At that moment, Professor McGonagall hurried in from outside the Great Hall.
"Potter, the champions must now go down to the grounds… You must be ready to complete the first task."
Professor McGonagall looked extremely anxious; her glasses had even slipped down to the tip of her nose.
"Alright." Harry said as he stood up. He suddenly remembered he hadn't eaten his fill, so he leaned down to Cassandra and said, "Could you make me a sandwich? I didn't eat properly at lunch, you know—too many people coming to wish me luck."
"Mm."
Cassandra picked up some bread from the table and stuffed it with a few things—high-calorie items that were especially filling.
"Not bad." Harry didn't say thank you; he just took the bread and praised Cassandra.
Cassandra gave a soft hum.
"Good luck, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "You'll do it!"
"Thanks." Harry took a bite of the sandwich; it tasted pretty good.
"Three, two, one… Go!" The Gryffindors, led by Ron, shouted in unison.
Harry walked out of the Great Hall beside Professor McGonagall like a hero heading into battle, waving to the students in the hall as he went.
The Great Hall erupted in enthusiastic applause; they were clapping and cheering for Harry.
"Way to go, Harry!" "Keep your spirits up!" "Don't lose face!"
Professor McGonagall looked a bit flustered. She led Harry down the stone steps and outside into the cold November afternoon. She placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Now, don't be nervous," she said. "Keep a cool head… We have wizards stationed nearby; if things go wrong, they'll step in to control the situation… The most important thing is to give it your all. No one will think any less of you… Are you alright?"
Harry thought to himself, Please don't tell me not to be nervous—I'm not even a tenth as nervous as you are.
"I'm fine," Harry said, reassuring Professor McGonagall. "Really, I'm good."
Professor McGonagall led him around the edge of the Forbidden Forest toward where the dragons were.
As they approached the cluster of trees where the arena came into view, Harry saw a tent had been erected to block the dragons from sight. The tent's entrance faced them.
"You'll go in with the other champions," Professor McGonagall said, her voice trembling slightly. "Wait your turn, Potter. Bagman—he'll explain the steps… Mr. Crouch is in there too… Good luck."
"Thank you." Harry said politely with a small smile.
Professor McGonagall led him to the tent entrance. Harry stepped inside.
Fleur Delacour was sitting in the corner on a low wooden stool. She didn't look her usual composed self; her face was very pale, and she seemed unwell.
Viktor Krum looked even more sullen than usual. Harry guessed this was his way of showing inner tension.
When Harry entered, Fleur looked up and forced a weak smile at him; Harry smiled back.
"Harry! Splendid!" Bagman turned to look at him and said cheerfully, "Come in, come in, make yourself at home!"
Bagman stood among the pale-faced champions like a larger-than-life cartoon character.
He was wearing his old Hornets Quidditch robes again, looking far older than Dumbledore's bees.
"Right, everyone's here now!" Bagman said enthusiastically. "Once the crowd is assembled, I'll pass this bag around to each of you—" He held up a purple silk bag and shook it at them. "You'll pick out the small model of what you'll be facing! There are different—er—varieties. One more thing… Ah, yes… Your task is to retrieve the golden egg!"
Harry glanced around.
Viktor Krum nodded to show he understood Bagman, then began pacing the tent again, his face slightly green. Fleur Delacour showed no reaction; she probably thought if she opened her mouth, she'd vomit from nerves.
"Don't be nervous," Harry said to them. "Like Mr. Bagman just said, relax—like you're at home."
At Harry's words, Viktor and Fleur both looked up at him.
Wait, do you even know what the task is?!
Do you have any idea what we're about to face?!
"You can still withdraw," Fleur said, one hand pressed just below her collarbone, trying to steady her breathing. "What we're facing isn't something a fourth-year can handle. Withdrawing now would cost you some face, but at least you wouldn't lose a limb—or your life."
"Sorry, but I'm a Gryffindor," Harry replied.
Fleur tugged at the corner of her mouth and said nothing.
In no time, they heard hundreds of feet passing the tent, their owners excitedly talking and laughing…
Soon, Mr. Bagman untied the purple silk bag.
"Ladies first," he said, offering it to Fleur Delacour.
She reached in with a trembling hand and pulled out a tiny, lifelike dragon model—a Welsh Green, with the number 2 tied around its neck. Harry saw that Fleur showed no surprise, just a resigned expression, and he knew their guess was right: Madame Maxime had told Fleur what the challenge would be.
It made sense, after all—Madame Maxime had seen the dragons; there was no reason she wouldn't warn her school's champion to prepare.
Viktor confirmed the same. He drew the scarlet Chinese Fireball, number 1 around its neck.
He didn't blink; he just sat down heavily, staring at the ground, lost in thought.
"Your turn, Harry," Mr. Bagman said with a smile. "You've got a fifty-fifty chance—or rather… of the two left."
One's relatively simple, the other's extremely difficult. It's all down to luck now.
Harry raised an eyebrow, reached into the silk bag, and pulled out the Hungarian Horntail, number 3 on it.
As he looked down, the little dragon spread its wings, baring tiny fangs.
Wow, looks pretty fierce.
"There we go—you've all got yours!" Bagman said. "You've drawn the dragon you'll face, and the number is your order. Got it? I'll leave you for a bit—I've got to commentate for the crowd. Mr. Krum, you're first. When you hear the whistle, head into the arena. Alright… Harry… can I have a quick word? Outside?"
"Sure," Harry said. He stood and followed Bagman out of the tent.
Bagman led him a little way off into the trees, then turned to him with a fatherly expression.
"How are you feeling, Harry? Anything I can help with?"
"What?" Harry said. "Oh, thanks, but sorry—I don't need anything."
"Got a plan, then? Of course—you're close with the Weasleys; you probably knew what the task was ages ago…" Bagman lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I don't know your strategy, but if you want, I could give you a few tips— I mean," Bagman dropped his voice even lower, "you're at a disadvantage here, Harry… If I can help…"
"You bet on me to win, didn't you?" Harry said with a half-smile.
"Haha." Bagman laughed, clapping Harry on the arm. "Yes—at the Quidditch World Cup, I followed your girlfriend—er, Miss Grindelwald, Director of the International Magical Cooperation Department of the Greater German Ministry of Magic—and placed a bet… She wrote to me a couple days ago, asking me to put a thousand Galleons on you. I figured I might as well…"
"Don't worry," Harry said cheerfully. "Professor Dumbledore secretly taught me some ways to handle dragons. The Hungarian Horntail shouldn't be a problem—"
"If Professor Dumbledore's already taught you, I'm relieved," Bagman said happily. "Then I—"
The whistle suddenly blew. Bagman took off running, calling over his shoulder, "Oh, Merlin's bitter tea—I've got to dash. Good luck, Mr. Potter—"
Harry headed back to the tent and saw Viktor emerging.
"Good luck," Harry said with a smile.
Viktor nodded solemnly at Harry. As they passed, Viktor murmured, "Thanks."
His voice was heavy, with a thick Eastern European accent.
Back in the tent, Harry saw Fleur crouched on the ground, emo-ing.
Her silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, even touching the floor.
"I still suggest you relax—at least mentally," Harry said to her. "We have to face the dragons anyway. Emo-ing now won't change anything. Might as well smile and meet it head-on…"
Fleur looked up at Harry but said nothing.
Not everyone has Harry's big heart. Fleur's just a delicate, beautiful girl—she's never fought a dragon—
Well, that wasn't quite accurate. The task wasn't to fight or defeat the dragon; it was to get the golden egg from under its nose.
At that moment, Bagman's loud shouts pierced the tent and reached their ears.
"Great!" "Beautiful! Conjunctivitis Curse!" Bagman shouted at the top of his lungs. "Tremendous courage—ah—yes, he's got the golden egg!"
Thunderous applause shattered the winter air like breaking glass.
"Looks like he did it," Harry said to Fleur. "You're up next."
Fleur looked up again, giving Harry a very unhappy glance.
Shut up, Harry.
Harry spread his hands.
I'm just trying to help—you're too nervous.
When the whistle blew again, Bagman bellowed, "Miss Delacour, you're on!"
Fleur stood, her legs apparently numb from crouching; she wobbled as she rose, trembling from head to toe.
Her wand was shaking so hard it was almost leaving afterimages.
She was capital-T nervous.
"Oh, I'm not sure that was wise!" they heard Bagman shout excitedly. "Oh… so close! Careful… My goodness, I thought she had it!"
Ten minutes later, Harry heard the crowd erupt in cheers again… Fleur had succeeded.
Then a moment of silence as the judges scored her… more thunderous applause… then the whistle blew a third time.
Harry knew—this whistle meant his turn.
The tent was empty now. He pulled his wand from his robes and strolled leisurely outside.
Nothing to be nervous about—he'd faced dragons before, more than once.
He passed through the tent entrance, walked past the woods, through a gap in the fence, and into the arena.
It resembled a Quidditch pitch but was clearly much larger.
The entire school sat in the stands, along with Ministry officials, reporters from various papers, and countless wizards who had come from around the world to watch at Hogwarts.
Conservatively, at least thirty or forty thousand spectators.
The Triwizard Tournament was indeed a major event. Harry thought if not for the sudden news of the German-Austrian merger, even more might have come.
He looked up again. At the far end of the arena loomed the Hungarian Horntail.
It crouched low, guarding its clutch of eggs, wings half-folded, yellow eyes glaring viciously at Harry.
It was an enormous, scaly, lizard-like creature. It lashed its spike-covered tail, gouging meter-long furrows in the hard ground.
The stands roared with noise; Harry took it as cheers for him.
He looked around the crowd.
In the Slytherin section, he spotted Cassandra.
She was clapping for Harry, looking nothing like her usual aloof self.
In Hufflepuff, Poppy was even standing on her bench, cheering for Harry.
Harry searched again but couldn't find the other figure he wanted to see.
Just as he felt a twinge of disappointment, he suddenly noticed a graceful figure in the VIP box clapping for him.
It was Veratia—Harry recognized her instantly.
The disappointment he'd felt thinking Veratia couldn't make it vanished; he was suddenly full of energy.
He looked again at the Hungarian Horntail, which stared at him as if ready to swallow him whole.
"Ready?" Bagman's voice boomed, loud enough to cut through the crowd's noise.
Harry raised one arm to signal he was ready.
"Good." Bagman shouted over the din: "Our final champion—and the youngest—Mr. Potter! We know he's only fourteen, a fourth-year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Gryffindor House…"
"Of course, age is no barrier. We all know him—the infamous Dark wizard You-Know-Who was defeated by him…"
At that, the stands erupted in enthusiastic cheers.
The Boy Who Lived—who doesn't know him?
Defeating the world-famous Dark wizard Voldemort as a mere baby—fully documented.
"Of course, that's history. His school record is excellent too, which is why Headmaster Dumbledore made an exception to let him compete under seventeen… So let's cheer again for our youngest champion!"
The stands roared once more—cheers mixed with a few boos. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons supporters, unhappy with Bagman's bias, were protesting. Geneva convention! Refund!
"Enough chatter," Bagman said, aware he'd gone overboard. He announced loudly, "Let the task—begin!"
As Bagman's words fell, the Hungarian Horntail let out a deafening roar.
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