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"Dragons."
Cedric's back hit the stone balustrade of the Viaduct Courtyard. He'd been leaning against it casually when Harry found him, enjoying the crisp morning air before classes. Now he looked like someone had just told him his remaining lifespan could be measured in days.
Which, Harry supposed, wasn't entirely inaccurate.
"I'm sorry," Cedric said slowly, "I must have misheard you. For a moment there, it sounded like you said—"
"Dragons," Harry repeated. "Four of them. One for each of us."
The courtyard was empty except for the two of them. Most students were still at breakfast, which was precisely why Harry had sought Cedric out here. Some conversations weren't meant for the Great Hall.
"You're joking."
"I wish I was."
"This is some kind of prank. You and the Weasley twins cooked this up to—"
"Cedric." Harry met his eyes steadily. "Dragons."
Cedric's face went through several transformations. Disbelief gave way to hope that Harry was lying, which surrendered to dawning horror, which finally settled into something that looked remarkably close to nausea. He turned away from Harry, gripping the balustrade and staring out at the Scottish highlands without really seeing them.
"Are you... are you absolutely certain? Maybe it was a nightmare. Maybe you ate something strange before bed and—"
"Most likely a nightmare," Harry agreed dryly. "Except for the part where I was wide awake, standing in the Forbidden Forest, watching four fully grown dragons try to murder their handlers."
Cedric's knuckles went white against the stone. The wind picked up, rustling through the courtyard and carrying the distant sounds of the castle waking up around them.
"How are we supposed to kill a dragon?" His voice had gone slightly high-pitched. "They're resistant to most magic, their scales can deflect stunning spells, they breathe fire, Harry—"
"We're not supposed to kill them."
"—and their claws can tear through stone like— wait, what?"
"We're not supposed to kill them," Harry repeated. "The task is to collect something. A golden egg. Each dragon is guarding one."
Cedric turned back to face him. "Collect. From a dragon."
"From a nesting mother dragon, specifically. They're all female."
"Oh, wonderful. Maternal instincts. That's so much better." Cedric ran both hands through his hair, destroying whatever careful arrangement he'd achieved that morning. "How did you even find this out? Did Dumbledore tell you? Did someone—"
"Luna."
"Luna told you about dragons?"
"Luna told me Hagrid wanted me to be a third wheel for his date so he could have more courage knowing I was there 'supporting' him."
Cedric's expression shifted from panic to utter confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Harry couldn't help it. Despite the exhaustion, despite the fear that had been coiling in his stomach since last night, he laughed. The sound came out slightly manic, but it felt good. It echoed off the courtyard's stone walls and faded into the morning air.
"Hagrid," he said, "went on a date last night."
"Hagrid."
"With Madame Maxime."
"Hagrid and Madame Maxime."
"And during this date, he decided to show her the First Task. Because apparently nothing says romance quite like fire-breathing reptiles." Harry shook his head. "Luna found me yesterday afternoon and said, completely seriously, that Hagrid wanted me to witness something magical. She said the Nargles were very excited about it. I assumed she meant some creature Hagrid had found in the forest. Instead, I got four dragons and absolutely no sleep."
Cedric let out a low whistle. "Hagrid. I didn't expect him to be... you know. With the ladies."
"That is one big lady."
"Fair point." Cedric's brief moment of amusement faded quickly, replaced by the returning anxiety. He pushed off from the balustrade and began pacing the length of the courtyard. "So you saw them. The actual dragons."
"Hungarian Horntail, Swedish Short-Snout, Common Welsh Green, and Chinese Fireball. The Horntail is the worst. Spikes on its tail, nastiest temper of the lot." Harry rubbed his eyes. "I watched one of the handlers almost get his arm burned off. They had twelve wizards on each dragon just to keep them contained."
"Twelve wizards," Cedric repeated faintly.
"Per dragon."
"And we're supposed to face them alone."
"With nothing but our wands and whatever plan we can come up with in the next..." Harry checked his watch. "Six days."
Cedric stopped pacing. He stood in the center of the courtyard, shoulders tense, staring at the flagstones beneath his feet. When he spoke again, his voice was steadier. The initial panic had given way to something more focused.
"Who else have you told?"
"Just you."
"What about—"
"Maxime was there with Hagrid," Harry interrupted. "So Fleur most likely knows. And when I was leaving the forest last night, I saw Karkaroff skulking back toward the Durmstrang ship. He'd clearly been watching from somewhere in the trees."
"So Krum knows too."
"Almost certainly."
Cedric nodded slowly. "So it's fair, then. All four of us know what the First Task is."
"As fair as it's going to get."
Something bitter crossed Cedric's face. "School friendship and fairness. Total bullshit, the lot of it. Everyone talks about international cooperation and building bonds between schools, and meanwhile, every headmaster is scrambling to give their champion an advantage."
"It was always bullshit, Ced."
Cedric almost smiled at that. Almost. "So what's your plan? For the dragon?"
Harry had been thinking about this all night. Turning possibilities over in his head while the rest of Ravenclaw Tower slept.
"My best idea is to use Accio to summon my broom. Fly in fast, grab the egg, get out before the dragon can react."
"That's... actually not bad. You're a good flier."
"Better than good," Harry corrected with a smirk of satisfaction. "And faster on a broom than I'd be on foot. A dragon is big and powerful, but if I can stay above it, keep moving—"
"What about the fire?"
"That's the part I'm still working on."
Cedric chewed his lip thoughtfully. "What was your other idea?"
"Transfigure the egg. Give it legs. Make it walk to me. Since it's not an actual egg with a living thing inside it, it won't be as difficult to give it commands."
"That's brilliant."
"It's also very difficult." Harry shook his head. "The egg is made of gold. Gold is one of the hardest materials to work magic on. It's got natural magical resistance. Same with silver, platinum, diamond. Try to transfigure gold and half your magical energy goes into fighting the metal itself."
Cedric nodded grimly. "Fifth-year Transfiguration. McGonagall spent an entire week drilling that into us. 'Noble metals resist noble intentions,' she kept saying."
"Exactly. And under pressure, with a dragon breathing fire at me, I don't fancy my chances of pulling off advanced metalwork transfiguration." Harry leaned against one of the courtyard's pillars. "So flying's the plan. Unless you've got a better idea."
"Conjuring a distraction, maybe? Something to draw the dragon's attention while I grab the egg?"
"Could work. What would distract a dragon?"
"Food?"
"You'd need a lot of it. And dragons are territorial during nesting. Might not leave the eggs even for a meal."
"Another dragon?"
"If you can conjure one of those, you don't need my help."
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment. Around them, the courtyard remained peaceful. The wind had died down, and somewhere in the distance, a bird was singing.
"Speaking of help," Cedric said eventually. "Some of the Hufflepuffs are coming around. About you, I mean. Starting to think maybe you didn't enter yourself after all."
Harry snorted.
"I'm serious. After the Duelling Race, after they saw how you fight... people are reconsidering."
"Good for them."
Cedric frowned at his tone. "Harry, this is a good thing. The more people who believe you—"
"The more people who decide to believe me after I prove myself?" Harry's voice had gone flat. "No thanks."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean exactly what I said." Harry pushed off from the pillar. "Since the first round, Ravenclaws have been trying to be buddy-buddy with me again. Acting like nothing happened. Like they didn't spend three weeks treating me like a pariah, refusing to sit near me at meals, whispering behind my back."
"They were wrong. They're admitting they were wrong."
"They're admitting nothing, they are not even apologising, the worst thing for a Ravenclaw is to admit they were wrong about something, so they are trying to act like it never happened." Harry's jaw tightened. "I told them. I looked them in the eye and said I didn't put my name in that Goblet. And they refused to believe me. Refused to use their bloody brains for even five seconds."
"Harry—"
"For Ravenclaws," Harry continued, the bitterness sharp in his voice, "they have a very big ego sometimes. And no brain at all. They're supposed to value wit and wisdom, but when it came down to it, they followed the crowd like sheep. Same as everyone else."
Cedric looked like he didn't agree with Harry, and Harry was sure that was his Hufflepuff side thinking.
"So you're not going to forgive them."
"I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen." Harry moved toward the balustrade, looking out over the grounds. "There's a difference between forgiving someone and letting them walk all over you. I'll be civil. I'll work with them when I have to. But I remember who stood by me and who didn't."
"Luna," Cedric said quietly. "Me. Susan. The Weasley twins."
"And Sirius. And the Tonks family." Harry managed a small smile. "That's enough. That's more than enough, really."
Cedric nodded slowly. "Fair enough. I can't argue with that."
"Good. Because we've got bigger problems than hurt feelings." Harry straightened, stretching muscles that had been tense since last night. "Six days, Cedric. Six days to figure out how to outsmart a creature that's been killing wizards for thousands of years."
"When you put it like that, it sounds almost impossible."
"Almost," Harry agreed. "But not quite."
Cedric clapped him on the shoulder. "I should go. Sprout wants to see me before Herbology, and I'd rather not explain why I look like I've seen a ghost." He paused. "Or a dragon, I suppose."
"Good luck."
"You too, Harry. And... thanks. For telling me."
"Fair's fair."
Cedric headed for the courtyard exit, his footsteps echoing off the stone until they faded into silence. Harry remained at the balustrade, not quite ready to face the castle and whatever the day would bring.
His gaze drifted down toward the Black Lake. The water was dark and still in the morning light, its surface broken only by the occasional ripple from something moving beneath. Harry had spent countless hours staring at that lake over the past three years, but he'd never seen what he saw now.
Two swans.
They floated near the shore, their white feathers stark against the dark water. Harry frowned. In all his time at Hogwarts, he'd never noticed swans on the Black Lake. The Giant Squid, yes. The occasional Grindylow breaking the surface. But swans?
He watched them, momentarily distracted from dragons and tournaments and fair-weather friends.
The swans weren't swimming peacefully. They were circling each other, necks arched in what looked almost like confrontation. One would drift closer; the other would pull away. They'd circle again, beaks nearly touching, then separate. It was strange. Swans were supposed to be graceful, harmonious. These two looked like they were having an argument.
Then, without warning, one of them spread its wings and took flight.
It rose higher and higher, a white shape against the gray Scottish sky, until it was nothing more than a speck in the distance.
The remaining swan didn't follow.
It stayed on the water, floating motionless where its companion had been moments before. Its head drooped, neck curving down toward its own reflection. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have said it looked heartbroken.
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The Room of Requirement had outdone itself.
The ceiling stretched impossibly high, disappearing into shadows that flickered with conjured firelight. The floor was rough stone, scattered with boulders and outcroppings that provided natural cover. Scorch marks decorated the walls at irregular intervals, and the air carried a faint sulfurous smell that Harry suspected the room had added for atmosphere.
In the center of it all stood the dragon.
Harry stared at it.
The dragon stared back.
"Tonks," Harry said carefully, "I don't want to hurt your feelings, but that is the saddest dragon I have ever seen."
The creature before him was roughly the size of a small car. Its scales were an uneven purple-green, with patches missing entirely to reveal pink skin beneath. The wings sprouted from its back at slightly different angles, one noticeably larger than the other, and neither looked capable of lifting a chicken off the ground, let alone a dragon. Its tail dragged behind it like an afterthought, and when it opened its mouth to roar, the sound that emerged was closer to a cat being stepped on.
"Oi!" The dragon's voice was distinctly Tonks. "I'd like to see you try to become something you've never actually seen up close. Do you have any idea how hard this is?"
"I'm sure it's very difficult."
"Extremely difficult!" The dragon attempted to rear up on its hind legs. One of them buckled, and the creature stumbled sideways into a boulder. "Metamorphing into other people is one thing. Humans are humans. But dragons have completely different bone structure, different muscle groups, different everything. The fact that I've got four legs and wings at all is a bloody miracle."
"The wings are very impressive," Harry offered diplomatically.
"Don't patronize me, Potter."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
The dragon-Tonks settled back onto all fours, smoke trickling from its nostrils. At least, Harry assumed it was meant to be smoke. It looked more like steam from a kettle that had been left on too long.
"Right, then." Tonks's voice emerging from the dragon's mouth was deeply surreal. "Your golden egg is behind me. That rock there, see it? The shiny one."
Harry looked past the misshapen dragon to where a fist-sized rock sat on a small pedestal. Someone, probably the Room, had charmed it to gleam gold in the firelight.
"Your job," Tonks continued, "is to get past me and grab it. I'll try to stop you. Simple enough?"
"Simple enough," Harry agreed, drawing his wand.
"Oh, and Harry?"
"Yes?"
The dragon's mouth opened wide. A gout of flame erupted forth, orange and hot and very, very real.
Harry dove behind the nearest boulder as fire washed over the spot where he'd been standing.
"I can do that part just fine!" Tonks called cheerfully.
---
The first attempt ended with Harry's robes on fire.
"Aguamenti!" he shouted, dousing himself while the dragon-Tonks wheezed with laughter.
"Your face! Oh, Merlin, your face!"
"This is supposed to be training!"
"It is training! The lesson is: don't get set on fire!" Another burst of flame punctuated the point. "Dragon fire is hotter than normal fire, by the way. The real thing would have cooked you already."
Harry extinguished the last of the flames on his sleeve. "Good to know."
"Try again?"
He tried again.
---
Attempt two involved the Accio strategy. Harry positioned himself behind cover, took a deep breath, and shouted: "Accio Firebolt!"
Nothing happened.
"Your broom isn't in the room," Tonks pointed out, her dragon form tilting its head. "The Room of Requirement can't summon things from outside itself."
"I know that. I was practicing the timing."
"The timing of summoning a broom that isn't here?"
"The timing of moving while summoning." Harry emerged from cover, wand extended, miming the motions he'd need. "If I call the broom from outside the arena, I'll need to stay alive until it arrives. That means dodging, shielding, finding cover—"
A stream of fire cut off his explanation. Harry rolled left, came up behind another boulder, and kept talking.
"—and not getting distracted by minor inconveniences like dragon breath."
"Minor inconveniences," Tonks repeated flatly. "Minor. Inconveniences."
"I'm trying to stay positive."
"You're trying to get yourself killed."
Harry didn't argue. Instead, he burst from cover in a dead sprint, zigzagging between obstacles as Tonks tried to track him with her flames. The fire splashed against stone, leaving scorched patches in his wake. He made it halfway to the golden rock before Tonks swung her tail—such as it was—and knocked his legs out from under him.
He hit the ground hard enough to see stars.
"Dead," Tonks announced.
"Noted."
---
Attempt three involved a conjured distraction. Harry created a duplicate of himself using a minor illusion charm, sent it running left while he went right.
Tonks ignored the illusion entirely and set him on fire again.
"Dragons hunt by heat and smell," she explained while Harry put himself out. "An illusion doesn't have either. Dead."
"Very dead."
"Extremely dead."
---
Attempt four. Harry tried a shield charm. The fire went around it.
"Dragons don't breathe fire in a straight line," Tonks said. "It spreads. Dead."
---
Attempt five. Conjured a wall of stone between himself and the dragon.
Tonks just walked around it.
"Dragons have legs. Dead."
---
Attempt six. Tried to blind Tonks with a Lumos Maxima directly in her eyes.
"My eyes are designed to look at flames," Tonks reminded him. "Bright light doesn't bother them. Dead."
---
Attempt seven. Transfigured a boulder into a sheep and sent it running the opposite direction.
Tonks watched it go with evident confusion, then turned back to Harry. "What was that supposed to do?"
"I don't know anymore. I've stopped thinking clearly."
"That's called panic. Dragons cause that."
---
Attempt eight. Harry tried pure speed—sprinting directly at the dragon while casting shield charms in rapid succession.
He actually made it past Tonks this time. Got within arm's reach of the golden rock. His fingers brushed its surface.
Then the dragon's tail (misshapen though it was) swept his legs out again, and he landed face-first on the stone floor.
"Dead. But closer!"
Harry groaned into the ground.
---
Attempt nine. Harry combined everything. Distraction first: conjured several animals and sent them scattering in different directions. While Tonks tracked the movement, he cast a smoke charm to obscure the air between them. Then he ran, shield charm active, weaving between cover, using the chaos to close the distance.
This time, when the tail came for him, he was ready. He jumped over it, tucked into a roll, came up running, and snatched the golden rock from its pedestal.
"Got it!"
He held it up triumphantly.
Tonks's dragon form let out a rumble that might have been approval. "Took you long enough."
"Nine attempts. Not bad for training against a dragon."
"A small, deformed, easily-distracted dragon with wings that wouldn't lift a particularly ambitious pigeon." Tonks shifted, her form rippling and shrinking until a pink-haired witch stood where the dragon had been. She stretched, cracking her neck. "God, that's uncomfortable. Holding a shape that different for that long makes everything ache."
"You didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did." Tonks cut him off firmly. "Because the real dragon? The one you're facing in two days? It won't be car-sized. It'll be bigger than this entire room. It won't have missing patches of skin. It'll have scales that can deflect hexes. It won't breathe sad little flames that are really just me concentrating really hard. It'll breathe actual dragon fire that can melt stone."
Harry's triumph faded somewhat.
"And," Tonks continued, "it won't be protecting a shiny rock. It'll be protecting its eggs. Its babies. Do you understand what that means?"
"Maternal instincts."
Tonks sat down on a boulder, and Harry joined her. "A dragon protecting a nest won't think. Won't calculate. Won't hesitate. It'll see you as a threat to its children, and it will do everything in its power to kill you. No quarter. No mercy."
The Room of Requirement seemed quieter now. The conjured firelight had dimmed to something more intimate.
"I know," Harry said quietly. "I know it's going to be worse than this. I just needed to practice something. Anything. Sitting in my room reading about dragons was driving me mad."
Tonks nodded slowly. "Fair enough. Practice is good. But don't get overconfident just because you managed to steal a rock from me."
"Overconfident is not how I would describe my current mental state."
"Good." She was quiet for a moment, chewing her lip in thought. "Listen, I've been thinking. About your approach."
"And?"
"Flying is smart. Using your speed advantage is smart. But you need a backup plan. Something for when things go wrong."
"When, not if?"
"Harry, it's a dragon. Things will go wrong." Tonks leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "You know what would make this whole thing easy? If you could just make the bloody thing shut its mouth."
Harry let out a humorless laugh. "Sure. I'll just walk up and politely ask it to stop breathing fire."
"I'm serious. Think about it. No mouth, no fire. No mouth, no biting. Half the dragon's arsenal gone in one move."
"Except dragons have scales," Harry pointed out. "Very good scales. Magic-resistant scales. I've read about it. Most spells just bounce right off."
Tonks's eyes gleamed. "On the outside, yeah. But what about the inside?"
Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"
"The scales protect the outside of the dragon. But the inside? The mouth, the throat, the soft bits?" Tonks shook her head. "No scales in there. Just flesh and muscle and all the squishy parts that magic works on just fine."
Harry stared at her. "How do you know that?"
Tonks's hair flickered from blue to a rather telling shade of pink, and she suddenly found the far wall extremely interesting.
"Charlie wouldn't shut up about them," she said, the words coming out in a rush. "Even during a date. Dragons this, dragons that, did you know the Romanian Longhorn has a weakness in its—anyway. The point is, I learned more about dragon anatomy than I ever wanted to know."
A grin spread across Harry's face. "Charlie. As in Charlie Weasley from my first year?"
"Don't."
"Charlie Weasley, who works with dragons in Romania?"
"Harry, I'm warning you—"
"Charlie Weasley, who is currently here? Well, in the Forbidden Forest, but—"
"That bridge," Tonks cut him off firmly, "was burned a long time ago. Thoroughly. With dragon fire, appropriately enough." Her hair had gone from pink to a mortified red. "Can we please focus on keeping you alive?"
Harry held up his hands in surrender, still grinning. "Fine, fine. But I'm remembering this for later."
"You're the worst."
"You love me."
"Debatable." But she was fighting a smile now, the embarrassment fading. "So. The inside of the dragon's mouth. No scales. Vulnerable to magic. What does that suggest to you?"
Harry's grin faded as his mind shifted back to the problem at hand. The inside of the mouth. Vulnerable to magic. If he could hit it with something...
"Transfiguration," he said slowly. "Combat transfiguration."
"Keep going."
"If I can hit the inside of the mouth with a spell..." Harry stood up, pacing as the idea took shape. "The mouth is just flesh, right? Skin and muscle. What if I transfigured it? Made patches of skin grow over the opening?"
Tonks was nodding, her hair shifting to an encouraging yellow. "And if the mouth is sealed shut?"
"No fire." Harry's voice was picking up speed. "The dragon couldn't breathe fire because there's nowhere for it to come out. And no biting either—the teeth would be covered."
"It wouldn't last long," Tonks cautioned. "The dragon would tear through it eventually. But for a few crucial seconds—"
"A few seconds is all I need." Harry spun to face her. "I summon my broom, get airborne, use my speed to stay ahead of the fire. If the dragon gets too close, I hit its mouth with the transfiguration. Seal it shut. That gives me a window to grab the egg and get out before the spell breaks."
"Now you're thinking."
Harry's mind was racing. The transfiguration would need to be fast—instantaneous, really. He'd need to hit the dragon's mouth with pinpoint accuracy while dodging its attacks. The margin for error was essentially zero.
But it was possible. It was possible.
"Tonks," he said slowly, "you're a genius."
Color flooded her cheeks again, though this time it seemed less about Charlie Weasley and more about genuine pleasure. "Well, I don't like to brag, but—"
"I'm serious. This is brilliant. This could actually work."
"It's not perfect," she cautioned. "You'll still need to get close enough to cast the spell. And you'll need to aim for the mouth specifically, which means the dragon will probably be trying to eat you at the time."
"Minor details."
"Minor details that could get you killed."
"But less likely to get me killed than anything else I've come up with." Harry sat back down beside her. "Thank you. Really. I don't say it enough, but you're absolutely the best."
The blush deepened to crimson. Tonks ducked her head, a ridiculous grin spreading across her face.
"Don't stop," she said. "I love hearing how awesome I am."
"The most awesome. The pinnacle of awesome. If awesome were a mountain, you'd be the—"
"Okay, now you're overdoing it."
"Fair enough."
They sat in the Room of Requirement as the conjured firelight flickered around them. Two days until the First Task. Two days until Harry would face a real dragon, not a car-sized imitation held together by Metamorphmagus determination.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.
Tonks nodded. "Same time tomorrow. And Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Try not to get set on fire this time. My reflexes aren't fast enough to save you every single attempt."
"I make no promises."
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The eggs were mocking him.
Harry stared at his breakfast plate, where two perfectly fried eggs stared back with their golden yolk centers. Someone in the kitchens had arranged them next to a curved strip of bacon in a way that made the whole thing look like a smiling face.
He was about to face a dragon, and his breakfast was smiling at him.
"You should eat something," Luna said from across the table. She was working her way through a bowl of porridge with the serene concentration. "The Wrackspurts are very thick around your head this morning. Food helps dispel them."
"I'm not hungry."
"Your stomach disagrees. I can hear it from here."
She wasn't wrong. Harry's stomach had been making increasingly urgent protests since he'd sat down, though whether it wanted food or wanted to evacuate everything he'd eaten in the past week remained unclear.
He picked up his fork and prodded one of the eggs. The yolk burst, spreading yellow across the plate. Now it looked like a crying face.
Perfect.
Around him, the Great Hall was louder than usual. Students kept glancing toward the champion's seats. Conversations would pause when Harry looked up, then resume with excitement. A group of third-year Gryffindors had started a betting pool on which champion would be injured first. Harry had overheard them giving him three-to-one odds on "moderate burns."
"The toast is good," Luna offered. "It's very difficult for toast to betray you."
Harry reached for a slice. It was cold. He bit into it anyway, chewing mechanically while the smiling-crying egg continued its emotional journey across his plate.
"I had a dream about dragons last night," Luna continued conversationally. "They were playing chess. The Hungarian Horntail was quite good at it, but the Chinese Fireball kept setting the board on fire whenever it lost a piece."
"That sounds about right."
"The Swedish Short-Snout was the referee. It was very fair-minded."
Harry smiled a little. "And the Welsh Green?"
"Sleeping in the corner. Welsh Greens are notoriously lazy in dreams. Everyone knows that."
He didn't know that. He was fairly certain no one knew that, because Luna had almost certainly just made it up. But that was Luna. She could make absolute nonsense sound like established fact, and somehow it always made him feel better.
The toast was helping, marginally. Harry forced down another bite, then reached for his pumpkin juice. His hand was steady. That was something, at least. He'd half-expected to be shaking like a leaf by now.
"Mr. Potter."
Professor Flitwick had appeared at the Ravenclaw table. The tiny Charms professor looked up at Harry with an expression that mixed professional encouragement with genuine concern.
"It's time."
Harry's stomach immediately tried to reject the toast.
"Good luck, Harry." Luna's voice was calm. "The Nargles say you'll do wonderfully. They're rarely wrong about these things."
Harry stood, leaving his plate with its traumatized egg face and half-eaten toast. "Thanks, Luna."
"I'll be watching from the stands. I made a sign." She reached under the table and produced a placard that read "HARRY POTTER IS NOT A CHEAT. HE IS A TRUE CHAMPION AND MY FRIEND" in large purple letters. Smaller text below added: "Also, dragons are just misunderstood."
"That's... very supportive."
"I thought so."
Harry followed Professor Flitwick away from the Ravenclaw table. As he walked, he saw similar scenes playing out across the Great Hall.
Professor Sprout had appeared at the Hufflepuff table, where Cedric was rising from his seat. His housemates were clapping him on the back, shouting encouragement. Cedric's smile looked only slightly forced.
At the Beauxbatons section, Madame Maxime towered over the students as she collected Fleur. The French champion stood with perfect poise, her expression revealing nothing. Sophie squeezed her hand briefly. Margaret said something that made Fleur's lips twitch.
Near the Slytherin table, Karkaroff was already steering Krum toward the exit. The Bulgarian Seeker walked with his shoulders hunched, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. His Durmstrang classmates watched in silence.
The four champions converged near the Great Hall's massive doors. Harry caught Cedric's eye and received a small nod. Fleur didn't look at him. Krum didn't look at anyone.
They walked out together.
The November air hit Harry's face like a slap. The sky was overcast, heavy gray clouds pressing down on the Scottish highlands. Wind whipped across the grounds, carrying the distant sound of voices, hundreds of them, chattering and laughing and calling out to each other.
The stadium had appeared overnight. It rose from the earth near the Forbidden Forest, a massive structure of wooden stands and magical barriers. Flags from all three schools snapped in the wind. Harry could see figures already filling the seats, dark shapes against the gray sky.
None of the champions spoke. What was there to say? In a few minutes, they would each face a creature that could kill them with a single breath. Small talk seemed rather beside the point.
Harry's feet carried him forward automatically. Left, right, left, right. The stadium grew larger with each step. The crowd noise grew louder. Somewhere behind those walls, a dragon was waiting.
His dragon.
The entrance to the champions' tent appeared ahead. Canvas walls, enchanted against the elements, flapping gently in the breeze.
Professor Flitwick stopped at the entrance. "This is where I leave you, Mr. Potter." His voice was thick. "Do Ravenclaw proud."
"I'll try, Professor."
"I know you'll succeed. I have complete faith in you."
Then Harry was walking through the tent flap, leaving the outside world behind.
The tent swallowed him whole.
From the outside, it had looked like an ordinary canvas structure, large enough for perhaps a dozen people standing shoulder to shoulder. Inside, it was a small arena. The ceiling rose thirty feet overhead, supported by poles that hadn't been visible from the exterior. Magical lanterns floated near the canvas walls, casting warm light across a space divided into four distinct sections by hanging curtains of house colors, blue and bronze, yellow and black, red and gold for Durmstrang, powder blue for Beauxbatons.
Harry barely had time to register any of this before something large and warm crashed into him.
"Harry!"
Sirius's arms wrapped around him in a hug that lifted him several inches off the ground. Harry found his face pressed against his godfather's shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and something that might have been firewhisky.
"Sirius. Can't breathe."
"Right. Sorry." Sirius set him down but kept both hands on Harry's shoulders, looking at his face. "Are you ready? How do you feel? Did you sleep? You don't look like you slept. Did you eat breakfast? Please tell me you ate something."
"I ate toast."
"Toast. Just toast?"
"The eggs were looking at me funny."
Sirius's face went through a complicated series of expressions before settling on something between exasperation and reluctant amusement. "The eggs were looking at you funny."
"It's been a strange morning."
"It's about to get stranger." Sirius's grip on Harry's shoulders tightened briefly, then released. "But you're ready. We've done everything we can. You know the plan. You've practiced the spells. All that's left is execution."
"Execution," Harry repeated. "Interesting word choice, considering."
"Poor phrasing. Forget I said that."
Behind Sirius, the rest of his support team had gathered. Andromeda Tonks stood slightly apart, her posture perfect, her dark hair pulled back in an elegant twist. She looked like someone attending a formal garden party rather than waiting for her pseudo-nephew to fight a dragon. Only her eyes betrayed her concern, dark and watchful and fixed on Harry's face.
Ted Tonks was beside her. He gave Harry a nod and a smile that said everything without requiring words.
And Tonks herself—
"If you die," she said cheerfully, "I'm going to kill you."
"That seems redundant."
"I'll find a way. Necromancy if I have to." Her hair was a vivid, almost aggressive shade of pink today. Battle colors. "You remember what we practiced?"
"Summon broom. Don't get eaten. Seal the mouth if necessary."
"And?"
"Don't get set on fire."
"That's the important one." She punched his shoulder. "You've got this, Harry. You're the best student I've ever had."
"I'm the only student you've ever had."
"Which makes you both the best and the worst. Statistically interesting." Her expression softened, just for a moment. "Seriously, though. You're ready. More ready than you think.
"Thank you," he said. "All of you. For everything."
"Save the gratitude for after you've won," Sirius said. "Then you can thank us properly. With expensive gifts and elaborate praise."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Harry's attention drifted to the other sections of the tent. Through gaps in the curtains, he could see the other champions with their own supporters.
Cedric occupied the yellow-and-black section, flanked by his father Amos Diggory. Amos was talking rapidly, his hands gesturing emphatically, his voice carrying just enough for Harry to catch fragments: "...showed them what a real champion looks like..." and "...your mother would be so proud..." and "Show everyone that Potter is nothing but a cheater..." Cedric listened with a fixed smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
The Durmstrang section was considerably quieter. Krum sat on a bench, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. Karkaroff stood behind him, speaking in low, rapid Bulgarian. Whatever he was saying, Krum didn't seem to be listening.
And then there was Fleur.
Harry found his gaze drawn to the Beauxbatons section almost against his will. Fleur stood near the curtain, her silver-blonde hair looked beautiful. She was speaking with a man Harry hadn't seen before, tall, handsome in a distinguished way, with silver hair that matched hers and aristocratic features that could only belong to a Delacour. This had to be her father.
The man had one hand on Fleur's shoulder. He was speaking softly, too quietly for Harry to hear the words, but the tone was unmistakable. The tone of a father who loved his daughter and was terrified of losing her.
Fleur's responses were shorter, clipped. Her usual poise seemed slightly brittle today.
Harry wondered what that was like. Having parents who could stand beside you before something terrifying. Parents who could offer comfort and encouragement and the simple reassurance of being there.
He looked away.
"Attention, please!"
Dumbledore's voice cut through the tent's murmur. The headmaster had appeared near the entrance, his purple robes swirling around him, his expression unusually serious.
"The First Task will begin shortly. I must ask all family members and supporters to make their way to the spectator stands. Only the champions and Mr. Bagman will remain in this tent."
In the Hufflepuff section, Amos Diggory pulled Cedric into a crushing embrace. "Make us proud, son. Show them what a real Hogwarts champion can do."
Karkaroff said something sharp to Krum, received a grunt in response, and swept out of the tent without looking back. Not exactly warm and fuzzy, that one.
In the Beauxbatons section, Fleur's father pulled her into a hug. Harry caught fragments of rapid French, too fast for him to follow even with his limited knowledge of the language.
"Harry." Sirius's hand landed on his shoulder. "Whatever happens in there—"
"Don't."
"I'm serious."
"That's your name. Still don't."
Sirius's grip tightened. "I lost your parents. I spent twelve years in Azkaban thinking about all the things I should have said, all the things I should have done differently. I'm not making that mistake again." His voice was rough. "You're the best thing in my life, Harry. The only thing that matters. So you go in there, you face that dragon, and you come back to me. Understood?"
Harry's throat felt tight. "Understood."
"Good." Sirius pulled him into one more fierce hug. "Now go be brilliant."
Then he was gone, following the other supporters toward the exit. Andromeda paused to press a kiss to Harry's forehead. Ted squeezed his shoulder. Tonks gave him a wink and a thumbs-up that somehow conveyed more confidence than a hundred words could have.
The tent emptied. The champions remained.
Four of them stood in the suddenly cavernous space: Harry, Cedric, Krum, and Fleur. They formed a loose square, each occupying their own section of floor, not quite looking at each other.
Ludo Bagman bounced into the center of this tableau like a golden retriever.
"Champions! Wonderful, wonderful! So exciting, isn't it? The moment we've all been waiting for!" He was practically vibrating with enthusiasm. His robes, violently purple and gold. "Are we ready? Are we prepared? Are we absolutely thrilled to begin?"
Nobody responded. Bagman didn't seem to notice.
"Right then! Let me explain the task!" He produced a scroll from somewhere inside his robes and unrolled it with a dramatic flourish. "Each of you will face a dragon and need to steal a golden egg from its nest!"
Harry watched the other champions.
Cedric took a deep breathe.
Krum's expression didn't change at all.
Fleur—
Fleur's eyes widened.
Her lips parted slightly. Her shoulders tensed. Fear, genuine fear, flashed across her beautiful features before she could suppress it.
She hadn't known.
The realization hit Harry like a punch. Why? Madam Maxime was there; she knew about the dragons, so how come Fleur didn't know about them until now? Did...did Fleur not want to be told? Was that it? Harry took a breather and reminded himself that Fleur was ready for this task; she was a duellist champion, and she was better prepared. She would win this...against a dragon?
"Each dragon," Bagman continued, oblivious to the drama unfolding before him, "is guarding a clutch of eggs. One of those eggs is golden. Your task is simple: retrieve the golden egg! But be careful! You must not harm the real eggs, or points will be deducted. The golden egg contains a clue to the Second Task, so you'll want to get your hands on it! Once you get the golden egg, you only need to leave the arena, and you complete the task."
"Now then!" Bagman produced a silk bag from another pocket, this one wriggling slightly as if something inside was trying to escape. "Each of you will draw a miniature model of the dragon you will face. The model will also indicate the order in which you'll compete. Ladies first, I think!"
He extended the bag toward Fleur.
Her hand was steady as she reached inside. When she withdrew it, a tiny dragon sat in her palm, perfect in every detail, with a small number "1" hanging from a chain around its neck. It was a Common Welsh Green, its scales glittering emerald in the lantern light.
"The Welsh Green!" Bagman announced cheerfully. "A beautiful creature. And you'll be going first, Miss Delacour!"
Fleur's expression had smoothed back into its usual mask, but Harry could see the tension in her shoulders. She was afraid. And she was going first.
Krum drew next. A Chinese Fireball, red and gold, with the number "2" dangling from its neck. He stared at it for a moment, then closed his fist around it without comment.
Cedric's hand trembled slightly as he reached into the bag. He withdrew a Swedish Short-Snout, silver-blue and elegant, marked with "3."
That left Harry.
He put his hand into the bag. Something sharp pricked his finger. The miniature dragon that emerged was black, spiked, and considerably more aggressive than the others. It actually tried to bite him before settling into an angry coil in his palm.
"The Hungarian Horntail!" Bagman's voice held what might have been sympathy. "Ah. Well. They say it's the most challenging of the four, but I'm sure you'll manage splendidly! And you'll be going last, Mr. Potter!"
"There we are!" Bagman rolled up his scroll and tucked it away. "Miss Delacour, you'll enter the enclosure when you hear the whistle. The rest of you... well, best of luck!" He beamed at them all impartially. "I'll be commentating, so I'm off to the judges' box. Exciting times! Exciting times indeed!"
He bustled out of the tent, leaving the four champions alone.
The silence that followed was absolute. Harry wanted to ask Fleur what her plan was, perhaps he could give her a last-minute idea. He was about to open his mouth when...
Then, distantly, a whistle blew.
Fleur straightened. Whatever fear she'd shown, whatever shock she'd felt, it was gone now. Her mask was perfect, her posture immaculate. She was Beauxbatons' finest, and she would face this challenge as she faced everything.
She walked toward the tent's exit.
Harry found himself stepping forward. "Fleur."
She paused. Turned.
Their eyes met.
Harry didn't know what to say. Good luck seemed inadequate. Be careful seemed patronizing. I'm sorry you didn't know what would require explanations he didn't have time to give. "Make sure to survive this...I still need someone to bicker with."
Fleur smiled back at him, turned around, and left the tent.
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