The Hungarian Horntail's mouth gaped wide, a truly intimidating sight.
Roars. Accompanied by its bellow, a wave of eager cheers rose from the stands around the arena.
Among them were voices cheering Harry on, and others urging him to hurry up and get moving.
Harry took a step forward. He didn't rush to grab the golden egg and complete the first task; instead, he studied the Hungarian Horntail.
It had to be said, this dragon was powerfully built—clearly far stronger than the two the previous champions, Viktor and Fleur, had faced.
With the dragon's back to the sun, the light draped over its body, outlining a breathtaking, heart-stopping silhouette.
"The Hungarian Horntail, known as the most dangerous of all dragon breeds, is covered in black scales and resembles a lizard in appearance."
Mr. Bagman gave the crowd on the judges' platform a brief introduction to the Hungarian Horntail: "As you can all see, it has yellow eyes, bronze horns, and a long tail studded with spikes of a similar bronze hue—the Horntail is one of the dragons capable of breathing fire the farthest, with measurements reaching up to fifty feet… I must say, our champion from Hogwarts here is in for some trouble."
As if to punctuate Mr. Bagman's words, the Hungarian Horntail planted one claw on the jagged rocks and let out a skyward roar.
"Harry's in danger," Seamus said gravely. "Even dark wizards wouldn't dare face a raging Hungarian Horntail alone…"
"I think you'd do better to trust Harry," Hermione said, closing the book on her lap and pushing her black-rimmed, non-prescription glasses up the bridge of her nose. "It's just a dragon. I don't believe Harry can't handle it."
Those glasses had been a gift from Veratia earlier; supposedly an alchemical item, they could block one targeted hex per day.
Something like a Lincoln foul ball.
Harry advanced slowly, and the Hungarian Horntail regarded him as a mortal enemy, fixing its gaze tightly on the small figure before it.
Though it didn't take the little human seriously, there was a clutch of dragon eggs beneath it now, so it couldn't afford carelessness.
The spectators held their breath. They couldn't understand why Harry was so leisurely, not even hurrying to seize the egg.
Did he really think he could fool the dragon's eyes and snatch the egg right under its nose?
When Harry had closed to within about thirty yards of the dragon, the Hungarian Horntail suddenly drew a deep breath.
"Depulso!"
Harry's spell struck second but landed first, hitting the Hungarian Horntail square on the chin.
The dragon's head snapped back from the impact, and the fire it had been gathering sprayed harmlessly into the sky.
"Brilliant!" Mr. Bagman shouted in praise. "The force of that spell was perfectly judged—knocking the dragon's head aside just before it could breathe fire, avoiding the dragon's breath entirely—a very clever choice."
The struck Hungarian Horntail roared again in fury. It spread its massive wings and lunged straight at Harry.
But in the instant its posture shifted, a enormous boulder crashed down onto its head with tremendous force.
Even for a beast the size of a Hungarian Horntail, a rock that massive smashing into its skull was no small matter.
Its charge faltered abruptly, and it let out a pained howl.
"Ouch, what kind of magic is this? I've never seen anything like it!" Mr. Bagman's voice was electric with excitement—after all, he'd bet on Harry to win. "Look at that, oh my Merlin, he's not doing what the first two champions did—he's choosing to take this dragon head-on!"
"You know, even adult wizards can scarcely manage to defeat a dragon in a one-on-one duel, but I think everyone can see now—this champion from Hogwarts, Harry Potter—he's about to make history, defeating a full-grown dragon as a fourth-year!"
With Mr. Bagman's commentary ringing out, the stands erupted in a fresh wave of enthusiastic cheers.
"Nice one, Harry!" Ron stood up, clapping wildly. "Smash it right in the arse with those rocks! Oh, this bloody dragon!"
"Harry! Keep it up!" Neville cheered from beside him.
Harry couldn't hear his friends' encouragement, but he could clearly hear the Hungarian Horntail's wails of pain.
He didn't pause just because the dragon was howling. He continued channeling the energy of ancient magic to hurl the scattered stones across the arena, raining them down on the Hungarian Horntail without mercy.
The Hungarian Horntail refused to be subdued so easily. Seizing a gap, it endured the pain, shot skyward, then dove straight at Harry.
What it didn't expect was a sudden loss of control over its own body.
A collective gasp rose from the crowd.
In the spectators' eyes, the dragon seemed yanked by its tail and slammed violently to the ground.
As Harry swung his wand left and right, the dragon was battered left and right, smashed repeatedly into the earth.
"Raaargh!"
Dragons were dragons, after all—their vitality far outstripped a human's.
If an ordinary person had been thrown like that even a few times, they'd be dead, but the Hungarian Horntail still struggled back to its feet.
It truly lived up to its reputation as the most ferocious of all dragon breeds; that sheer ferocity alone earned it the title.
Even with its body covered in wounds, blood pouring like a fountain, and white bones protruding from gashes, the dragon charged Harry again without fear of death.
"Goodness, this dragon's willpower is something else," Mr. Bagman's commentary chimed in timely. "You can see it's living up to its name, but honestly, this isn't a wise choice."
The audience was stunned; they had never witnessed such a brutal scene. A wizard utterly dominating a dragon in a confined arena head-on—how could that not set their blood racing?
Some of the more passionate fans had even stripped off their shirts, waving them wildly in their hands while shouting encouragement for Harry.
Faced with the Hungarian Horntail's stubborn counterattack, Harry didn't resort to any lethal magic. After all, he had no grudge against this dragon; there was no need to take its life.
Moreover, this was a dragon from the Romanian dragon sanctuary. Killing it just for a trial would break the rules and leave a bad impression on the watching crowd.
With that in mind, Harry raised his wand and aimed at the dragon.
"Stupefy!"
A red spell as thick as a bucket shot from the tip of Harry's wand like a cannonball, slamming directly into the Hungarian Horntail's face.
The poor dragon didn't even manage a single yelp before falling into a baby-like slumber.
Youth was a wonderful thing—out like a light.
Thinking this, Harry strolled casually to the nest amid the thunderous cheers that shook the arena, cradling the golden egg in both hands.
He raised the egg high above his head, greeted by a deafening roar of shouts, screams, applause, and acclaim.
The feeling was intoxicating; few could resist the thrill of winning the crowd's adoration under the spotlight.
"Look at that!" Bagman shouted excitedly. "Everyone, look! Our youngest champion has retrieved the golden egg in record time! And he did it by facing the dragon head-on, with pure skill, in an absolute domination to complete the first task… I have to say, this was truly spectacular. Thank you, Mr. Potter, for giving us such a thrilling match—let's hear it for him!"
Harry waved to the crowd, and the stands responded with a storm of applause.
"That was brilliant, Potter!"
As soon as he descended from the rocks, Professor McGonagall hurried over, beaming. "That was outstanding!"—high praise indeed coming from her.
Judging by her reaction, she couldn't have been more pleased with Harry's performance.
This was not only a triumph for Hogwarts but for Gryffindor!
Ever since Mr. Potter had enrolled, Gryffindor had been on a steady rise…
The old lady found Harry more and more agreeable the longer she looked at him.
"I think I'm doing fine right now," Harry replied with a smile. At that moment, Ron and Hermione came running up.
"That was amazing, Harry—you were incredible!" Hermione said, her voice trembling with excitement.
"You did great, Harry," Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder. Together they walked toward the edge of the arena. "You know, you're the best—no one comes close. That girl Fleur used some kind of spell; I think she was trying to hypnotize the dragon. It worked pretty well—the dragon got all drowsy, but then it started snoring and shot out this massive flame. Fleur's skirt caught fire—she conjured water from her wand to put it out. And Krum—you wouldn't believe it, he didn't even think to fly! But he was good, probably second only to you. He hit the dragon right in the eyes with a spell. Too bad the dragon thrashed around in pain and stomped on half the real eggs—the judges docked him a lot of points for destroying them."
Ron took a huge breath, and by then he and Harry had reached the edge of the arena.
The Horntail had been removed. Harry could see the five judges seated to the right, on raised golden chairs.
"Each judge scores out of ten," Ron said. Harry squinted toward the arena and saw the first judge—Madame Maxime—raise her wand into the air.
A long ribbon of silver shot from her wand, then split in midair to form a massive "10."
"Fair enough!" Ron said amid the crowd's applause. "But I bet she gave you ten because you didn't kill the dragon… Smart move, really."
Next was Mr. Crouch. He too shot a "10" into the air.
"Looking good!" Hermione said happily. "That's twenty already!"
Then Dumbledore, who also gave 10 points—Harry's performance had been flawless, after all.
The crowd's cheers grew even louder; those perfect scores were well earned.
Ludo Bagman—10 points.
"Forty points!" Ron shouted excitedly, as if he were the one scoring forty. "Forty, Harry! Krum and Delacour didn't get anywhere near that… You don't even need Karkaroff's score to beat them both!"
At that moment, Karkaroff raised his wand. He paused, then a number shot from his wand—"7."
A chorus of boos erupted from the stands. Anyone with eyes could see Karkaroff was blatantly favoring his own school's champion and couldn't stand to see another school succeed.
But there was nothing they could do; a judge that shameless left them powerless to stop it.
"What?" Ron roared indignantly. "Seven? You slimy, biased git—you gave Krum a ten! How is Harry any less than Krum? This is favoritism—pure, outright favoritism!"
It didn't matter how much he yelled; it wouldn't change Karkaroff's mind, and besides, Karkaroff couldn't even hear him.
Just then, Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum approached together.
Viktor's expression was dour—or rather, it always was, so it wasn't anything new.
Fleur's expression was more complex; the way she looked at Harry was as if she were staring at an unbeatable monster.
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