The noise from the stands swelled to a deafening roar as Ludo Bagman's booming voice echoed across the enclosure.
"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please! The first champion to face the task—representing Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—give a great cheer for Cedric Diggory!"
The crowd erupted. The sound was almost physical, pressing against Eira's chest as banners snapped and waved. Hufflepuff students in particular screamed themselves hoarse, their golden scarves lifted high, while the rest of Hogwarts clapped and shouted in support. The name "Cedric" rolled like a wave, chanted again and again until the very stones seemed to vibrate with it.
The flap of the champions' tent opened, and Cedric stepped into the light. His face was pale, jaw set tightly, but there was a determined steadiness in his step as he strode toward the enclosure. His wand was already in hand, glinting faintly in the crisp November sunlight.
Eira leaned forward slightly in her seat, her green eyes fixed on him. She could feel the tension radiating through the crowd, a restless anticipation for what was about to unfold.
Bagman's voice rose again, boyishly enthusiastic. "As you all know, Cedric has drawn the Swedish Short-Snout, a particularly fine specimen! Keep your eyes peeled, folks, because this is going to be quite the spectacle!"
At Bagman's signal, the dragon handlers removed the last of the restraining spells. The ground seemed to shiver as the Swedish Short-Snout lumbered into the arena. Silver-blue scales glittered like hammered steel, its wings half-unfurled as it let out a roar that shook the air. The beast's golden eyes locked onto Cedric immediately, nostrils flaring with heat. The charmed barriers around the enclosure glowed faintly under the force of its fiery breath, flames licking upward in a shimmering sheet.
The crowd gasped in unison, then broke into nervous cheers, torn between awe and fear.
Cedric did not falter. His grip on his wand tightened, and with a swift flick he conjured a large rock into a canine shape. The transfiguration spell was quick and clean; in an instant a dog stood barking madly, darting toward the dragon. The Short-Snout's eyes narrowed, and with a guttural snarl it swung its head after the distraction.
"Brilliant!" Bagman crowed, bouncing in excitement. "A clever bit of transfiguration there! He's conjured himself a distraction, ladies and gentlemen, and the Short-Snout seems rather taken with it!"
The crowd burst into applause, cheering Cedric's quick thinking. Eira could see students leaping to their feet, shouting encouragement, while even some of the visiting witches and wizards nodded in appreciation.
On the judges' platform, Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Excellent technique," he murmured. "Young Diggory has always had a talent for transfiguration. He is using it wisely."
Madame Maxime inclined her head slightly, her expression cool but approving. "It is neat work," she agreed, her French accent lilting.
Karkaroff gave a dismissive snort, leaning back in his chair. "Child's play," he said derisively. "At Durmstrang, even third-years could manage such a trick. This will not last long."
Eira's lips curved faintly, though she said nothing. She watched Cedric closely, her mind noting his precision and control. There was courage in the way he held his ground, never panicking and rushing recklessly.
The dragon lunged after the false dog, snapping its jaws with a crack like thunder. The transfigured creature darted away, leading the beast in circles, and Cedric took the chance to edge closer to the nest where the golden egg gleamed amidst the dragon's real clutch.
The stands fell into tense silence, all eyes on Cedric as he crept forward. The dragon swung its tail, sending a spray of rocks across the enclosure. The audience cried out, but Cedric ducked nimbly, never losing sight of his goal.
The Short-Snout, realizing the dog was not real prey, turned back with a furious roar. Its wings beat the air, sending gusts rippling through the arena. The false dog dissolved in a puff of smoke under the heat of its fiery breath, and Cedric had no choice but to sprint.
Gasps rang out as he rolled aside just as fire scorched the ground where he had stood a heartbeat earlier. His movements were sharp and well-practiced, his mind clearly working as fast as his wand hand. With another flourish, he sent a spell flashing toward the dragon's eyes, dazzling it with sparks of blinding light.
The Short-Snout reared back, momentarily dazed, and Cedric seized the moment. He dashed forward, heart hammering, and leapt over a jagged boulder. His hand closed on the golden egg. The crowd erupted, screaming his name, their cheers a wave of triumph that crashed over the arena.
"Excellent! He's done it, ladies and gentlemen!" Bagman shouted, nearly hopping with excitement. "Cedric Diggory has the golden egg!"
The dragon bellowed, slamming its tail, but Cedric did not falter. With the egg clutched tightly, he sprinted back toward the far side of the enclosure, diving clear as handlers rushed in to subdue the Short-Snout once more.
The moment he crossed the boundary, the crowd exploded. Hufflepuffs waved their yellow banners wildly, chanting his name until their throats were raw. Even students from other houses clapped, admiration undeniable for his quick thinking and steady wandwork.
On the platform, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he looked to the other judges. "Impressive. His spellwork was clean and decisive. That was transfiguration at its best—clever, subtle, and practical. A very fine performance indeed."
Barty Crouch nodded briskly, scribbling notes on his parchment. "He handled himself with discipline and control. Very efficient."
Maxime allowed herself a small smile. "He has courage, and he thinks well under pressure. A commendable showing."
Karkaroff rolled his eyes, muttering with disdain. "Commendable? Hah. Simple tricks. Sparks and a false dog. I have seen far greater feats in classrooms."
Eira turned her head toward him, her gaze sharp. "Yet it was enough to succeed against a dragon," she said softly, but her words carried a sting. "Perhaps at Durmstrang you prefer… other lessons. The sort that left marks on your walls and in your history. Cleverness clearly has no place there, so I imagine it must be difficult for you to recognize it when you see it."
A flush crept up Karkaroff's face. His lips curled back in forced disdain, but his eyes flickered uneasily. "What mark? There is no such mark at Durmstrang," he said, the protest a little too quick and too defensive.
Ludo Bagman gave a booming laugh, slapping the table as if it were the finest joke he had heard all day. "Oh, there is, Karkaroff. Everyone knows it. A very famous mark indeed, though not the sort one boasts of—"
"Enough," Dumbledore interjected smoothly, his voice carrying quiet authority that stilled the room. His eyes, however, gleamed behind his half-moon spectacles. "Let us proceed. The task was completed, and we are here to judge, not to revisit the past."
The tension thinned, though a faint smirk tugged at the corners of more than one judge's mouth as the scoring resumed.
Karkaroff sneered, but said nothing further.
The judges prepared their scores. Bagman stood at the front of the platform, his grin broad as he gestured for silence. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, the judges will reveal their scores for Mr. Diggory!"
The cards were raised one by one.
Madame Maxime lifted hers first: 8.
Karkaroff, scowling, gave a grudging 4, his low score drawing boos and jeers from the crowd.
Barty Crouch Sr. raised his card crisply: 9.
Dumbledore's card followed, showing a serene 9.
With his usual flamboyant flourish, Bagman raised his card high, the bold number 8 gleaming for all to see.
All eyes turned to Eira. She held her card high, the number bold and clear: 10.
The crowd cheered wildly at the sight, their voices ringing out with renewed cries of Cedric's name. The Hufflepuff section nearly collapsed with joy, students jumping and hugging one another as their champion beamed from the arena floor, egg clutched triumphantly in his arms.
Bagman's voice soared over the din. "And that makes a grand total of forty-eight points for Mr. Diggory! A strong start for Hogwarts' champion!"
The applause rolled on, joyous and thunderous, while Cedric lifted the egg in salute to his school.
Eira leaned back in her chair, her gaze still fixed on him. She felt no hesitation in her choice of score. Courage, skill, and clear-minded strategy deserved nothing less than full marks. Whatever Karkaroff might sneer, Cedric had faced a dragon and walked away unscathed. That was victory worth recognizing.
The crowd's chanting faded into background noise as Eira allowed herself a small smile. One champion had passed the trial. Soon, it would be Fleur's turn.
And Eira's heart tightened at the thought. A dozen what-ifs rushed in, unwelcome and heavy—what if Fleur faltered, what if the dragon struck too quickly, what if the cleverness and grace Eira admired so deeply were swallowed by fire and scales? The mere idea of Fleur's golden hair catching in the heat of the dragon's breath sent a chill down her spine.
She drew a breath, forcing her fingers to unclench against the chair. "No," she murmured inwardly, steadying herself. "I have to believe in her. She has prepared, she has the strength, and she has never once let fear rule her." A flicker of pride rose to combat her worry, warm and defiant. Fleur would not only endure—she would dazzle. Eira closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to trust in that truth.