The first task of the Triwizard Tournament was about to begin. As Head of Gryffindor House, Professor McGonagall led Sherlock and Harry away from the castle, around the edge of the Forbidden Forest, toward where the dragons were.
Through Sherlock's observation of Professor McGonagall, he understood that she now knew the first task involved dragons.
But she didn't know that Sherlock and Harry already knew the first task was dragons.
When Professor McGonagall brought Sherlock and Harry near the grove where they would normally be able to see the grounds clearly, a large tent had already been erected there.
The tent happened to block those dragons, preventing them from being seen.
The entrance to the tent faced directly toward them.
This approach made Sherlock shake his head secretly.
What was the difference between this and a deaf person's ears? But thinking about how this was their usual style, Sherlock didn't bother to say more.
Walking to this point, Professor McGonagall stopped.
She took a deep breath, as if trying to suppress the anxiety in her heart, but with little effect.
She looked deeply at the two students before her who were about to face a huge challenge, especially at Harry's pale face.
"Well, this is it." Professor McGonagall's voice was low and solemn, and even trembled slightly. "I can only accompany you this far. The champions from all three schools are inside. Mr. Bagman and Moody are both in there, and they'll tell you the procedure. Remember what I told you, keep your heads clear... believe you can do it. Good luck to you both... real good luck."
She finally squeezed their shoulders hard, then turned sharply and left.
As if staying one more second might make her lose control of her emotions.
Sherlock watched Professor McGonagall's somewhat hurried departing figure, still as steady as a mountain, while Harry was strung as tight as a drawn bow, mainly because Professor McGonagall's manner just now had invisibly added another layer of pressure to the struggle he was about to begin.
He couldn't help but turn toward the tent, feeling that entrance was like a silent giant mouth that would swallow him whole as soon as he walked in.
At this moment, Harry felt as if even the air had solidified, and the cold winter wind couldn't dispel that suffocating tension.
"Easy there, mate." Just then, Sherlock's calm voice broke the silence, bringing Harry back from his trance.
He noticed that Sherlock's gaze was also focused on the tent entrance at this moment.
Sherlock withdrew his gaze, looked Harry up and down twice, and patted his shoulder. "I can feel that you're very nervous right now."
Harry nodded. He was indeed very nervous.
"Take a deep breath, overcome this negative emotion, and come with me."
Harry nodded reluctantly.
He felt like a marionette at this moment, stiffly following behind Sherlock, shuffling toward the tent entrance.
With each step closer, he could clearly hear his own drumming heartbeat, pounding against his chest.
Fortunately, Sherlock was here.
He couldn't help but feel this way again in his heart.
If he were facing all this alone, he'd probably be too weak in the knees to walk by now, wouldn't he?
"No, you wouldn't," Sherlock walking ahead suddenly said.
"What did you say?" Harry looked at his older friend in surprise.
"I'm saying, don't underestimate yourself," Sherlock smiled slightly. "Dear Harry, even if you were facing all this by yourself, you could completely handle it."
Having said this, Sherlock reached out to lift the curtain and took the lead walking in.
Only then did Harry realize that Sherlock had seen through his thoughts again.
But this wasn't surprising. Sherlock could usually see through his thoughts, let alone when he was highly nervous now.
In Sherlock's eyes, he had probably written his thoughts all over his face.
When Sherlock entered the tent, he immediately felt a tense atmosphere permeating the space, mixed with a faint dusty smell.
The light was somewhat dim at this moment, but he could still clearly see the people inside.
As Professor McGonagall had said, Cedric was already inside.
He was pacing back and forth, his handsome face looking unusually serious and worried.
Seeing Harry and Sherlock come in, he stopped and forced out a nervous smile, nodding. "Hey, Sherlock, Harry... you're here?"
The greeting sounded somewhat trembling.
Obviously, he was also very nervous now.
In a corner deep in the tent, the three champions from Beauxbatons were gathered together.
Fleur Delacour was leaning against a support pole, her posture still trying to maintain her usual arrogance.
However, Sherlock saw through her baseline at a glance, because her body posture was somewhat stiff.
Her blue-gray eyes occasionally glanced toward the tent entrance, then quickly looked away, as if trying hard to hide her inner unease.
As for the other two, they also weren't as composed as usual, looking slightly pale and sickly.
Compared to Beauxbatons, the three champions from Durmstrang were performing somewhat better.
Toby Thorsen and Lucas Poliakov, who weren't favored by Headmaster Karkaroff, were whispering to each other. After Sherlock and Harry came in, both quickly glanced over.
Viktor Krum stood nearby.
His face was as grim as iron, his brow tightly furrowed, looking even more fierce and oppressed than usual. Sherlock understood with just one glance that he was also very nervous—though he didn't need to hide it.
"Ah! Everyone's here! Good that everyone's here!" Just then, a voice full of energy but somewhat deliberately cheerful rang out.
Ludo Bagman stood up from behind a small table in the front row.
He still wore that signature old Wasps team robe, but the collar was stuck tightly to his neck from sweat.
Though his round face glowed red, Sherlock noticed that deep in his eyes was a trace of barely perceptible anxiety and tension, contrasting with the brilliant smile on his face.
"All you brave champions! I think at this moment you feel the same way I do—what an exciting moment this is!"
Besides Bagman in the tent, there was also Mad-Eye Moody, whom Professor McGonagall had just mentioned.
His magical eye locked firmly onto Harry the instant he walked in, then quickly swept over Sherlock and the others.
At this moment, he didn't stand up like Bagman but simply crossed his sturdy arms.
His wooden leg was planted on the ground, and his normal eye appeared particularly sharp on his scar-covered face.
Bagman looked toward Moody at this moment. "Alastor, shall you tell them or shall I?"
Moody snorted coldly, seemingly quite disdainful of Bagman's exaggerated opening, "You decide."
Bagman didn't mind and said with a smile, "Then leave it to me!"
He then clapped his hands forcefully, trying to use this method to get everyone to focus their attention.
The method was effective. Everyone, including Sherlock, looked toward him.
"Alright, now that everyone's here, I have a few words to say! Everyone gather in the middle, will you? Come closer! It's time to introduce you to the situation!"
The champions silently moved closer to him.
Cedric quickly walked to Sherlock and Harry's side.
The nine champions from the three schools still formed, as before, three distinctly separate groups.
The difference was that the champions from Hogwarts and Beauxbatons gathered together, while Durmstrang's captain Krum remained some distance from the other two.
Seeing this scene, Sherlock couldn't help but shake his head secretly.
He didn't know if it was Karkaroff's influence, or if Krum's personality was naturally like this, or perhaps both.
In any case, although it was a team of three people, they couldn't achieve close cooperation.
Durmstrang would probably suffer in this first task.
At this moment, Bagman cleared his throat and said cheerfully. "After the audience gathers, I'm going to pass this bag to each of you in turn."
As he spoke, he held up a purple silk bag and shook it at them.
Noticing that everyone's gaze was drawn to this silk bag, Bagman became even happier.
He continued. "You'll pick out a miniature model of the thing you're each going to face! They come in different—um—varieties. There's one more thing I need to tell you... ah yes... your task is to collect the golden egg!"
Finally seeing the main objective of this task!
Hearing Mr. Bagman's words, Sherlock's heart stirred slightly.
In fact, when Charlie had mentioned earlier that the organizers insisted on using brooding mother dragons, Sherlock had already deduced this point.
Now it seemed the situation was very clear.
Through a lottery system, they would select one of the three dragons, then seize the golden egg from under its protection.
How should he put it?
It was really annoying!
Because the champions already knew in advance that their task was to get past a dragon, even those with slower reactions understood his meaning upon hearing Mr. Bagman's words.
Cedric, Fleur, and Krum—the three team captains—also nodded.
While they were talking, hurried footsteps sounded.
Obviously, after the champions were in position, the audience also began to take their seats one after another.
Just from the density of the footsteps alone, you could tell that all the teachers and students of the school had rushed over.
This was normal after all, Quidditch matches usually had this many people too.
Sherlock could hear these people's conversations and laughter even inside the tent.
Obviously, unlike the contestants, the audience was excited.
After a while, Mr. Bagman began to untie the purple silk bag.
"Ladies first." He said, extending the bag toward Fleur Delacour, while looking at the other two team captains. "I assume everyone has no objections?"
Cedric nodded, and Krum continued to maintain his grim face without saying a word, Bagman simply took that as agreement.
At this moment, Fleur also extended her trembling hand into the cloth bag and pulled out a small, lifelike dragon model.
It had to be said her luck wasn't bad.
It was a silver-blue Swedish Short-Snout with a number around its neck. number three.
Harry's heart couldn't help but tremble, that was bad. Now their probability of drawing the Hungarian Horntail had become fifty percent.
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