The door to the unused classroom burst open as Chris and Harry rushed in, their hurried footsteps echoing against the stone walls. Inside, Susan, Hannah, Hermione, Daphne, and Astoria were already gathered, their faces tight with concern as they looked up from the various books and notes spread across the desks. Susan rose immediately, her eyes moving from Chris's composed but intent expression to Harry's flushed face and wild eyes.
"What's happened?" Hermione asked, already on her feet, a quill still clutched in her hand. "Your message said it was urgent."
Harry leaned against a desk, his breath coming in short gasps. The sprint through the castle corridors had left him winded, but it was the lingering shock of what he'd witnessed that truly stole his breath. "I know what the first task is," he managed, his voice thin with residual panic.
The room fell silent, five pairs of eyes fixed on him, waiting.
"Dragons," Harry said, the single word landing like a stone in still water. "We have to get past dragons."
For a moment, no one spoke. Then, all at once, voices erupted.
"Dragons? Are you certain?" Hermione's voice rose above the others, her face paling.
"How do you know?" Hannah asked, clutching the edge of a desk.
"How big?" Daphne's practical question cut through the clamor, her ice-blue eyes narrowed.
Harry raised his hands, trying to quell the barrage of questions. "Hagrid showed me. There are four of them, one for each champion. They're... they're enormous. And vicious. There was a Hungarian Horntail, black with bronze spikes, it shot flame at least forty feet."
"A Horntail?" Hermione whispered, her encyclopedic knowledge confirming the gravity of the situation. "That's one of the most dangerous dragon species in existence."
Susan had been silent, her eyes fixed not on Harry but on Chris, who stood watching the exchange with an expression that mingled concern with something harder to read. Suddenly, she gave a short, incredulous laugh.
"You jinxed it, Chris!" she exclaimed, half-accusatory, half-amazed. "Dragons! You actually jinxed it!" She pointed an accusing finger at him. "At dinner that night, you literally joked that the first task might be dragons!"
The others turned to Chris, momentarily distracted from their shock by this revelation. Chris held up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, a small, wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Alright, alright, no time for superstitions now," he said. "Pure coincidence."
Astoria leapt to her feet, rushing to Chris's side and wrapping both arms around one of his as she glared at Susan. "Don't blame big brother! He was just being smart, thinking of all the possibilities." She looked up at Chris with adoring eyes. "You're always thinking ahead."
Chris gently patted Astoria on the head in thanks and moved to stand before Harry, his expression shifting to one of calm reassurance. "It will be fine, Harry," he said, his voice steady and confident. "This is exactly why we've been training. The spells we've focused on are perfect for this challenge."
"How?" Harry asked, desperation clear in his voice. "How do I get past a dragon with just four spells?"
Chris's sapphire eyes gleamed with certainty. "Your greatest strength is flying, Harry. You're a natural in the air, with instincts that can't be taught." He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, the gesture firm and grounding. "You can use the Summoning Charm, Accio, to call your Firebolt from the castle. Take to the air, where you'll have maneuverability that the dragon lacks, especially if it's chained."
Harry's eyes widened as understanding dawned. "My broom... I could outfly it."
"Exactly," Chris nodded. "And once you're in position, you can use the Switching Spell to swap whatever you need to retrieve from the dragon's possession."
Daphne crossed her arms, considering the strategy. "It's sound," she admitted. "Dragons are powerful on the ground and deadly with their fire, but their size makes them less agile in flight. A skilled flyer on a Firebolt would have the advantage."
Hermione was already pulling books from her bag, her initial shock giving way to focused determination. "We need to refine your Summoning Charm immediately," she said. "The distance from the arena to the castle will be considerable, you'll need enough power to pull the broom all that way."
"And enough precision that it comes directly to your hand," Hannah added. "You can't waste seconds fumbling for it."
Susan moved to a clear area of the classroom, already beginning to rearrange desks to create a practice space. "The Switching Spell will be tricky if you're on a moving broom," she pointed out. "We should simulate that as best we can."
Chris turned to face the entire group, his natural leadership emerging as he took charge of the situation. "Our job now, for the rest of today, is to practice only those two spells with Harry, so he can be absolutely ready by tomorrow. Nothing else matters." His eyes swept the room, meeting each gaze in turn. "Hermione, focus on enhancing the range and power of his Summoning Charm. Daphne, work with him on precision Switching while in motion. Susan, Hannah, you'll help simulate distractions and pressure."
"What about me?" Astoria piped up, bouncing on her toes.
Chris smiled down at her. "You'll be our most important assistant. I need you to place objects at increasing distances for Harry to summon, and to critique his form."
Astoria beamed, clearly delighted with her assigned role. "I'll be the strictest teacher ever," she promised, her childish enthusiasm bringing a brief moment of lightness to the tense room.
As the group began to rearrange the classroom for intensive practice, Harry felt something shift inside him. The paralyzing fear that had gripped him since seeing the dragons began to recede, not vanishing but transforming into something more manageable, a focused anxiety that could fuel determination rather than freeze him in place. For the first time since his name had emerged from the Goblet of Fire, he felt not just resigned to his fate but actively engaged in shaping it.
"We can do this," he said, his voice stronger now as he drew his wand. "I can do this."
"Of course you can," Chris replied, his confidence unwavering. "We've been preparing you all along, Harry. Now we just need to perfect these two spells."
The afternoon stretched before them, hours of practice ahead with no room for error or distraction. Outside the castle, the November sun was already beginning its early descent, shadows lengthening across the grounds where, hidden from view, four dragons awaited tomorrow's challenge. But in the warmth of the classroom, surrounded by determined allies, Harry Potter began to believe that he might just survive what awaited him.
...
The morning of November 25th dawned cold and clear, the pale winter sun doing little to warm the grounds of Hogwarts. Harry made his way toward the champions' tent, each step bringing him closer to the dragons that awaited. All around, students streamed past him toward the stands, their excited chatter and laughter a jarring contrast to the cold dread that had settled in his stomach. Despite the night of intensive practice, despite the confidence Chris and the others had shown in him, the reality of facing a dragon loomed large and terrifying in his mind.
The champions' tent stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a large structure of gold and white that fluttered slightly in the November breeze. Harry paused outside, drawing a deep breath before pushing aside the entrance flap and stepping into the tense silence within.
The other three champions were already there, each isolated in their own bubble of pre-task anxiety. Cedric paced near the far wall, his handsome face drawn with concentration, occasionally running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture. Fleur sat perched on a small stool, her silver-blonde hair tied back in a practical plait, her fingers methodically smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her Beauxbatons uniform. Viktor Krum stood motionless near the entrance, his heavy brows drawn together as he stared at the tent flap, as though willing it to remain closed a bit longer.
All three looked up as Harry entered, their expressions shifting subtly. Krum gave a curt nod before returning to his intense study of the tent fabric. Fleur's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing him with a coolness that betrayed her own nervousness. Only Cedric moved toward him, offering a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Alright, Harry?" he asked quietly. The question was simple, but Harry could see the genuine concern beneath Cedric's composed exterior.
"Been better," Harry admitted, his voice sounding strangely hollow to his own ears.
Cedric nodded, understanding implicit in the gesture. "Whatever happens out there..." he began, then seemed to reconsider his words. "Good luck."
"You too," Harry replied, grateful for the brief moment of camaraderie amid the tension.
The silence returned, heavier than before, broken only by the distant sounds of the gathering crowd. Each champion retreated into their thoughts, mentally preparing for whatever lay ahead. Harry found himself running through Chris's instructions in his mind like a mantra: Summon the broom. Take to the air. Use the Switching Spell. Stay focused.
The tent flap burst open, admitting Ludo Bagman, whose robes of bright yellow made him look like an oversized canary. His round face beamed with excitement entirely inappropriate to the mood in the tent.
"Well, well, well! All here, excellent!" he boomed, clapping his hands together. "Feeling ready? Got your wands? Everything in order?"
His questions were met with tense nods and silence.
"Splendid! Won't be long now, the stands are filling up nicely. When the audience has assembled, I'll offer you each a go at the bag," he held up a small purple silk pouch, "from which you will draw a small model of... well, what you'll be facing! There are different varieties, you see, and, ah!"
He broke off as the tent flap opened again to admit a grave-looking Dumbledore, followed by Madame Maxime, who had to duck considerably to enter, Igor Karkaroff with his silver-streaked goatee, and Barty Crouch Sr., whose mustache seemed even more rigid than usual.
"The judges have arrived," Bagman announced unnecessarily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Time to fill you in on the task procedures!"
The champions gathered closer, faces taut with anticipation.
"Now, your task is simple in description, though not in execution," Bagman continued, his jovial tone at odds with the gravity of his words. "You will each face a dragon…"
Harry's stomach clenched despite having already known this, the verbal confirmation making it terrifyingly real.
"…from which you must retrieve a golden egg."
Fleur drew in a sharp breath. Cedric's eyes widened in shock that Harry knew was genuine. Even Krum's stoic expression faltered momentarily, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
"Dragons?" Cedric repeated, his voice higher than normal. "We're facing dragons?"
"Indeed, Mr. Diggory," Dumbledore confirmed. "Each of you will face a different breed, and each will be guarding a nest containing golden eggs."
"Your score will reflect how well you retrieve the egg," Bagman added. "Points for style, efficiency, and magical prowess." He held up the purple bag, which was now wriggling slightly. "In this bag are miniature models of the dragons you'll face. You'll draw them out to determine which dragon you face and in what order."
The bag moved again, more violently this time. Harry could hear tiny roars coming from within.
"Ladies first," Bagman said, offering the bag to Fleur.
Her face pale but determined, Fleur reached into the bag with a steady hand. When she withdrew it, a perfect miniature of a dragon sat on her palm, a Common Welsh Green with the number three around its neck.
"The Welsh Green," Bagman announced. "And you'll be third to enter the arena."
Krum stepped forward without being called, his expression unchanged as he reached into the bag. He drew out a scarlet dragon with a fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, the number two hanging from its neck.
"The Chinese Fireball! And you're second."
Cedric drew next, extracting a blueish-gray dragon with long, pointed horns and the number one.
"The Swedish Short-Snout! You'll be going first, Mr. Diggory."
Cedric nodded, swallowing visibly as he stared at the miniature dragon now prowling across his palm.
Harry's heart sank as Bagman held out the bag to him. There was only one dragon left, and he knew exactly which one it would be. His hand trembling slightly, he reached in and pulled out the Hungarian Horntail, its black scales gleaming in the tent's light, its yellow eyes fierce even in miniature form. The number four hung around its spiked neck.
"The Hungarian Horntail," Bagman confirmed, a note of sympathy finally entering his voice. "Most vicious of the lot, I'm afraid. And you'll be going last, Mr. Potter."
The miniature Horntail opened its tiny mouth and emitted a jet of flame, as though eager to demonstrate its capabilities.
"Right then!" Bagman clapped his hands again. "Mr. Diggory, at the sound of the whistle, you'll exit the tent and enter the arena. The rest of you, wait for your turn. Good luck to all!"
With that, he bustled out, followed more sedately by the four judges, leaving the champions to their final moments of preparation.
Cedric took a deep breath, his face pale but resolved. He glanced around at his fellow champions, nodded once, and moved toward the tent exit, wand gripped tightly in his hand.
"See you all... after," he said, his attempt at a confident smile not quite reaching convincing anyone.
A shrill whistle pierced the air. Cedric squared his shoulders and walked out, the tent flap falling closed behind him. Almost immediately, the roar of the crowd swelled, punctuated by the deeper, more terrifying roar of the Swedish Short-Snout.
Harry sank onto a stool, the miniature Horntail still pacing across his palm, occasionally snapping at his fingers. He would be last. He had to watch all three champions go before him, had to endure the waiting, the sounds from outside, the knowing what was coming.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, focusing on Chris's instructions once more. The Summoning Charm. The Switching Spell. He could do this. He had to do this. With the tiny dragon still clutching his thumb with miniature claws, Harry Potter prepared himself to face its much larger counterpart.
...
The stands surrounding the dragon enclosure swelled with students and faculty, their collective excitement charging the air like static before a storm. Chris, Susan, Hannah, Hermione, and Daphne had secured seats near the front, offering an unobstructed view of the rocky arena below where the first champion would soon face their dragon. Astoria, despite Daphne's earlier objections, had wriggled her way onto Chris's lap, her small frame practically vibrating with anticipation as she clutched his arm.
"Do you think Harry will be alright?" Susan whispered, leaning close to Chris's ear to be heard over the crowd's rumble. Her eyes betrayed the worry she'd been masking since they'd taken their seats.
"He'll be fine," Chris assured her, his gaze steady on the empty arena. "We prepared him well."
Hermione twisted her Gryffindor scarf between her fingers, her usual composure fraying at the edges. "But we don't know which dragon he'll face. What if it's the Horntail? Hagrid said it was the worst."
"Then he'll adapt," Chris replied with a certainty that seemed to calm not just Hermione but the entire group. "That's what we trained him for."
Astoria bounced slightly on Chris's lap, earning a disapproving glance from Daphne. "I bet the dragons breathe really big flames," she said, her eyes wide with excitement rather than fear. "Do you think they'll let us keep any dragon scales that fall off? I want one for my collection."
"I highly doubt it," Daphne replied, her voice cool though her tense posture betrayed her own anxiety. "Dragon scales are Class B Tradeable Materials. They'd be collected by the handlers immediately."
Hannah reached over to squeeze Hermione's hand. "Harry's quick on a broom. If anyone can outfly a dragon, it's him."
Their conversation was cut short as Ludo Bagman's magically amplified voice boomed across the stadium. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he called, his enthusiasm palpable even from a distance. "Welcome to the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament!"
The crowd roared in response, feet stomping on wooden stands, creating a thunderous rhythm that seemed to shake the very air.
"Our champions will each face a different dragon," Bagman continued once the noise had subsided slightly. "Their task is simple but dangerous, to retrieve a golden egg from the dragon's nest!"
Another wave of cheers swept through the stands, punctuated by gasps from those who hadn't known what the task would entail.
"First to face his dragon, representing Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, please welcome CEDRIC DIGGORY!"
The Hufflepuff section erupted in particular, yellow and black banners waving frantically as Cedric emerged from a small tent at the edge of the arena. He looked pale but determined, his wand gripped tightly in his hand as he surveyed the rocky terrain before him.
For a moment, the arena seemed empty aside from Cedric. Then a handler released the Swedish Short-Snout from its holding pen. The dragon burst into the arena with a roar that silenced the crowd, its silvery-blue scales gleaming in the winter sunlight as it took up a protective position before a clutch of eggs.
"That's a Swedish Short-Snout," Chris explained to the others, his voice informative. "Known for the blue flame it produces, hot enough to reduce timber and bone to ash in seconds."
As if on cue, the dragon reared back and released a jet of brilliant blue fire into the air, causing the front rows to flinch away from the heat.
"Look, there!" Hannah pointed. "You can see the golden egg among the real ones!"
Indeed, amid the clutch of granite-colored dragon eggs, a single golden egg gleamed, the prize Cedric had to claim.
Cedric moved cautiously along the perimeter of the arena, his eyes never leaving the dragon. The Short-Snout tracked his movement, its spiked tail lashing against the ground in agitation. When Cedric raised his wand, the entire stadium seemed to hold its breath.
"What's he doing?" Astoria whispered, gripping Chris's arm tighter.
Chris watched intently, recognizing the precise wand movement Cedric executed. "Transfiguration," he murmured. "Watch."
With a complex gesture, Cedric transformed a nearby rock into a large Labrador dog, complete with wagging tail and enthusiastic barking. The dog immediately began running and jumping, drawing the dragon's attention away from both Cedric and the nest.
"Brilliant!" Hermione exclaimed. "A distraction!"
The dragon's head swiveled toward the dog, momentarily confused by this new, noisy intruder. Its attention divided, it took a threatening step toward the Labrador, which continued to bark and dart about.
"Now's his chance," Susan breathed, her fingers digging into her own robes with tension.
Seizing the opportunity, Cedric began to move swiftly toward the nest, staying low and using the rocky terrain for cover. The crowd, sensing the critical moment, grew quieter, as though a collective breath was being held.
The dog continued its distraction, but the dragon's instincts were strong. Just as Cedric reached the edge of the nest, the Short-Snout's head snapped back toward its eggs. Sensing the threat, it released another blast of blue flame.
"Look out!" The cry came from dozens of throats at once.
Cedric dove for the golden egg, his fingers closing around it just as the flame seared past him. He wasn't entirely fast enough, the fire caught the side of his face, eliciting a painful hiss that carried across the suddenly silent arena.
But he had the egg. Rolling away from the nest, clutching his prize to his chest, Cedric scrambled back toward the exit as dragon handlers rushed in to subdue the Short-Snout.
The stands exploded with cheers, the Hufflepuffs in particular leaping to their feet in wild celebration. Cedric, despite the angry red burn on one side of his face, held the golden egg aloft in triumph as he disappeared into a medical tent.
"He did it!" Hannah cried, jumping up and down. "He actually did it!"
"The burn looked bad," Hermione worried, her brow furrowed. "I hope Madam Pomfrey can heal it without scarring."
Daphne's assessment was more clinical. "His strategy was sound, but he was slow to retrieve the egg once he reached the nest. That hesitation cost him."
Chris nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "Still, transfiguring a living, moving creature as a distraction was clever. It showed good knowledge of dragon behavior and good transfiguration skills."
Astoria clapped her hands in delight. "The dog was cute! I want one just like it."
"That was a transfigured rock, not a real dog," Daphne reminded her sister with an exasperated sigh.
Bagman's voice boomed out again as the handlers secured the Swedish Short-Snout and began preparing the arena for the next champion. "A very good start! The judges will now show their scores."
Numbers shot into the air from the judges' booth: an eight from Dumbledore, a nine from Bagman, a five from Karkaroff, earning boos from the Hogwarts students, a nine from Madame Maxime, and a seven from Crouch.
"Thirty-eight out of fifty," Susan calculated quickly. "Not bad at all, considering he was burned."
"Next up," Bagman announced once the applause had subsided, "facing the Chinese Fireball, please welcome the champion from Durmstrang Institute, VIKTOR KRUM!"
The Durmstrang contingent roared their approval, pounding the stands with their fists in a rhythmic show of support. In the arena below, handlers were bringing in a new dragon, its scarlet scales visible even from a distance.
Chris found his thoughts turning to Harry, waiting in the champions' tent, hearing the crowds but unable to see what was happening. He hoped their training had been enough, that Harry's natural flying ability combined with the spells they'd practiced would see him through his encounter.
...
Viktor Krum entered the arena with the same duck-footed gait he displayed on the Quidditch pitch, his expression grim and focused. Unlike Cedric's cautious approach, Krum moved with direct purpose, his dark eyes fixed on the Chinese Fireball that now occupied the rocky enclosure. The dragon was a magnificent creature, its scarlet scales glinting like rubies in the sunlight, a fringe of golden spikes surrounding its snub-snouted face. It snorted, sending twin jets of smoke from its nostrils as it regarded the approaching human with ancient, reptilian suspicion.
"He's not hesitating at all," Hannah observed, leaning forward in her seat. "Look at how directly he's approaching."
"Confidence or foolishness?" Daphne mused, her eyes narrowed as she assessed the Durmstrang champion's strategy.
The crowd had fallen relatively quiet, tense anticipation hanging in the air as Krum and the dragon sized each other up. The Fireball shifted, adjusting its position over the clutch of crimson-speckled eggs nestled among the rocks, the golden egg gleaming conspicuously among them.
"The Chinese Fireball is known for its precision," Hermione whispered, clearly reciting from memory. "Its flame can hit targets from up to twenty feet away with pinpoint accuracy."
"Which makes Krum's direct approach all the more risky," Chris added, his eyes never leaving the arena.
Astoria wiggled on Chris's lap, trying to get a better view. "Is he going to turn rocks into dogs too?" she asked, her voice carrying farther than intended.
"I don't think so," Chris replied quietly. "Krum's known for his offensive spellcasting. I suspect he'll take a more direct…"
Before he could finish, Krum made his move. With startling speed, he raised his wand and cast a spell toward the dragon's face, the incantation lost in the sudden gasp from the crowd. The jet of light struck the Fireball directly in the eyes.
"A Conjunctivitis Curse!" Hermione exclaimed, recognizing the spell immediately. "He's targeting the dragon's eyes!"
The effect was instantaneous and dramatic. The Chinese Fireball reared back, its roar changing from threatening to pained as its eyes swelled shut. It shook its massive head, disoriented and angry, thrashing wildly in its agony.
"That's clever," Susan admitted, wincing as the dragon's tail smashed against the rocky ground. "Dragons' eyes are their most vulnerable point, their hides are almost impervious to magic."
But the strategy came with unforeseen consequences. The blinded dragon stomped and flailed in its distress, crushing several of its own eggs beneath its massive feet. The crowd gasped in collective horror at the destruction.
"Oh no," Hannah breathed, her hand covering her mouth. "The real eggs..."
"He'll lose points for that," Daphne predicted coldly. "Dragon eggs are incredibly valuable, and the handlers won't appreciate having their clutch destroyed."
While the dragon continued its agonized thrashing, Krum seized his opportunity. He darted forward with surprising agility for his stocky frame, snatched the golden egg from among the remaining real ones, and sprinted toward the exit.
Chris watched with a critical eye, noting both the effectiveness and the consequences of Krum's approach. "Direct, efficient, but ultimately damaging," he observed. "An interesting contrast to Diggory's strategy."
The dragon handlers rushed in once Krum had secured the egg, firing Stunning Spells at the still-rampaging Fireball. It took six wizards casting simultaneously to finally subdue the creature, which collapsed with a ground-shaking thud that sent dust billowing across the arena.
Bagman's voice boomed out once more. "Very daring! That's some nerve he's showing, and yes, he's got the egg!"
The Durmstrang students erupted in cheers, stamping their feet and chanting Krum's name. However, near the judges' table, the head dragon handler was gesturing angrily toward the crushed eggs, his face flushed with indignation as he argued with Crouch and Dumbledore.
"The scores, please!" Bagman called, and once again, fiery numbers shot into the air.
Dumbledore awarded an eight, his face grave as he surveyed the damage to the dragon's nest. Madame Maxime gave a seven, while Crouch contributed a six. Bagman, ever the Quidditch fan, offered Krum a generous nine. Karkaroff, to no one's surprise, shot a perfect ten into the air, eliciting boos and hisses from the Hogwarts contingent.
"Forty points," Susan tallied. "Two more than Cedric, despite the damaged eggs."
"That's hardly fair," Hannah protested. "Cedric was much more careful with his approach."
"Karkaroff's bias is showing," Hermione said with disgust. "A perfect score when Krum destroyed half the clutch?"
Chris remained thoughtful, his mind already processing how these different strategies might inform Harry's approach. "The Conjunctivitis Curse is effective, but risky. Harry's flying strategy should be cleaner, no risk to the eggs if he stays airborne."
Astoria tugged at Chris's sleeve. "I liked Cedric's dog better. Krum just made the dragon angry and sad."
"Indeed," Daphne agreed, her tone unusually gentle with her sister. "There's something to be said for finesse over brute force."
As handlers cleared the arena of the stunned Chinese Fireball and the remains of its eggs, replacing them with a new nest, the crowd's energy shifted. The Beauxbatons students straightened in their seats, their powder-blue uniforms creating a distinctive patch of color in the stands as they prepared to support their champion.
"Fleur's next," Susan noted, glancing toward the Beauxbatons section where Gabrielle Delacour sat with her classmates, her young face a picture of anxiety for her older sister.
"I wonder what approach she'll take," Hermione mused. "She seems to favor Charms in her studies, from what I've observed in the library."
Chris nodded, recalling his conversations with Fleur about elemental magic. "French magical education emphasizes harmony with magical creatures rather than dominance," he said. "She might try something more subtle."
The arena below had been reset, a new dragon, smaller than the previous two but no less deadly, now crouched protectively over a fresh clutch of eggs. Its scales were a rich, deep green that blended with the mossy rocks scattered throughout the enclosure, its long neck swaying as it surveyed its new surroundings.
"The Common Welsh Green," Chris identified. "Less aggressive than the Horntail or the Fireball, but still dangerous. Its flame can reach up to fifteen feet."
"Ladies and gentlemen," Bagman announced, his voice carrying across the now-hushed stadium, "our third champion, representing Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, please welcome FLEUR DELACOUR!"
The Beauxbatons students rose as one, their applause elegant and controlled compared to the rowdier Durmstrang display. Several male students from various schools joined in with perhaps more enthusiasm than the moment warranted, affected by Fleur's Veela heritage even at a distance.
As Fleur stepped into the arena, her silver-blonde hair gleaming against her blue uniform, Chris felt a growing tension among his friends. Each completed performance brought them one step closer to Harry's turn, to the moment when they would discover whether their training had been enough.
"Two down, one to go before Harry," Hermione whispered, voicing what they were all thinking. "I just hope he was paying attention to their strategies."
"He won't be able to see from the tent," Susan reminded her. "He'll have to rely on what we taught him."
Chris watched as Fleur raised her wand, facing the Welsh Green with determination etched on her beautiful features. "He'll be fine," he repeated, his confidence never wavering.
...
Fleur Delacour approached the Welsh Green with the measured grace that characterized her every movement, her wand held loosely but confidently at her side. Unlike Krum's direct aggression or Cedric's cautious maneuvering, Fleur moved with deliberate elegance, her eyes never leaving the dragon's massive form. The Welsh Green, smaller than the Fireball but still immensely dangerous, raised its serpentine neck in warning, green scales rippling in the sunlight as it assessed this new threat to its nest.
"She's so brave," Hannah whispered, leaning forward to watch. "Look how calm she seems."
"Part of that is her Veela side," Chris explained quietly. "They have a natural affinity with magical creatures, even dangerous ones."
The crowd fell silent as Fleur stopped at a respectful distance from the dragon, raising her wand not in an attacking position but almost as if in greeting. Then, to the astonishment of many watching, she began to softly sing, her voice carrying across the arena in a melodic stream of French. As she sang, a subtle change came over her features, an enhancement of her already considerable beauty that seemed to radiate outward like invisible waves.
"She's using her allure," Daphne observed, her tone a mixture of surprise and reluctant admiration. "Attempting to mesmerize the dragon."
"Can that work?" Susan asked, glancing at Chris.
"Partially," he replied, watching intently. "Dragons are magical creatures with strong minds, but they're not entirely immune to magical influence. The Veela allure affects anything with a consciousness, though its effectiveness varies."
Indeed, the Welsh Green had tilted its head, its movements becoming less aggressive as it listened to Fleur's singing. The dragon's eyes, previously narrowed in suspicion, grew slightly unfocused, its posture relaxing incrementally.
"It's working!" Hermione gasped, her academic interest clearly piqued by this unexpected strategy.
"Not for long," Chris cautioned, just as the dragon shook its massive head, as if clearing it of cobwebs.
The Welsh Green's momentary trance broke suddenly, replaced by renewed anger at being manipulated. It reared back, drawing in a breath that expanded its chest ominously.
"Look out!" cried multiple voices from the crowd.
Fleur stopped singing and pivoted smoothly to the left just as a jet of flame scorched the ground where she had been standing. Without losing her composure, she shifted tactics, her wand now moving in a complex pattern as she chanted softly but intensely in French.
"A sleeping charm," Hermione identified, recognizing the wand movement. "That's incredibly advanced magic to use on a creature as magically resistant as a dragon."
Astoria bounced excitedly on Chris's lap. "Is she going to make the dragon take a nap?"
"She's attempting to," Chris confirmed. "Traditional French magic often emphasizes harmony rather than confrontation. If she can lull it to sleep rather than fight it directly..."
The Welsh Green resisted at first, shaking its head and snorting jets of smoke. But Fleur's charm was persistent, her concentration unwavering as she maintained the spell despite the dragon's resistance. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the dragon's movements slowed. Its eyelids drooped, its head began to sink, and its aggressive posture softened.
"It's working," Susan breathed, clearly impressed.
The entire stadium watched in hushed anticipation as the Welsh Green fought against the encroaching drowsiness. Fleur never faltered, her wand movements precise, her incantation steady and rhythmic. Finally, with a last shake of its head, the dragon slumped forward, its massive form settling around the nest as its eyes closed completely.
Fleur waited a few moments, ensuring the dragon was truly asleep, before approaching the nest with continued caution. She moved silently, her footsteps carefully placed to avoid disturbing the sleeping beast.
"Brilliant," Hannah whispered. "No damage to the eggs, no harm to the dragon."
Just as Fleur reached for the golden egg, the sleeping dragon shifted in its slumber, exhaling a jet of flame that caught the hem of Fleur's robes. The crowd gasped as fire licked up the blue fabric.
"Aguamenti!" Fleur cast quickly, extinguishing the flames with a jet of water from her wand. The distraction cost her precious seconds, but she maintained her composure, snatching the golden egg and retreating from the nest with the same measured grace with which she had approached.
The applause that followed was enthusiastic, particularly from the Beauxbatons students and a significant portion of the male audience. Fleur acknowledged it with a small, elegant bow before disappearing into the medical tent to have her minor burns treated.
"That was impressive," Daphne admitted. "Using charm rather than force. Elegant and effective."
"And considerate to the dragon," Hermione added. "No permanent harm done, unlike Krum's approach."
The judges conferred briefly before sending their scores into the air. Dumbledore gave an eight, clearly impressed by the advanced magic. Madame Maxime, beaming with pride, awarded a nine to her student. Crouch and Bagman both gave eights, while Karkaroff, predictably stingy with non-Durmstrang competitors, offered only a six.
"Thirty-nine," Susan calculated. "One point behind of Krum, despite Karkaroff's bias."
"She deserved it," Hannah declared. "That was the cleanest retrieval yet."
As the handlers carefully approached the sleeping dragon, preparing to remove it from the arena, Chris found his thoughts returning to Harry. Three champions had now demonstrated three entirely different approaches: Cedric's distraction, Krum's direct attack, and Fleur's enchantment. Each had succeeded, but each had also faced unexpected complications. What would Harry encounter with the Hungarian Horntail, the most fearsome of the four dragons?
Astoria tugged at Chris's sleeve, her earlier excitement now tinged with concern. "Harry's next," she said, stating what they all knew. "Will he be okay? The black dragon is really mean."
"He'll be fine," Chris assured her with a pat on the head, his voice steady with genuine confidence. "We've prepared him well. His strategy plays to his strengths."
Hermione nodded, though her hands twisted nervously in her lap. "The Summoning Charm was perfect in our last practice. As long as he can call his Firebolt..."
"He will," Chris said with quiet certainty. "And once he's in the air, he'll have the advantage. Harry on a broom is Harry in his element."
The arena below was being reset for the final time, handlers bringing in the Hungarian Horntail with extraordinary caution, using twice as many restraints as they had for the previous dragons. Even from a distance, the Horntail's ferocity was evident in its thrashing tail and the occasional jet of flame it released in protest of its confinement.
"That's the most dangerous dragon of the four," Susan observed, her voice tightening with renewed anxiety. "And Harry has to face it."
"Which means he'll earn the most points when he succeeds," Chris replied, his emphasis on 'when' rather than 'if' not lost on the others.
Bagman's voice rang out once more, announcing the final champion of the day. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, our fourth and final champion! Facing the Hungarian Horntail, please welcome HARRY POTTER!"
The crowd's reaction was mixed, cheers from Gryffindor, polite applause from Ravenclaw, hesitant support from some Hufflepuffs still loyal to Cedric, and outright boos from Slytherin. Through it all, Chris and his friends watched the entrance to the arena, waiting for Harry to emerge and put their carefully crafted plan into action.
"Here we go," Chris murmured, his eyes fixed on the spot where Harry would appear. "Remember, we've given him everything he needs. Trust in that."