The Great Hall hummed with gossip on the evening of November 2nd, the unexpected selection of Harry Potter as the fourth Triwizard champion still dominating every conversation. Theories ranged from the plausible to the outlandish, he'd confunded the Goblet, he'd paid an older student, he'd used ancient Potter family magic, or perhaps Dumbledore himself had bent the rules for his favorite student. At the Hufflepuff table, Chris observed the swirling rumors with quiet amusement, knowing that the truth, that Harry had no part in his selection, was the one theory most students refused to believe.
"They're still at it," Susan sighed, sliding onto the bench beside him and reaching for a pitcher of pumpkin juice. "Ernie MacMillan is now convinced Harry learned some obscure bit of magic from a restricted book. Says he must have been planning it for months."
Hannah nodded from across the table, her blonde plaits bobbing with the movement. "And Justin thinks Harry somehow got help from Sirius Black."
Chris buttered a slice of bread as his sapphire eyes flicked briefly toward the Gryffindor table where Harry sat in isolation, a small island of space surrounding him despite the crowded bench. The other Gryffindors, including Ron Weasley, kept a pointed distance.
"People prefer complex lies to simple truths," Chris said, his voice low enough that only Susan and Hannah could hear. "The idea that Harry is innocent, that someone else placed his name in the Goblet for unknown reasons, that's far more frightening than believing he cheated."
Before either girl could respond, Hermione approached their table, her arms laden with books despite the dinner hour. Behind her trailed Daphne, her Slytherin tie a stark contrast to the Hufflepuff yellow surrounding them, and Astoria, who immediately brightened at the sight of Chris.
"Mind if we join you?" Hermione asked, though she was already setting her books down. "Harry's having a rough enough time without me sitting there watching him push food around his plate."
"Of course," Susan replied, shifting to make room. "How's he holding up?"
"Terribly," Hermione said, her brow furrowed with concern. "Ron still won't speak to him, and half of Gryffindor thinks he's an attention-seeking liar."
Astoria darted forward, squeezing between Chris and Hannah with practiced ease. "Big brother!" she exclaimed, wrapping both arms around one of his as though she hadn't seen him just hours earlier. "I saved you from having to sit next to Hannah. She smells like greenhouse dirt."
"Astoria!" Daphne hissed, taking a seat with considerably more dignity than her sister. "Apologize to Abbott at once."
"Sorry, Hannah," Astoria said, not sounding remotely sorry and not releasing her grip on Chris. "You smell lovely, like... fertilizer."
Hannah laughed, clearly not offended. "That's because Professor Sprout had us repotting Bouncing Bulbs today. You'll smell the same next year."
As they settled into conversation, a ripple of attention spread through the nearby tables. Fleur Delacour had entered the Great Hall, drawing the usual wave of stares and stammers from the male population. Her silvery hair caught the light from the floating candles as she paused, scanning the room with a searching gaze that eventually settled on their group. With graceful purpose, she made her way toward the Hufflepuff table.
"Excuse me," she said as she reached them, her French accent giving the words an elegant lilt. "May I join you?"
Several nearby Hufflepuff boys seemed to forget how their lungs worked, staring open-mouthed at the Beauxbatons champion. Chris, naturally immune to her Veela allure, simply smiled and gestured to the empty space beside Daphne.
"Please," he said. "We'd be delighted."
Fleur settled onto the bench with fluid grace, nodding polite acknowledgment to each member of the group before her gaze returned to Chris, her expression a complex mixture of curiosity and disbelief.
"Chris," she began, her voice lowered slightly though still carrying that musical quality, "this Harry Potter... is it true? He really did not put his name in the Goblet?" Her tone suggested she found the concept difficult to accept.
"Yes, Fleur," Chris confirmed without hesitation. "He absolutely didn't. He looked as surprised and terrified as anyone when his name came out."
Hermione nodded vigorously, her loyalty to Harry evident in the intensity of her response. "He was utterly bewildered. And he's only fourteen, Fleur! He's too young for this tournament. He's not prepared for the kinds of challenges you and the other champions have been training for years to face."
Daphne, maintaining her characteristic composure, raised a single elegant eyebrow. "It's highly irregular. The Goblet is supposed to be infallible. Someone must have tampered with it, a feat requiring considerable magical knowledge and power." Her ice-blue eyes flickered briefly toward the staff table. "One wonders who might possess both."
"It is very strange," Fleur agreed, frowning slightly. "And concerning. The tournament, it is not designed for children. The tasks are dangerous, even for those of us who have been properly trained." She glanced toward Harry, her expression softening with something that might have been pity. "If what you say is true, this boy faces not only the tasks themselves but the anger of his peers who believe he cheated."
"That's why we've decided to help him," Chris explained, reaching for his goblet. "We've formed a study group to teach him spells that might be useful in the tournament."
"You're training him?" Fleur asked, surprise evident in her voice. "Even though he competes against your school's champion?"
Susan nodded firmly. "This isn't about winning. It's about making sure Harry survives. He didn't ask for this."
"Besides," Hannah added with a wry smile, "it's not like we're neglecting Cedric. The entire Hufflepuff house is supporting him, he's got all the help he needs."
Fleur studied them for a moment, her eyes lingering on Chris with a contemplative expression. "You are an unusual group of friends," she finally said, her tone holding appreciation.
The conversation shifted as they ate, touching on classes and the differences between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons. As their plates emptied, Hannah leaned forward with obvious curiosity.
"So, what do you think the first task will be?" she asked, glancing between them. "Something to test courage, I imagine."
"Perhaps a complex riddle, or a magical creature they have to subdue non-lethally," Hermione suggested, her academic mind already working through possibilities.
Daphne scoffed softly. "Please, Granger. It's the Triwizard Tournament. It'll be something dangerous and spectacular. Something that draws blood." She delicately wiped her mouth with a napkin. "The audience expects a show, after all."
Chris, who had been listening with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, suddenly leaned forward. "Maybe it's dragons?" he suggested, his tone light but his eyes gleaming with mischief.
The suggestion hung in the air for a heartbeat before Susan smacked him lightly on the arm.
"Chris! Don't even joke about something so dangerous!" she exclaimed, genuine horror in her voice. "That's a horrible thought!"
Chris chuckled, rubbing his arm in mock pain. "Just speculating. The tournament is famous for its dangerous tasks, after all."
From across the table, Fleur watched him with sudden, sharp interest, a faint smile playing on her lips. Their eyes met briefly, a moment of silent communication passing between them that left the French witch looking thoughtful.
As dinner concluded and students began to disperse, Chris felt a curious satisfaction settle in his chest. Whether they realized it or not, his friends had just helped him plant the seed of truth about the first task, a truth he wasn't supposed to know, but one that might just help keep Harry Potter alive.
...
November sunlight filtered weakly through the dusty windows of the unused classroom, casting long shadows across the worn floor where Chris and the others had arranged a practice space. Tables had been pushed against the walls, creating an open area in the center surrounded by stacks of books, cushions for seating, and various objects for spellcasting practice. The door opened precisely at four o'clock, admitting Harry Potter, whose face bore the unmistakable signs of another difficult day, shadows under his eyes, tension in his jaw, and a wariness that had become his constant companion since Halloween night.
"Right on time," Chris said, straightening from where he'd been arranging a series of increasingly heavy objects along one of the tables. "Ready to begin?"
Harry nodded, dropping his schoolbag beside the door. His eyes moved around the room, taking in the methodical preparation with a flicker of surprise. Hermione sat cross-legged on a cushion, surrounded by open texts with carefully placed bookmarks. Susan and Hannah stood in one corner, practicing wand movements in synchronization. Daphne leaned against a windowsill, her posture perfect even in repose, while Astoria bounced excitedly on a chair she'd dragged to the center of the room, ignoring her sister's disapproving glance.
"We've been discussing your training," Chris began, moving to stand in the center of the room. The others quieted, turning their attention to him with the ease of a group accustomed to his leadership. "And we've decided to take a focused approach."
Harry shifted his weight uncertainly. "What do you mean, focused?"
"Rather than trying to teach you everything that might be useful, which would be impossible in the time we have, we're concentrating on four specific spells that offer the most versatility for unknown challenges." Chris counted them off on his fingers. "The Summoning Charm, the Shield Charm, basic practical Transfiguration, and the Switching Spell."
"Why those specifically?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing.
Chris's sapphire eyes met Harry's green ones directly. "Because they give you options. The ability to bring objects to you from a distance, to protect yourself from harm, to change your environment to your advantage, and to relocate objects instantly, these are fundamental survival skills."
What Chris didn't say, couldn't say without revealing knowledge he shouldn't possess, was that these spells would be particularly useful against nesting dragons. The Summoning Charm would bring Harry his broom, the Shield Charm might deflect brief flames, and Transfiguration could create diversions.
"We'll start with the Summoning Charm," Hermione said, rising from her cushion with a textbook open in her hands. "Accio is fourth-year magic, so our current year, but it's notoriously temperamental. The theory is straightforward, you create a magical connection between yourself and the object, then pull it along that connection."
Chris nodded, drawing his wand. "Watch first," he instructed, facing a small wooden box at the far end of the room. His movement was fluid and precise as he commanded, "Accio box!" The box shot across the room, landing neatly in his outstretched hand.
"The wand movement is simple," Chris continued, demonstrating the gesture slowly. "But your focus must be absolute. You need to visualize the object flying toward you, feel the connection between your magic and the target."
Harry drew his wand, mirroring Chris's stance. His first attempt at summoning a quill resulted in nothing more than a feeble twitch of the feather. His second try produced a slight hover before the quill dropped back to the table.
"You're trying too hard," Chris observed, moving to stand beside Harry. "Magical intent isn't about force; it's about clarity. Close your eyes. Picture the quill, its weight, its texture, the exact distance between it and your hand. Now, feel your magic reaching for it, like an invisible hand extending from your wand."
Harry followed the instructions, his face scrunched in concentration. "Accio quill," he said, with more deliberation than force. The quill trembled, rose shakily, and moved toward him in an uneven path before dropping halfway.
"Better," Chris nodded. "Again."
They practiced for thirty minutes, Harry's success gradually improving. By the end, he could reliably summon the quill and was beginning to manage heavier objects, though they came more slowly and with less precision.
"We'll move on to the Shield Charm now," Daphne announced, stepping forward. Without preamble, she cast a silent Protego, a shimmering barrier of magic materializing before her. "The Shield Charm creates a magical barrier that deflects minor hexes and physical objects. Its strength depends entirely on your magical focus and your visualization of the shield itself."
"I've never seen a silent casting before," Harry said, clearly impressed.
"You won't be expected to cast silently," Chris assured him. "For now, focus on the incantation and the proper wand movement. Protego has saved more witches and wizards than perhaps any other defensive spell."
Susan and Hannah positioned themselves several yards from Harry, wands at the ready.
"We'll cast mild Stinging Hexes," Susan explained. "Nothing dangerous, but enough to encourage you to get the shield right."
Harry's first attempts at Protego produced only the faintest shimmer of magic, easily penetrated by Hannah's gentle hexes. Each failure resulted in a sharp sting to his arm or shoulder, not painful enough to harm but certainly uncomfortable.
"You're creating a wall," Chris coached, observing Harry's frustrated attempts. "But you're imagining it as something separate from yourself. The shield is an extension of your magic, of your will. It should feel like drawing a blanket of power around yourself, not building a wall in front of you."
Harry took a deep breath, his knuckles white around his wand. "Protego!" This time, the shield that formed was stronger, deflecting Susan's hex with a satisfying sparkle of magical energy.
"Well done!" Chris said, genuine approval in his voice. "Again. Stronger this time."
By the time they moved on to Transfiguration, Harry was sweating but visibly more confident. Daphne took the lead, her teaching style more demanding than the others', but effective in its precision.
"Transfiguration isn't just academic exercise," she explained, transforming a teacup into a rat and back again with elegant efficiency. "In a dangerous situation, turning a rock into a bird to distract an opponent, or transforming sand into oil to create a slippery surface, these could save your life."
Harry's attempts at Transfiguration showed his Hogwarts training, this, at least, was familiar territory, though his exhaustion made his casting less precise than it might have been.
The final spell, the Switching Spell, proved the most challenging. Despite Hermione's clear theoretical explanation and Chris's patient demonstration, Harry struggled with the complex magical coordination required to exchange the positions of two objects simultaneously.
"This is impossible," Harry muttered after his tenth failed attempt to switch a quill with an inkpot, resulting in the quill merely twitching and the inkpot remaining stubbornly in place.
"It's not impossible," Astoria piped up from her perch. "It's just really, really hard. Even I can't do it yet, and I'm basically a prodigy."
"Astoria," Daphne warned, though the corner of her mouth twitched slightly.
"What? It's true," the younger girl insisted, swinging her legs. "But Harry will get it eventually. Chris is the best teacher ever."
Chris checked his watch, noting they'd been at it for nearly two hours. "That's enough for today," he decided, seeing Harry's fatigue. "You've made good progress, especially with the Summoning and Shield Charms."
Harry looked dubious but grateful for the reprieve. "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere despite his exhaustion. "All of you. I know you're giving up your free time to help me."
"We'll continue tomorrow," Chris replied simply. "Same time. Focus on visualizing the Summoning Charm tonight before you sleep, mental practice can be as effective as physical sometimes."
As Harry gathered his things and departed, the remaining students exchanged glances laden with unspoken assessments. His magical foundation was weaker than they'd hoped, years of inconsistent application having taken their toll. Yet there was potential there, raw and untapped, waiting for proper guidance.
"He's going to need every minute of practice we can give him," Hermione observed, closing her books with a sigh.
Chris nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yes, but he's learning. And that's what matters." What he didn't add was the thought that lingered in his mind, that Harry Potter's survival might depend on how much they could teach him in the precious few weeks before he faced a dragon.
...
November unfolded in a rhythm of frost-rimmed mornings and early dusks, the castle grounds gradually surrendering their autumn colors to winter's approaching grasp. For Chris and his friends, the days developed a new pattern, one centered around their commitment to preparing Harry Potter for a tournament he never wanted to enter. Between regular classes, meals, and their own advanced studies, they carved out precious hours each day for Harry's training, establishing a routine that would carry them through the three weeks until the first task.
Mornings found Chris at breakfast, often joined by Fleur, whose silvery hair caught the weak sunlight streaming through the enchanted ceiling. These quiet conversations became a fixture at the Hufflepuff table, where Susan and Hannah would frequently join them, the four developing an easy rapport despite the looming competition.
"In France," Fleur explained one particularly cold morning, warming her hands around a mug of hot chocolate, "we approach elemental magic differently than you British. Fire is not just destruction, it is transformation, purification." Her eyes met Chris's with subtle meaning. "Understanding this distinction might be useful for someone facing... certain challenges."
Chris caught the hint, wondering if Fleur had somehow learned about the dragons. "An interesting perspective," he replied, carefully neutral. "I'll keep that in mind."
Susan, observing the exchange, glanced between them with quiet assessment. The jealousy she'd once felt had mellowed into something more nuanced, a recognition that Chris could maintain connections with others while still keeping her at the center of his affections. He'd proven that repeatedly in small ways: a seat saved beside him, a private smile across a crowded room, a brief touch of hands when passing in the corridor.
Afternoons and evenings belonged to Harry's training, the unused classroom becoming a sanctuary of focused purpose. Harry's progress with the Summoning Charm came in frustrating fits and starts. Objects would fly halfway toward him before dropping, or shoot past his outstretched hand with too much force. Chris's patient guidance eventually produced results, his insistence on proper visualization proving the key to Harry's breakthrough.
"Don't just see it moving," Chris instructed on their fifth day of practice, positioning a heavy textbook across the room. "Feel it. Your magic creates a connection between you and the object. That connection is like an invisible cord that you're reeling in."
Harry closed his eyes briefly, his face a mask of concentration. "Accio textbook!" The book lifted cleanly from the table and sailed across the room in a smooth arc, landing firmly in Harry's grasp.
The Shield Charm progressed more steadily. Susan and Hannah proved excellent training partners, their hexes growing gradually stronger as Harry's shields improved. By the end of the second week, Harry could maintain a shield strong enough to deflect multiple minor jinxes in succession, though sustaining it still drained him quickly.
"You're overthinking it," Susan observed during one session, watching Harry's shield flicker under her repeated Stinging Hexes. "The shield isn't just about the spell, it's about your conviction that nothing will harm you."
"Your intent matters more than your incantation," Hannah added, demonstrating by casting a shield that was smaller but remarkably dense. "I'm not as magically powerful as some, but my shields hold because I absolutely believe they will."
Transfiguration remained challenging, though Daphne's precise instruction helped Harry refine his technique. Her teaching style was demanding but effective, her cool exterior occasionally slipping to reveal grudging approval when Harry successfully transformed a teacup into a rat with the proper tail length and whisker count.
"Acceptable," she pronounced after Harry managed a complex transformation of a stone into a small bird that actually flew for several seconds before reverting. "Though in a real situation, you'd want the transfiguration to last longer."
"That's still leagues better than last week," Hermione pointed out, ever supportive of her friend.
The Switching Spell proved the most stubborn challenge. Even by their third week, Harry could only reliably switch non-living objects of similar size and weight. Anything more complex resulted in partial transformations or no effect at all.
Throughout these sessions, Astoria remained a constant, bubbly presence, her attachment to Chris bordering on the comical. She positioned herself at his side whenever possible, offering commentary that ranged from surprisingly insightful to utterly irrelevant, and viewing Harry's struggles with the bemused patience of someone who considered magical talent her birthright.
"You're holding your wand like it might bite you," she informed Harry during one particularly frustrating attempt at the Switching Spell. "It's an extension of your arm, not a foreign object." She demonstrated with her own wand, her movements natural and fluid despite her youth. "See? Like this."
Outside their training sanctuary, Harry continued to face the cold shoulder from much of the school. The "Potter Stinks" badges created by Draco Malfoy had spread throughout Slytherin and beyond, while Ron's continued silence cut deeper than any overt hostility. Harry arrived at each session bearing the invisible weight of this isolation, his relief at entering their classroom palpable.
"Diggory tried to stop some Hufflepuffs from wearing those badges today," Harry mentioned during their third week, his voice carefully neutral. "Didn't make much difference, but... it was decent of him."
Chris nodded, unsurprised by Cedric's fair-mindedness. "Cedric understands that true competition doesn't require tearing others down."
As November progressed, anticipation built throughout the castle. The first task loomed closer, and speculation about its nature grew increasingly wild. The champions became more focused, often seen studying intensely or practicing spells in quiet corners. Krum spent hours in the library, hunched over obscure texts. Cedric gathered a group of seventh-years for dueling practice. Fleur was frequently spotted near the lake, practicing elaborate wand movements that left trails of blue fire dancing across the water's surface.
On November 24th, their final training session before the task, Harry demonstrated his progress with a comprehensive run-through of all four spells. His Summoning Charm brought objects reliably to hand, though heavier items still arrived more slowly than ideal. His Shield Charm held against a barrage of minor hexes from both Susan and Hannah simultaneously. His Transfiguration work, while not elegant, was functional, a handkerchief became a small shield, a quill transformed into a miniature bird that fluttered convincingly. Even the Switching Spell showed improvement, as he successfully exchanged the positions of an inkwell and a heavy book with only minor spillage.
"Well done," Chris said as they concluded, genuine approval in his voice. "You've come a long way in three weeks."
Harry ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair, exhaustion and nervous energy battling in his expression. "It's still not perfect. The Switching Spell is still dodgy, and the Summoning Charm isn't fast enough for something really heavy."
"Perfect isn't the goal," Chris replied. "Survival is. And you're far better prepared now than you were."
The others nodded in agreement, their faces reflecting a mixture of pride in Harry's progress and anxiety about the unknown challenge ahead. They had done what they could in the time available, transformed a magically middling fourth-year into someone with specific, useful skills that might just keep him alive.
"Whatever happens tomorrow," Hermione said, placing a supportive hand on Harry's shoulder, "you won't be facing it unprepared."
As they gathered their things, preparing to depart for dinner, a solemn understanding passed between them. Tomorrow would test not just Harry's newly honed skills but the effectiveness of their teaching. The first task loomed like a shadow on the horizon, inevitable and potentially deadly.
"Get some sleep tonight," Chris advised Harry at the door. "Clear your mind before bed. You'll need all your focus tomorrow."
What he didn't say, couldn't say, was that tomorrow Harry would face a dragon, and all their careful preparation would be put to the ultimate test. As Harry nodded and departed, Chris felt the weight of his foreknowledge pressing down on him. He had guided Harry toward the skills he would need, but whether it would be enough remained to be seen.
...
Darkness settled early on November 24th, the lengthening shadows across the Hogwarts grounds matching Harry's growing anxiety about the coming morning. He had just finished the final training session with Chris and the others when Hagrid had caught his eye during dinner, a meaningful look and a subtle jerk of the head signaling that Harry should follow him later. Now, as he made his way toward the groundskeeper's cabin under the cover of night, Harry wondered what new complication awaited him, unaware that he was about to discover the terrifying truth of the first task.
Hagrid was waiting at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, his massive silhouette unmistakable against the darkened trees. He wore his wild hair tied back and had donned his horrible hairy brown suit, a combination that might have amused Harry under different circumstances.
"Yeh came," Hagrid whispered, his eyes darting nervously around. "Good. Got summat ter show yeh. Follow me, an' keep quiet."
Without further explanation, Hagrid led Harry along the perimeter of the forest, away from his cabin and deeper into the darkness. They walked in silence for nearly fifteen minutes, Hagrid occasionally checking over his shoulder to ensure they weren't being followed. Finally, a distant roar, something between a lion's bellow and the screech of metal, pierced the night air, causing Harry to freeze mid-step.
"What was that?" he whispered, his hand instinctively reaching for his wand.
Hagrid's expression was a mixture of excitement and grim determination. "Yer firs' task, Harry. Jus' over this ridge. Keep low now."
They crested a small hill, and the sight below punched the air from Harry's lungs. In a massive cleared area, illuminated by torchlight, were four enormous dragons. Each was contained within a separate enclosure of thick wooden posts and heavy chains, attended by at least thirty wizards who darted around like ants beside the massive beasts. The dragons thrashed against their restraints, sending gouts of flame into the night sky and roaring their displeasure at being contained.
"Dragons," Hagrid breathed, his voice a reverent whisper despite having brought Harry specifically to see them. "Four, one fer each o' yeh. Yeh'll have ter get past 'em, I think, probably ter collect summat they're guardin'."
Harry stared in horrified fascination. One dragon, a silvery-blue creature with long, pointed horns, reared back and released a jet of blue flame that shot fifty feet into the air. Another, black as midnight and covered in vicious-looking spikes, snapped at a handler who ventured too close, its teeth flashing white in the torchlight.
"That's the Hungarian Horntail, that is," Hagrid said, pointing to the black dragon. "Nastiest of the lot. Shoots flame farther than the others, an' its tail's as dangerous as its teeth."
Harry's mouth had gone completely dry. The dragons weren't just obstacles, they were monsters, ancient and terrible, with hides that looked impervious to magic and flames that could reduce him to ash in seconds. All the spells he'd been practicing suddenly seemed laughably inadequate. What good was a Shield Charm against a torrent of dragonfire? How would Transfiguring a rock help against a creature that could crush him with a casual swipe of its tail?
"I need to go," Harry said abruptly, already backing away. "I, thanks, Hagrid. I need to think."
He didn't wait for a response, turning and hurrying back toward the castle with a rising sense of panic. His mind raced with images of the dragons, their size, their ferocity, the impossible task of getting past one. The weeks of training, the hours of practice, all seemed woefully insufficient now that he understood the true scale of the challenge.
Harry moved through the castle corridors with desperate purpose, ignoring the curious glances of passing students. He needed to find Chris. Of all the people helping him, Chris had been the most practical, the most strategic in his approach. He would know what to do, how to adapt their training to this new, terrifying reality.
He tried the unused classroom first, finding it empty. The Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall yielded no results either. Finally, turning a corner on the third floor, Harry spotted a familiar figure, Chris's distinctive white and blue hair, unmistakable even at a distance. He was walking alone, presumably heading toward dinner.
"Chris!" Harry called, breaking into a run. "Chris, wait!"
Chris turned, one eyebrow raised at Harry's evident distress. He halted, waiting as Harry skidded to a stop before him, breathing hard not just from the run but from the adrenaline still coursing through his system.
"What's happened?" Chris asked, his voice calm but alert.
Harry glanced around the empty corridor, then leaned closer, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "The first task... it's dragons! We're facing dragons!" His green eyes were wide with panic, his hands shaking slightly as he continued. "Hagrid just showed me. Four of them, one for each champion. We have to get past them, probably to retrieve something they're guarding."
Chris's face registered appropriate surprise, his eyes widening and his body tensing. But internally, a very different reaction unfolded, a cold, settled certainty and a touch of grim satisfaction. His "joke" at dinner weeks ago had been dead accurate, not by coincidence but because he knew the original timeline. Despite all his interventions, despite eliminating Voldemort and changing so many variables, this element had remained fixed. Harry Potter would face a dragon, just as he had in the life Chris remembered.
It was disturbing in its implications. Did it mean some events were immutable? Or merely that the planning for the tournament had been too far advanced to change when Chris altered the timeline? Either way, it confirmed his suspicion that fate, or whatever governed the flow of time, had its own momentum that even his foreknowledge couldn't always overcome.
Outwardly, Chris placed a steadying hand on Harry's shoulder. "Breathe, Harry," he instructed, his voice calm despite the gravity of the revelation. "This is... unexpected, but not insurmountable." A lie, of course, he'd been preparing Harry specifically for this challenge, without ever saying so.
"Dragons?" Harry repeated, as though hoping Chris might correct him. "How am I supposed to get past a dragon? They're enormous, and their hide repels most spells, and they breathe fire…"
"Focus," Chris interrupted firmly. "Remember what we've been practicing. The Summoning Charm, in particular, will be crucial now."
Harry stared at him. "How is summoning things going to help against a dragon?"
Chris's mind worked rapidly, formulating a plan that would seem spontaneous while drawing on his knowledge of how Harry had succeeded in the original timeline. "What's your greatest strength, Harry? The one skill where you outshine nearly everyone at Hogwarts?"
"I… flying, I suppose," Harry answered, momentarily confused by the change in direction.
"Exactly," Chris nodded, a plan taking shape in his words that he knew would work. "You can summon your Firebolt from the castle. Take to the air, where you'll have maneuverability that the dragon lacks, especially if it's chained down."
Hope flickered in Harry's eyes for the first time since he'd arrived, breathless and panicked. "That... that might actually work."
"Come on," Chris said, already turning toward their usual classroom. "We need to find the others and refine this plan. We have all night to prepare, and now that we know what we're facing, we can be much more specific in our approach."