemused.
"Only recently," Harry grumbled, once again feeling mixed emotions. On the one hand he was grateful that Neville had survived the task. On the other, he feared that he'd alienated the boy by coddling him and making him resent Harry's over-protective nature. That instinct might drive him to do something stupid to prove himself. Something like win the Tournament by reaching the Triwizard Cup before the other three could stop him.
Which was exactly what Voldemort wanted.