Dragons—XXXXX-class highly dangerous magical creatures—came in numerous varieties, displaying distinct regional traits.
Yet they shared one universal trait.
All dragons were apex predators.
As predators, they required many attributes: sufficient strength and stamina, speed and agility surpassing their prey, and keen senses to detect targets.
Dragons possessed all these traits—their sense of smell surpassed even that of Snifflers.
The twins' idea exploited precisely this weakness to distract the dragon and complete the task.
Upon learning that the objective was to retrieve the golden egg under a dragon's interference, Harry had considered the plan's feasibility.
If he could ride his broomstick and stink the dragon away, he'd surely grab the egg and escape unscathed.
As for humiliation...
Well, he'd endured plenty already. Recently docked fifty points by Snape after brawling with Malfoy, he'd long grown accustomed to his classmates' scorn.
Harry prayed fervently for the spell's success—then he wouldn't need to resort to Command Seals.
At the judges' table, Karkaroff slammed the table in frustration.
Why hadn't he thought to suggest a flying broomstick to Krum, the world's greatest Seeker?!
Dumbledore's face broke into a smile, clearly pleased with Harry's quick thinking.
But upon hearing him summon a Dungbomb, that smile froze.
What was Harry planning?
A whooshing sound came from behind. Harry turned to see his Firebolt speeding towards him around the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Overjoyed, Harry waited until the broom stopped before immediately swinging a leg over it.
"Brilliant Summoning Charm!" Bagman shouted excitedly. "Our youngest champion Potter has come up with a marvellous idea – he's treating this task as a Quidditch match!"
"Did you see that, Mr Krum?"
"They say he's the most outstanding Seeker Gryffindor's had in years. Well, today the golden egg is the Golden Snitch! Go on, Potter!"
As a former Quidditch player himself, Bagman absolutely adored Harry's approach.
He secretly resolved to be generous when scoring later, determined to give high marks.
Krum, who was receiving treatment in the tent, emerged at Bagman's exclamation despite Madam Pomfrey's protests.
Seeing Harry darting about on his broomstick, Krum took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
...
Soaring through the sky, Harry's nervousness gradually eased as he picked up speed.
Sirius had been right – flying was what he did best. Up here, even the air felt liberating. The enormous dragon now seemed no bigger than a dog, utterly insignificant.
As for the Dungbomb... perhaps they'd fail. But Harry didn't care anymore.
With broom in hand, the world was his.
It was just a dragon. He'd treat it like a particularly stubborn Quidditch opponent. All he needed was to catch the 'Golden Snitch' and the match would be over.
Harry dove sharply. The Hungarian Horntail's head tracked his movement. A sudden sense of danger prickled his neck – Harry yanked the broom upwards just as flames licked past, hot wind buffeting his face.
He climbed higher but kept circling above the Horntail's head, occasionally dipping lower to maintain its attention.
Another jet of fire. Harry dodged, but he'd clearly forgotten that every part of a dragon was a weapon.
The powerful tail whipped towards him. He barely flattened himself against the broom in time to avoid a direct hit, but a long spike still grazed his shoulder.
The crowd gasped and cried out, though Harry felt fine – just a bit sore.
Still, it served as a stark reminder: dragons didn't play by Quidditch rules. This Horntail was more vicious than even the Slytherin team.
Harry zigzagged through the air, building speed. The Horntail refused to leave its eggs, merely stretching its neck further. A stalemate.
Then Harry heard another whooshing sound.
Not from him. Not the dragon taking flight. But... from the distance!
The audience had been watching Harry intently. When he suddenly stopped and looked back towards the castle, their gazes followed.
A large red package was flying towards the arena from the sky, trailed by dozens of small black dots.
Still too far to make out what they were.
Wayne, who'd been watching Harry's aerial display, suddenly paled.
"Bloody hell...!"
He hastily cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself to isolate himself from the outside air, landing between Hermione and Cho.
The package and black dots drew nearer, and Harry finally remembered what they were.
Your ordered Dungbombs have arrived.
But they weren't needed now. He had a feeling that with just a bit more provocation, the dragon would take flight after him.
Yet he'd never learned the Summoning Charm and couldn't control the incoming Dungbombs. Harry decided to ignore them for now and focus on the dragon.
Finally, the dragon reared up, its massive wings spreading as wide as a small aeroplane.
Just as Harry prepared to dive, the Dungbombs reached them. To Harry's astonishment, the dragon opened its maw and blasted the package with fire.
Then...
BOOM~!
A towering column of flame accompanied by billowing black smoke formed a miniature mushroom cloud—this wasn't the dragon's fiery breath.
The Dungbombs had exploded!
Anyone with basic knowledge knows methane—the primary component of swamp gas—must never contact open flames.
Dungbombs operate on a similar principle, using magic to contain these gases within leather spheres with sticking charms to prolong the stench.
Tragedy struck.
At the explosion's epicentre, the dragon emitted a bizarre sound somewhere between a wail and a retch.
Amid the thick smoke and shockwaves, the odour of hundreds of Dungbombs rapidly permeated the air.
People soon experienced the most unforgettable stench of their lives.
Hundreds of Dungbombs—of varying types—blended together and activated by intense heat defied singular description.
It was as if someone who had been constipated for seven days had consumed surströmming, blue cheese, and kiviak during that time, fermented these delicacies in their gut for a week, then released everything in one smooth evacuation.
Instantly, countless spectators began hallucinating.
"Merlin's beard, I... ugh~!"
"Great-grandma, great-grandma, have you come to take me?"
"Marina, I miss your cooking."
"When I die, I hope future generations invent a spell to block one's sense of smell."
The spectator stands were in complete chaos, and the judges' table closest to the competition bore the brunt of it.
Before passing out, Dumbledore cast an enormous Bubble-Head Charm that enveloped his entire body. Even so, his face had begun turning green, and he felt his beard had been tainted by the horrific stench.
Karkaroff's vision went black, and he nearly fainted.
Madame Maxime lay motionless, face down on the table, while Fontaine clutched Zaka and vomited violently, the contents splattering all over Zaka's white robes. But Zaka couldn't even muster a curse, as he soon followed Karkaroff's example and peacefully passed out.
Katerina managed a smile—she'd recently caught a cold, so while the smell was foul, it remained within her tolerance.
Yet soon even she couldn't maintain her composure. The air before her grew increasingly murky, stinging her eyes until she could barely keep them open.
"Wuu~!!"
The Hungarian Horntail let out a strange whimper before soaring through the thick smoke and flying off into the distance.
It had had enough. To hell with those damned eggs—it wasn't staying here to be suffocated!
Normally, the dragon keepers would have chased after it to regain control, but right now, everyone was struggling just to stay conscious. Who had the capacity to worry about a dragon?
"ROAR!"
"ROAR!"
A series of furious roars erupted from the dragon enclosure. The dragons that had just been led away and were supposed to be unconscious had now been violently roused by the overwhelming stench, descending into a frenzy.
Several dragons burst free from the enclosure, and as the situation teetered on the brink of chaos, Wayne—who had already taken protective measures for Hermione and the other girls—finally intervened.
He swiftly flew to the centre of the arena, raising both palms upward.
An invisible domain unfolded, enveloping all the dragons.
The earth trembled violently as the ground surged upward, forming massive 'earth dragons' composed of soil and rock that charged toward the airborne beasts.
Wayne clenched his fists, unleashing a surge of immense magical power that swirled into a whirlwind.
The dragons, desperately trying to flee the area, were instantly immobilised mid-air before being forced back down by the earth dragons.
All except Norberta—Wayne let her go, watching as she flew off toward the Black Lake.
Go wash up quickly, he thought. If she stayed this foul-smelling, he wouldn't dare keep her in the suitcase.
Wayne glanced toward the centre of the arena, where Harry was clutching the golden egg and retching violently. A flicker of envy crossed his eyes.
Nice move, Potter.
If he'd been the one to cause this kind of uproar, he'd have easily earned thousands of points and a reward package by now.
...
An hour later, order was finally restored in the arena.
The stench had been completely dispelled, but nearly every wizard still had paper plugs stuffed up their noses. Even so, they couldn't shake the lingering sensation of the foul odour.
At the judges' table, Professor Zaka had changed into a fresh set of white robes. The panel was now gathered, deliberating how to score Harry's performance.
"Zero points! It must be zero!"
Karkaroff shrieked, pinching his nose. "Look at the chaos he caused—the hospital wing must be overflowing by now!"
"I disagree," Crouch said gruffly. "Whatever consequences Potter caused, even if you'd been asphyxiated, it wouldn't change the fact that he retrieved the golden egg successfully and with remarkable speed – under ten minutes."
"The remaining time is irrelevant to his performance."
"Therefore, I'm awarding him eight points!"
"This is blatant favouritism!" Karkaroff nearly fainted from rage again.
What did he mean by 'asphyxiated'? Why couldn't it have been you, Crouch, who got asphyxiated!
"Six points," Dumbledore said gravely, casting a pained glance at his singed beard. "While Harry did succeed in obtaining the dragon egg, he failed to control the aftermath of his spellwork."
"This is dangerous behaviour for any wizard. I hope he learns from this."
"Five points, Dumbledore. Dungbombs must be added to the list of prohibited products, or Beauxbatons will withdraw from future tournaments," Madame Maxime said, massaging her temples. The stench had left her thoroughly disoriented, and she longed to conclude today's proceedings for a proper bath.
The other professors shared similar sentiments. Though nearly wiped out by the assault, they couldn't deny Potter's effectiveness.
Yet awarding high scores stuck in their throats, so they settled on five points each.
Only Bagman, holding his nose, gave seven.
The final tally left Harry with thirty-eight points – eight higher than Krum's score.
When the results appeared, the surviving Gryffindor students cheered wildly, their earlier near-fainting embarrassment forgotten in their excitement for Harry.
Other students and foreign guests offered polite but awkward applause, utterly perplexed by this bizarre victory.
One thing was certain: Harry Potter's name would be permanently etched in history.
In Rita Skeeter's subsequent publication, The Triwizard Tournament – Holy Grail War Special Edition, Harry would be described as "the most aromatic champion in history", truly striking fear through scent alone.
With the first task concluded, the champions were ranked by score:
The highest score was Sakura's 62 points, while Krum's was the lowest at 30.
The Holy Grail emitted another beam of light, replenishing Sakura's expended Command Seals – effectively granting her free participation this round.
Dumbledore announced future arrangements:
"The second task will occur one week before Christmas. Champions will learn their nature on the day."
"Your golden eggs contain clues about the third task, scheduled for February 24th next year – ample time to unravel their mysteries."
The champions examined their eggs curiously.
"Additionally, to showcase supporters' contributions and enrich extracurricular activities, we'll host a special event."
Dumbledore proclaimed cheerfully, "A Quidditch Inter-School Tournament! The winning school earns their champion twenty bonus points, second place ten, and third five."
"Thus, even non-participants can support their champion."
"And the Quidditch team lineups will be determined by each school's champion."
The cheers from the stands were louder than ever, with Quidditch enthusiasts stomping and screaming wildly.
No House Cup, but an inter-school tournament instead - wasn't that even more exciting?
The twins jumped onto the highest point, shouting at Harry and Cedric, "Pick me! Pick me!"
After delivering all the announcements, Dumbledore dismissed the assembly.
"Please exit in an orderly fashion, no crowding!" he called out. "And don't waste bathroom water when you return - seven or eight rinses should be plenty!"
Students filed down the stairs one by one as the judges hurried away. Dumbledore quickened his pace to intercept Professor McGonagall.
"Minerva," Dumbledore said gently. "I can't help but think Gryffindor's extracurricular activities have become somewhat... excessive? Students should focus more attention on their studies."
Harry didn't need to say anything - Dumbledore could guess where those Dungbombs had come from even if he'd stuffed his brain in a sock.
Hundreds of them... were they trying to pickle the school in the smell?
Professor McGonagall burned with shame, her anger eclipsing even her joy at Harry passing the trial.
"Albus, you needn't worry!"
She said through gritted teeth: "Other than the Great Hall and library, I guarantee you won't encounter those two Weasleys anywhere else!"