The task was scheduled for Tuesday. With a full day of classes still in between, they had less than two days to prepare.
Seeing how anxious they were, Tver had no choice but to summarize the dragons' characteristics as clearly as he could.
"The Common Welsh Green is the least aggressive dragon in the wizarding world. It doesn't have any particularly special traits. It has everything a dragon should have, and nothing extra."
"The only thing you need to remember for this task is that every dragon here is a mother who's just laid eggs. Once provoked, even a Welsh Green will fight back fiercely."
Pointing at a stack of photographs, Tver explained them one by one, as if he were teaching children their letters. The four Champions sat obediently in a row, with one extra listener tagging along.
"The Chinese Fireball. Don't be fooled by how beautiful it looks. It's the only dragon known to tolerate others of its kind. But take note—it doesn't breathe ordinary flames. It spits fireballs."
"In other words, until the fireball burns out, it keeps surging forward. There's practically no distance limit."
"So don't rely on luck when you're facing it. If you can dodge, dodge."
"The Swedish Short-Snout. As the name suggests, it has a short snout, but its resistance to magic is nothing to scoff at. At your current level, don't even think about overpowering it with direct spells."
"And lastly, the Hungarian Horntail."
Tver held up a photograph of a dragon baring its fangs and claws.
"Don't let its relatively lean build fool you. Just look at the barbed spikes on that long tail. It's more aggressive than the others."
"And aside from dragons that spit fireballs, it has the longest fire-breathing range in the world."
"As for how to deal with it? The answer is simple—don't try to fight it head-on."
"As if there's any dragon we'd dare fight head-on…" Viktor muttered bitterly.
The others beside him nodded in unison.
Fleur raised her hand at that moment. "What about the Hebridean Black Dragon?"
"Run. That's my advice," Tver replied with a smile.
None of them believed Dumbledore would deliberately arrange for Tver to face a specific dragon. They had genuinely been taken in by his talk about a random draw.
So when they looked at the photograph of the overwhelming black dragon, they found themselves with no words of protest.
They didn't even have the courage to think about confronting it.
"All right. Go back and make the most of your time figuring out how to handle the dragons. The task is the day after tomorrow."
Tver began ushering them out, not giving them a chance to linger and keep listening.
In truth, he wasn't worried about their safety.
Even with his butterfly effect, the only thing he could realistically influence was which dragon they drew.
Among the dragons, the black one was his to handle. Of the rest, only the Hungarian Horntail posed any real danger. The others were manageable.
In the original course of events, they had all come through safely. With a bit of extra guidance from him, there was no way they'd lose their lives.
Besides, Dumbledore would be in the stands. There was no chance he would simply sit by and let something happen to the Champions.
Tver strongly suspected that the Ministry had agreed to revive the Triwizard Tournament precisely because Dumbledore was overseeing it.
Satisfied, he sent them away and turned his attention back to his own preparations.
All that remained was to wait for the task to arrive.
...
Early Tuesday morning, the castle was already buzzing with tension and excitement.
Even during Tver's seventh-year class, the students were visibly distracted.
A few younger students even approached him with solemn faces to offer their well-wishes, as if he were heading off to war.
Of course, for the vast majority who would only be watching, excitement was the dominant mood.
Especially after the last class of the morning ended, anticipation for the afternoon's task reached its peak.
After all, they weren't the ones competing. They just had to sit back and enjoy the show.
By lunchtime, students were already making their way to the dragon enclosure at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
A simple grandstand had been erected there with magic—rough in appearance, but large enough to hold the entire audience.
Unlike the well-meaning encouragement Tver received, Harry faced far more mixed reactions.
Many Hufflepuffs felt that he had stolen the spotlight from their rare rising star, so quite a few of them looked at him coldly.
Ravenclaw stayed out of it entirely, watching as detached spectators. At present, the strongest in their house was Roger Davies—an embarrassingly devoted sycophant…
As for Gryffindor openly supporting Harry, and Slytherin mocking him precisely because Gryffindor did—that was simply business as usual between those two houses.
With that in mind, Professor McGonagall thoughtfully found Harry ahead of time and escorted him to the grounds to prepare for the First Task.
As for Tver, she watched him blissfully enjoying chocolate cake for about half a minute before giving up on that idea.
By the time he finished his fifth slice, the Great Hall was nearly empty. Only Professor Flitwick remained, equally absorbed in his dessert.
"Good heavens, I almost forgot you're competing today!"
After two seconds of consideration, Professor Flitwick decisively abandoned his pie and hauled Tver to his feet.
In truth, there was still plenty of time. Everyone else was simply too eager, which made Tver seem unusually unhurried.
Since he was already full and satisfied, he allowed Professor Flitwick to lead him toward the Forbidden Forest.
When he tried to look toward the enclosure, however, a large tent blocked his view.
"All right, in you go," Professor Flitwick said, giving Tver's… well, backside a gentle push. "I doubt you're nervous, but I hope you give us a flawless performance."
"Thanks~"
Tver waved at him from a distance, then lifted the tent flap.
"Good afternoon…" He looked at the grim-faced Champions in surprise. "Will frowning like that help you defeat a dragon?"
Fleur sat in the corner and glanced up at him. Her face was pale, stripped of her usual swan-like pride.
Viktor forced a smile. He always looked rather grim to begin with, but today it was far worse.
Cedric stopped pacing. He opened his mouth several times as if to speak, but no words came out.
Harry stood by the entrance, expression blank. It was hard to tell whether he was deep in thought or simply too anxious to think at all.
Bagman, dressed in a suit, stood up from his stool with a bright smile when he saw Tver.
"Excellent! Now that all the Champions are here, we'll begin the draw!"
Except for Tver, none of them looked particularly enthusiastic.
"I assume you've all been informed—your task is to retrieve a golden egg from the custody of… well, a certain creature."
They stared at him expressionlessly. No one looked surprised.
"Ahem. Right then." Bagman produced a purple silk bag. "Each of you will now draw your opponent from this bag. Inside are miniature models."
At the mention of drawing lots, the dullness in their eyes instantly gave way to sharp focus.
If they were models, they might not recognize every dragon by touch—but the Hebridean Black Dragon? That one would be unmistakable the moment they felt it.
Their gazes drifted toward Tver almost in unison, as if silently agreeing he should draw last.
"What's the matter? Oh, right—Tver, Dumbledore suggested it would be best if you drew last. Is that acceptable?" Bagman asked, puzzled.
Tver shrugged. He had long since realized that Dumbledore would never allow him to miss the Hebridean Black Dragon.
"Ladies first." Bagman held the bag out to Fleur.
Her hand trembled as she reached inside. After a moment, she pulled out a small green dragon model—the Common Welsh Green.
The dragon bared its tiny fangs, but Fleur showed no fear. On the contrary, a faint smile curved her lips.
She had drawn the easiest one.
Next, Viktor reached in and drew the Chinese Fireball. He allowed himself a slight smile as well. For him, this was a good outcome.
Then, as Harry's heart pounded violently in his chest, Cedric drew a silver-blue Swedish Short-Snout.
Harry swallowed. He already knew what that meant.
He glanced at Tver, took a deep breath, and firmly pulled out the slightly smaller Hungarian Horntail.
"It seems our youngest contestant will be facing the ferocious Hungarian Horntail," Bagman said, patting his shoulder in encouragement.
Then he tipped the final model into Tver's hand.
Even at a reduced size, the Hebridean Black Dragon was still as long as a forearm.
"All right, you've got a little time before the task begins. Think carefully about how you're going to handle these little darlings!" Bagman said cheerfully before striding out of the tent.
Left behind were the five Champions who were about to face real dragons.