Chapter 3: The First Task
The next morning, the air in Hogwarts was crisp with November chill, yet Aurora felt nothing. Her steps were soundless against the stone floors as she made her way toward the library, seeking solitude in the only place that still offered her peace. She turned a corner—and froze.
There they were.
The last people she ever wanted to see.
Lily and James Potter stood by the corridor window, their eyes landing on her with unmistakable recognition. Behind them, Harry trailed slightly, eyes bright with curiosity. Her eyes locked onto them—and something shifted. A feeling, sharp and unfamiliar, tugged at her heart, but she buried it. Hardened herself, as she always had.
'Aurora!' Lily breathed, barely above a whisper, her voice trembling, tears welling in her eyes.
Aurora's expression remained still as ice.
James stepped forward hesitantly, as though approaching a wounded creature. 'Aurora, we—'
'Don't!' she snapped, raising a hand. Her voice was cold, powerful, and final. 'Do not come close!'
'Aurora! My dau—' Lily tried again, voice breaking.
Aurora let out a bitter laugh. It echoed against the stone walls. 'Funny,' she said with biting sarcasm, 'how you're calling me that now.'
Harry, looking lost in the middle of the emotional tension, frowned. 'Mum? Dad? Who is -?'
Aurora turned her piercing gaze on him. Her tone was smooth, almost mocking. 'No one, Mr. Potter. Your parents are simply confusing me with someone who died a long time ago... I think.'
And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her cloak swishing behind her.
'Aurora, please!' James called.
But she didn't stop.
She would never stop.
Never look back.
Never.
She spent the day in the library, buried in ancient tomes and notes she didn't need, pretending to read, pretending not to care. Her mind replayed the morning over and over, the look in Lily's eyes, James's voice, the boy—Harry. The boy her curse once tried to hurt. The boy her parents kept instead.
Her fingers tightened around the page she wasn't even reading. She closed the book with a thud and stood up to leave.
As she exited the library, her steps faltered.
He was there again.
The boy with the same icy-blue eyes and a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. The same boy who had helped her the night of the Goblet of Fire.
Their eyes locked for a few seconds. He looked relaxed, leaning slightly against a stone pillar, arms folded.
'Are you fine now?' he asked casually.
Aurora gave a curt nod. 'Yeah. Thanks for yesterday.'
'No problem,' he said with a grin. 'I had to help. Otherwise Hogwarts might've been buried under a storm of your fury.'
A small smirk tugged at the corner of Aurora's mouth. 'I didn't realise I was that dramatic.'
'Oh, you weren't,' he said dryly, 'it was just the temperature dropped by five degrees and That's all.'
Aurora rolled her eyes, the faintest trace of amusement flickering in her gaze.
'Who is he?' she thought, watching him walk away, his robes trailing behind him like the tail of a dragon.
Back at the Beauxbatons carriage, Madam Maxime's owl-eyed assistant informed her that she was wanted in the Headmistress's office.
Aurora braced herself. She expected a lecture about her confrontation with Dumbledore the night before, or perhaps for losing control in public.
But Maxime simply gestured for her to sit.
'You will want to prepare,' she said calmly, folding her hands atop her large oak desk.
Aurora narrowed her eyes. 'Prepare for what?'
Maxime leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. 'The first task. It's dragons.'
Aurora's brows rose slightly. 'Dragons?'
'Yes. Real ones. Large. Deadly. You will need all your strength and intelligence.'
Aurora nodded slowly. She wasn't afraid—at least not of the beast.
Later that night, she caught sight of the Harry again—this time alone in the courtyard. She hesitated for a moment before walking up to him.
'Its dragons,'' she told him, 'the first task. Prepare.' She wouldn't let him come without preparation and get himself killed. With that she turned back.
'Why are you doing this? And who are you?' Aurora stood there, 'Who are you Blackwood?'
She fixed her circlet and indicated towards it. 'You see this. It has the symbol of my Family. I am Lady Aurora Cyra Blackwood. No one else! And I told you about the task because you are underage and I don't want you to die.' And with that she left.
The day of the first task, Aurora got dressed and went to the Great Hall for breakfast. The air was thick there and everyone was talking in hushed tones. Everybody's eyes were on the champions. And Aurora found people pointing and talking about her. Her expression was same as usual. She had faced things much more worse than dragons, what could a dragon do to her. At the other table, Cedric Diggory looked nervous and pale. She scanned the Griffindor table to see where Harry Potter and found him sitting at the top corner with his bushy-haired friend, both of them looked nervous. The red-head girl beside them seemed to calming Harry down. Victor Krum too looked confused but didn't show.
Madam Maxime took her to the tent where all the champions were to gather.
'Good Morning!' she said to Cedric Diggory and Victor Krum, both of whom were now looking clearly nervous.
Harry entered and looked really pale. After him, Ludo Bagman, entered earing some kind of old wasp-type robes.
"Well, now we're all here — time to fill you in!" said Bagman brightly. "When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag" — he held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them — "from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different — er — varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too . . . ah, yes . . . your task is to collect the golden egg!"
Harry glanced around.
Cedric had nodded once, to show that he understood Bagman's words, and then started pacing around the tent again; he looked slightly green.
Bagman came back and Bagman was opening the neck of the purple silk sack. "Ladies first," he said, offering it to her.
She put her hand in it and drew a tiny, perfect model of a dragon — a Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck. She showed no sign of surprise.
Krum pulled out the scarlet Chinese Fireball. It had a number three around its neck. He didn't even blink, just sat back down and stared at the ground.
Cedric put his hand into the bag, and out came the blueish-gray Swedish Short-Snout, the number one tied around its neck
Harry put his hand into the silk bag and pulled out the Hungarian Horntail, and the number four. It stretched its wings as he looked down at it, and bared its minuscule fangs.
"Well, there you are!" said Bagman. "You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I'm going to have to leave you in a moment, because I'm commentating. Mr. Diggory, you're first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right?
Now . . . Harry . . . could I have a quick word? Outside?"
"Er . . . yes," said Harry blankly, and he got up and went out of the tent with Bagman.
After a while Harry came back and the whistle blew. Cedric Diggory moved out of the tent. After about fifteen minutes of listening to Bagman's utterly stupid commentary, there came a defeaning roar from the crowd that meant that Cedric had gotten past the dragon.
The whistle blew.
Aurora stepped out of the tent.
The crowd roared at the sight of her, some cheering, others murmuring with awe or suspicion. The stands were filled with students, teachers, Ministry officials, and curious guests from all over Europe. But Aurora didn't hear them. Her eyes were fixed solely on the Welsh Green dragon stationed in the center of the enclosure.
The creature was magnificent — and terrifying. Its emerald scales glinted under the midday sun, thick plumes of smoke curling from its nostrils. The golden egg sat innocently behind it, nestled between two jagged rocks scorched black from earlier flames.
Aurora didn't flinch. Her steps were measured, calm. Her expression remained unreadable.
To the crowd, she looked like a ghost — pale robes flowing behind her, the wind catching her dark cloak like wings. But to the dragon, she was prey.
The Welsh Green let out a shriek and reared back, flames bursting from its mouth in a surge of heat and fury.
Aurora didn't run. She stood still, wand raised, her lips moving swiftly.
"Nebula Spectra."
At once, a burst of silver mist spun from her wand and exploded around her like smoke from a crashing star. The mist curled, twisted, and morphed until three identical versions of Aurora stood beside her. Four Auroras now faced the dragon, each flickering slightly, barely distinguishable.
Illusions.
The crowd gasped. The dragon paused for half a second, snarling as it tried to choose between them. It lunged — snapping its jaws around one figure, which vanished into ash.
The real Aurora was already moving.
She flicked her wand again. "Mendacium Flammae!"
A swirling orb of fire shot from her wand and burst midair into dozens of smaller glowing embers — each shaped like fleeing birds. They darted toward the dragon's face, disorienting it further.
The dragon shrieked, eyes flashing as it blasted a wave of real flame, scattering the illusions.
Aurora rolled behind a rock, calm and calculating. She didn't want to fight the dragon — she wanted to outthink it.
From her cover, she whispered another incantation. "Silentia Nocturna."
A haze of magic flowed across the arena, and the dragon twitched — its hearing dulled. It lifted its head and snarled, confused by the lack of sound around it.
Using the opportunity, Aurora darted from cover, her form seeming to vanish momentarily, cloaked by the spell. She conjured another illusion — this time, not of herself, but of a second dragon, bursting forth from the far end of the enclosure. The imitation beast roared, wings unfurling as if to challenge the Welsh Green.
The real dragon hesitated.
That was all she needed.
Aurora sprinted forward in a fluid motion, casting a silent Repulso to blast aside a chunk of smoldering rock that blocked the path to the egg. Smoke curled around her, ash settled in her hair, but she didn't break stride.
One final illusion spell — "Umbra Phasma!" — cast a shadow form of herself racing in the opposite direction. The dragon turned toward it, roaring angrily.
Aurora dropped to her knees, slid across the ash-covered ground, and snatched the golden egg in one swift, elegant motion.
The crowd erupted.
The dragon whirled too late — Aurora was already running back toward the perimeter, the egg clutched tightly in her arms. As the judges moved to control the dragon again, she exited the arena with the same calm grace with which she had entered.
Cheers echoed around the stadium.
But Aurora didn't react.
She had done it without harming the beast. Without firepower. Only illusions, intelligence, and the chilling precision of someone who had grown up mastering dangerous magic alone.
She walked in front of the judges who were still in a slight shock. She was given a ten by all judges except Karkaroff, who gave her an eight.
Aurora stayed near the judges' stands, her arms crossed, the golden egg tucked beneath one elbow like it weighed nothing. She refused Madam Maxime's offer to escort her back — she wanted to see the others, to observe them, to understand.
She moved to the edge of the stands where shadows cloaked the stone railing, half-hidden from view, yet with a perfect vantage of the arena.
A blast of trumpet-like fanfare echoed as Victor Krum stepped into the enclosure. His steps were heavy but confident, face drawn with a tight, focused expression. The Chinese Fireball was already snorting plumes of smoke, pacing in agitation. Its brilliant red scales shimmered, and its golden fringe glinted like molten metal.
Victor didn't waste time with illusions or flair. Instead, he cast a Blinding Hex that momentarily confused the beast, aiming for its eyes. The dragon roared, smoke curling from its flared nostrils as it thrashed and turned.
Aurora watched with narrowed eyes as he launched a Conjunctivitis Curse, a bold but dangerous move. The spell hit, and the dragon reared back, bellowing in pain. It stomped and thrashed, blind rage overtaking its restraint.
Victor darted between boulders, avoiding bursts of wild flame, keeping low. He didn't try to deceive or outwit it — he pressed forward with brute skill and athletic agility. In a single daring move, he cast a strong Levitation Charm on himself and soared over the dragon's coiled tail. Landing hard on the other side, he tumbled in the ash and scrambled toward the egg.
He seized it just as the dragon recovered, and narrowly rolled out of reach as a clawed foot slammed down where he had been seconds before.
Aurora gave a small nod of approval. Crude. Risky. But effective.
The crowd screamed his name, and Victor, though breathless and singed, raised the egg in triumph as he left the arena.
She stayed where she was, quietly observing. Bagman's voice boomed again, hyping up the next champion with unnecessary excitement.
Aurora turned slightly as the final whistle blew, and Harry Potter entered the arena.
He looked small — almost too small — against the looming form of the Hungarian Horntail. Its massive black wings were tucked in tightly, spiked tail twitching with barely-contained menace. Aurora's breath hitched, despite herself. She had warned him. She had told him.
He stood awkwardly for a moment, clearly unsure. Then suddenly — as if struck by inspiration — he darted to the side, pulling out his wand.
"Accio Firebolt!"
Aurora blinked in surprise as a blur in the sky hurtled toward the stadium from the distant castle towers.
"Clever," she murmured, begrudgingly impressed.
The Firebolt came screaming into the arena like a meteor. Harry caught it in mid-air and kicked off the ground just as the dragon snapped its jaws. The crowd gasped in unison.
He soared high, looping once, twice — the dragon's yellow eyes tracking him with fury.
The Horntail launched into the air, massive wings beating storms into the dirt, and gave chase. Harry flew like someone born to the skies, weaving through rock pillars, leading the dragon on a chase around the entire arena. Ash and fire streaked the air, smoke billowing in spirals.
Aurora watched, arms folded tightly, heart thudding.
He wasn't using illusions. Not charms. Not transfiguration. Just sheer nerve and reckless bravery.
The dragon swooped after him, nearly clipping his broom. Then Harry dove.
The crowd screamed.
Aurora stood still.
He spiraled straight down — headfirst — and at the last second, looped under the dragon's belly, reaching out and — grabbed the golden egg.
The Horntail shrieked and whipped its tail after him, narrowly missing.
Harry sped away, rising into the air like a phoenix through smoke and flame, the egg clutched under his arm.
The crowd went wild.
Aurora exhaled slowly.
"Brave," she muttered to herself, "...and stupid. But brave."
The way he'd flown. The way the dragon had nearly skewered him three times. It was raw, unrefined, and dangerous — but it worked. And it had earned him roaring applause.
The judges huddled again. Bagman, beaming, called out the scores. Sevens. Eights. A ten from Dumbledore.
Aurora didn't stay for the celebrations. She turned silently and disappeared into the shadows of the castle's stone walls.
Behind her, the crowd celebrated, the flags waved, and the champions smiled.
But she?
She didn't smile.
She was thinking.
About Harry.
About Lily's eyes.
That Evening, After Dinner
The mood in the Great Hall had shifted.
For the first time since her arrival at Hogwarts, Aurora felt something different in the air—something that wasn't suspicion, fear, or wary respect. It was... warmth. Curiosity. Even admiration.
As she walked between the tables, conversations hushed, but not out of fear this time. Eyes followed her, but they no longer carried the same haunted edge. Some students—even a few from Durmstrang and Hogwarts—nodded at her. One Ravenclaw girl shyly smiled and gestured toward an empty seat beside her. It wasn't a declaration of friendship, but it was something Aurora had never been offered before.
She gave a polite nod and a soft, "Thank you," before declining gently and moving on. It wasn't about being ungrateful—it was simply unfamiliar, and too soon. Still, for the first time in years, she didn't feel entirely... alone.
After dinner, she slipped out of the hall, the cool evening breeze greeting her as she stepped into the courtyard. The sky above was painted in streaks of violet and deep blue, stars beginning to emerge. She wandered along the stone path that led toward the gardens when a familiar voice reached her ears—laughter, light and carefree.
Turning a corner, she spotted Cedric Diggory and Viktor Krum standing together beneath the shade of a twisted ash tree, talking animatedly. Cedric was grinning, hands gesturing mid-air, while Viktor nodded, arms folded, a rare spark of excitement in his usually reserved expression.
Aurora approached quietly, the faintest smile gracing her lips.
"May I join you, gentlemen?" she asked, her voice soft and melodic.
Cedric looked up, his expression brightening. "Of course! We were just talking about something you might like, actually."
"Quidditch," Viktor added in his low, accented voice.
Aurora tilted her head with interest. "Quidditch?"
"Yes," Cedric said enthusiastically. "A competition—between Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A friendly match or two during the tournament. What do you think?"
Aurora's eyes gleamed, her smile growing. "That sounds... thrilling, actually."
"Thought you might say that," Cedric said, chuckling. "You've got that 'chaser' energy."
"I used to play back at home," she said vaguely, a distant memory flickering across her face. "But I had to stop… for reasons."
Viktor eyed her curiously. "You fly well?" he asked simply.
Aurora's smile turned mysterious. "Well enough to make dragons dizzy."
All three of them laughed.
Just then, the doors to the Great Hall creaked open behind them. Harry stepped out, hands shoved in his pockets, followed closely by Ron and Hermione. He paused when he saw them standing together.
"Harry!" Cedric called, waving him over. "Come here for a second."
Harry exchanged a look with Ron and Hermione before excusing himself and walking over.
"What's up?" he asked, glancing at Aurora, then Viktor.
"We were talking about organizing a Quidditch competition," Cedric said, patting Harry on the back. "And I was just telling them—this bloke right here is the best Seeker Hogwarts has."
Harry flushed a little. "I—I don't know about that." "You beat me last match,"
Cedric gave a small shrug. "Only because the dementors showed up. You were ahead until then."
"Dementors?" Viktor asked, frowning slightly.
"They're the guards of Azkaban," Harry explained. "Our wizarding prison."
"They feed on your worst memories," Aurora added quietly, her tone darker than before.
Viktor's eyes narrowed slightly. "They were at school?"
"A prisoner had escaped," Cedric answered. "Peter Pettigrew. A Death Eater."
Aurora's expression froze for a split second at the name, then she quickly masked it. "I see."
There was a beat of silence before Cedric clapped his hands together. "Anyway—Harry, we were thinking we should take this idea to Dumbledore. See if he's up for it. A few friendly matches would be a good break between the tasks."
Harry nodded. "Yeah, I think it's a great idea. Everyone's so tense all the time. It could really lift spirits."
"Plus," Aurora added, arching a brow, "it's not every day we get a chance to face Viktor Krum on the pitch."
Viktor smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You may regret that."
Aurora gave him a challenging smile. "I doubt it."
Cedric laughed. "This is going to be fun."
"Let's talk to Dumbledore tomorrow," Harry said, his tone more animated now. "Maybe during breakfast?"
"I'll bring it up with Madam Maxime too," Aurora offered. "If she agrees, I'm sure Beauxbatons will be eager."
Viktor gave a curt nod. "And I will speak to Professor Karkaroff."
They all looked at one another for a moment—three champions and a boy who shouldn't have been one at all. But somehow, standing there in the twilight, they felt less like rivals and more like students again. Teenagers with brooms and fire in their hearts.
Aurora glanced up at the stars, then back at them. "Maybe this tournament won't be so dreadful after all."
And for the first time in weeks, she meant it.
The Next Evening in the Great Hall
The clinking of goblets and soft hum of dinner conversation filled the Great Hall as usual, but there was an undercurrent of energy—an anticipation that seemed to build with every passing moment. Aurora noticed it immediately, the way students leaned in closer to whisper, how glances were exchanged between Durmstrang and Hogwarts tables, how even the usually reserved Beauxbatons students seemed more alert, more engaged.
Then came the soft, unmistakable sound of Dumbledore tapping his goblet with a spoon. The hall fell silent with surprising swiftness, every head turning toward the High Table.
Dumbledore stood slowly, his ever-sparkling eyes twinkling with quiet amusement behind his half-moon spectacles.
"My dear students," he began, "as part of the Triwizard Tournament, our schools have shared in friendship, competition, and, of course, challenge. But while the tasks are of great importance, I do believe the soul must be fed more than fear and rivalry."
A few chuckles rippled across the hall.
"And so, I am pleased to announce an additional event—a friendly Quidditch match, held between a united team of students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, versus our very own Hogwarts team."
For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then—
The hall exploded in chatter.
Excited voices rose from every table, a sudden frenzy of speculation, cheers, and gasps. Aurora felt her heart give a curious lurch. She glanced toward Cedric, who was grinning, and then to Viktor, who gave a small nod of approval.
Dumbledore raised a hand to calm the crowd. "Tryouts will be held by each school's respective head of delegation within the next few days. Those wishing to participate may put forth their names. The match will be held shortly before the Yule Ball."
At the mention of the ball, the excited chatter faltered into whispers and dreamy sighs. Aurora felt her stomach twist slightly.
The Yule Ball.
She had almost forgotten about it. Or rather, she had deliberately pushed the thought away. Dances, dresses, slow songs and stares—none of it appealed to her. But now it loomed on the horizon, unavoidable. She shoved the thought aside once more. That wasn't important. Not now.
Quidditch was.
The very word sparked something inside her. For the first time since she arrived, something close to joy stirred in her chest. Quidditch had always been the one thing that made her feel like she belonged—above the sky, wind in her hair, no names, no legacies, no dark whispers. Just her and the broom.
Back home, she had played in secret—always in secret. Her magic was always too dangerous, her presence too suspicious. No matter how skilled she was, no matter how much she loved it, someone always found a reason to pull her out of the lineup, to tell her she couldn't.
But here?
Here, no one knew who she was. No one knew to be afraid of her magic in that way. And more importantly—no one could stop her.
She glanced at Madame Maxime, who nodded approvingly toward the Beauxbatons students.
Aurora's decision was made.
Chaser, she thought, fire beginning to rise behind her eyes. I'll go for Chaser. And this time, I'll fly.
Her hands itched for the feel of broomstick wood under her fingers. She could almost taste the wind already. The way her magic hummed under her skin at the thought, it felt right—for once, completely right.
As the Great Hall buzzed with speculation about teams, strategies, and who might get to play alongside Viktor Krum, Aurora leaned back in her seat, eyes gleaming.
