Fleur Delacour
The roar of the crowd hit Fleur.
She stood at the entrance to the arena, the tunnel's shadows falling away behind her, and the noise crashed over her from all directions. Thousands of voices, screaming, chanting, a chaos of sound that made her ears ring. Beauxbatons' section was loudest, blue banners snapping in the wind, but the entire stadium had risen to its feet.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, OUR FIRST CHAMPION! FLEUR DELACOUR OF BEAUXBATONS ACADEMY!"
For a moment, she couldn't move. Couldn't think. The weight of expectation pressed down on her shoulders like stone.
Then she looked up.
Her father sat in the champions' family box, tall and distinguished even at this distance. His silver hair caught the November light. His hands gripped the railing in front of him. Their eyes met across the space, and she saw everything there. Worry. Fear. Pride.
Watch me, Father. I will make you proud. And this time... there will be no doubt about it.
She walked forward.
"Miss Delacour looks absolutely focused, doesn't she? Steady steps, wand already drawn-this is what we call champion material, folks!"
The arena floor was larger than she'd expected. Rocky terrain stretched before her, boulders scattered like a giant's toys, patches of bare earth between them. At the far end, curled around a clutch of massive eggs, the dragon waited.
The Common Welsh Green lifted its head.
"And there she is! The Common Welsh Green! Beautiful creature, isn't she? Well, beautiful from up here in the safety of the stands, at least!"
Fleur's breath caught in her throat.
It wasn't as large as she'd imagined when she heard the task involved dragons. But it was still enormous. Still dangerous. Its emerald scales, each one the size of her hand. Its eyes, yellow and slit-pupiled, fixed on her.
She swallowed hard.
Madame Maxime had said this task wasn't as dangerous as it had been two centuries ago. Modern protections. Medical staff on standby. Champions weren't meant to die anymore.
Total bullshit.
The dragon's chest expanded.
"Oh, here we go! The dragon's spotted her and-"
Fleur threw herself sideways as a gout of red flame erupted across the space where she'd been standing. The heat washed over her even from behind the boulder she'd scrambled behind, hot enough to make her skin prickle.
"EXCELLENT reflexes from Miss Delacour! That flame would have cooked her like a Christmas turkey! She's taken cover behind that boulder-smart thinking!"
"Merde," she breathed.
Chain links clinked as the dragon shifted, testing the magical restraints that held it. Thank Merlin for those. The flames couldn't reach her here, not directly. The dragon's range was limited.
But limited didn't mean safe.
Fleur drew her wand, mind racing through possibilities. Distraction spells. Something to confuse it, draw its attention away from the eggs long enough for her to—
"Lumen Phantasma!"
Brilliant orbs of light burst into existence around the dragon's head, spinning and darting like oversized fireflies. The Welsh Green's eyes tracked them for approximately three seconds before losing interest entirely.
"Of course not," Fleur muttered. "Why would anything be simple?"
The dragon's head swung back toward her hiding spot. It knew exactly where she was. Could probably smell her fear.
Another blast of flame forced her to duck lower. The rock above her head glowed orange with heat.
Then the dragon did something unexpected.
It reared back, neck arching, and spat fire straight up into the sky.
Fleur frowned. "What are you-"
"Wait, what's this? The dragon's firing into the...MERLIN'S BEARD!"
The explosion came a second later.
The fireball detonated somewhere above the arena, and suddenly the air was full of burning rock. Chunks of stone, set aflame by dragon fire, raining down across the entire space. The dragon's limited range had just become unlimited.
"Non, non, non—"
Fleur ran.
A flaming boulder the size of her head smashed into the ground where she'd been crouched. Another crashed to her left. A third to her right. The arena had become a war zone, fire and stone falling from the sky like judgment.
She vaulted over a low rock, landed badly, kept running. Heat seared across her leg and she looked down to see her skirt catching flame, the powder-blue fabric curling black at the edges.
"Aguamenti!"
Water burst from her wand, dousing the fire before it could spread. The fabric hung wet and heavy now, clinging to her leg, but at least she wasn't burning.
For a brief, desperate moment, she considered it.
The Veela allure. Just a touch. Just enough to make the dragon drowsy, compliant. It would be so easy. The creature was female, but the magic didn't care about that. Veela could entrance anything with a pulse if they tried hard enough.
She could win this in seconds.
Her hand tightened on her wand.
No.
Absolutely not. Never. She would not use her heritage as a crutch. Would not take the shortcut. Would not give anyone, ever, the chance to say she'd won because of what she was rather than what she'd earned.
Fleur's jaw set.
"Fine. We do this properly."
She stepped out from behind her cover, wand raised.
"Flamme Blanche!"
Two spheres of white fire erupted from her wand tip, each the size of a Quaffle. They shot across the arena like comets, weaving between falling debris, aimed at two points.
"What is that? I've never seen-white fire? The spells are heading straight for the dragon's—"
The dragon's eyes.
Both spheres struck simultaneously. The white flames burst across the creature's face, not burning but clinging, spreading across its vision like a veil.
"IT'S BLINDED! MISS DELACOUR HAS BLINDED THE DRAGON!"
The Welsh Green's roar shook the stadium.
It thrashed, massive head whipping side to side, wings beating against the air in panic. Fire belched from its mouth in every direction, completely uncontrolled. The chain restraints groaned under the force of its movements.
Blind. It was blind.
Fleur didn't hesitate.
"Aqua Torrens!"
A torrent of water erupted from her wand, a pressurized flood. It shot across the space and straight into the dragon's open mouth, pouring down its throat.
Steam exploded from the dragon's jaws. The creature gagged, coughed, its internal fire meeting the water in a boiling collision. Smoke poured from its nostrils. Its roars turned to something closer to choking screams.
Fleur ran.
Her feet pounded across the rocky ground, dodging around boulders, leaping over patches of still-burning stone. The golden egg gleamed among the real ones, obvious and taunting. Thirty feet. Twenty. Ten.
She reached out.
Her fingers closed around the golden egg's surface, and triumph surged through her chest—
The tail hit her like a battering ram.
Fleur's world became pain and sky and the horrible sensation of weightlessness. She flew backward, the golden egg clutched against her chest, and then gravity remembered her. She hit the ground hard enough to drive the air from her lungs, the impact sending shockwaves up her spine.
"Ah—" The sound came out strangled. Her back. Something in her back was screaming.
But her fingers were still locked around the egg.
Move. MOVE.
Fleur forced herself up, every muscle protesting. The dragon was blinking now, the white flames fading, vision returning. Its head swung toward her, tracking movement, and its chest expanded for another blast.
She ran.
Not toward the exit. Not yet. The tent was too far, she'd be roasted before she made it halfway. Instead she threw herself behind the nearest cluster of boulders, hitting the ground just as flames washed over her previous position.
The heat was unbearable. The rock was glowing.
Fleur's mind raced through her remaining options. The dragon could see again. It knew where she was.
Her eyes fell on a boulder, roughly the size of a cauldron.
"Depulso Maxima!"
The banishing charm hit the rock like a cannon blast. It shot forward, tumbling end over end, gathering speed as it crossed the arena. The dragon's mouth opened to breathe fire—
The boulder flew straight down its throat.
"MERLIN'S TEETH! DID SHE JUST-SHE DID! SHE SENT A BOULDER DOWN THE DRAGON'S THROAT!"
The Welsh Green's eyes went wide. It gagged, choking, trying to cough up the obstruction. Fire sputtered and died in its mouth, smoke leaking from its nostrils.
Fleur didn't wait to see more.
She sprinted for the tent, the golden egg clutched against her ribs, her burned skirt slapping against her legs, her back shrieking with every step. The exit was there, so close, thirty feet, twenty, ten—
She threw herself through the entrance.
"SHE'S DONE IT! FLEUR DELACOUR HAS COMPLETED THE FIRST TASK!"
The crowd noise cut off abruptly, replaced by shocked silence.
Fleur managed three more steps before her legs gave out.
She hit the ground on her knees, the golden egg clattering from her grip. Pain exploded up her spine, white-hot and overwhelming. Her vision swam.
Hands caught her shoulders, steadying her before she could pitch forward onto her face.
"Easy, easy, you're safe-"
The voice was familiar.
'Arry?
She tried to look up, tried to focus, but the pain was too much. Everything was going gray at the edges, darkness creeping in from all sides.
"I've got you. You're safe now."
Fleur's eyes closed.
The last thing she felt was those hands, lowering her the rest of the way to the ground, and she felt safe.
Then nothing.
Cedric Diggory
The tent felt smaller with only three of them left.
Cedric sat on the bench in the Hufflepuff section, yellow and black curtains hanging on either side, hands clasped between his knees. Krum occupied the Durmstrang area, hunched forward like a statue carved from stone. Neither of them had spoken since Fleur collapsed.
The medical team had swarmed her the moment Harry caught her. Madam Pomfrey's making orders. Then they'd levitated her out on a stretcher, the golden egg still clutched against her chest even unconscious, and the tent had gone quiet.
Cedric stared at the canvas floor.
She'd done it. Blinded the dragon, choked it with water, shoved a bloody boulder down its throat. Brilliant, brutal, effective. And she'd nearly died doing it.
His turn was next.
"Cedric."
He looked up to find Harry standing at the edge of the Hufflepuff section, hands shoved in his pockets.
"Harry." Cedric managed something close to a smile. "Shouldn't you be in the stands? Preparing to watch me embarrass myself in front of the entire school?"
"Probably." Harry didn't smile back. "But I wanted to say good luck first."
"Appreciate it."
"And try not to get your handsome face roasted. Some of us have reputations to maintain by association."
That got a real laugh out of Cedric, exactly what he needed. "I'll do my best. Wouldn't want to damage the valuable Potter brand."
Harry's expression shifted, becoming more serious. "You've got this. You're better than you think you are."
"Not better than Fleur, apparently."
"Different situation. Different dragon." Harry stepped closer, voice dropping. "The Swedish Short-Snout is supposed to be less aggressive than the Welsh Green. More defensive. It won't attack unless it feels directly threatened."
"So I just need to not threaten a territorial mother dragon protecting her eggs." Cedric rubbed his face. "Simple."
"You'll figure it out."
The whistle blew.
Cedric's stomach dropped through the floor.
"That's me." He stood, legs steadier than he'd expected. Years of Quidditch training, maybe. Your body learned to function even when your brain was screaming.
Harry extended his hand. Cedric took it.
"See you on the other side," Harry said.
"Yeah. See you."
Cedric walked toward the entrance.
The tunnel stretched before him, canvas walls giving way to stone, the roar of the crowd growing louder with each step. His wand was in his hand. He didn't remember drawing it.
The plan ran through his head on repeat. Bubble-Head Charm first, protect against smoke and flame. Transfigure rocks into animals, create distractions, draw the dragon's attention away from the eggs. While it's distracted, move in fast, grab the golden egg, get out. Simple. Straightforward. By the book.
It would work. It had to work.
The tunnel ended.
Cedric stepped into the arena.
"AND HERE HE IS! CEDRIC DIGGORY, HOGWARTS' CHAMPION! REPRESENTING HUFFLEPUFF HOUSE!"
The noise hit him like a wall. Thousands of voices, screaming his name, yellow and black banners waving in the November wind. The entire Hufflepuff section was on its feet, and half of Gryffindor, and even some Ravenclaws. His school. His people.
His father's voice cut through everything else, loud and proud and impossible to miss. "THAT'S MY SON! SHOW THEM WHAT A DIGGORY CAN DO! BETTER THAN THAT CHEATER POTTER!!"
Cedric wanted to tell his father not to say that, but he had better things to focus on.
He forced himself to look at the dragon.
The Swedish Short-Snout was beautiful. That was his first thought, ridiculous as it was. Silver-blue scales that caught the light like metal, sleek and elegant where the Welsh Green had been bulky and powerful. Smaller, too. Still massive, still terrifying, but not quite the mountain of muscle and rage that Fleur had faced.
It watched him with ice-blue eyes.
"The Short-Snout! Lovely creature! Known for their relatively calm temperament—relatively being the key word there, folks!"
Relatively calm. Right.
Cedric raised his wand. "Ebublio."
The Bubble-Head Charm settled over his face, the membrane thin and clear, breathing suddenly easier. One step done.
"Smart start from Diggory! Always use Protection!"
Now for the distractions.
He picked three boulders, scattered across the arena floor at good intervals. His wand moved through the practiced motions, the incantations flowing automatically from hundreds of hours in Transfiguration.
"Duro. Vera Verto."
The first boulder rippled, shifted, compressed. Where stone had been, a rabbit now sat, twitching its nose uncertainly.
"Vera Verto."
The second became a fox, red fur gleaming.
"Vera Verto."
The third transformed into a badger, because of course it did.
"And Diggory's transfiguring rocks into animals! Classic distraction technique! Let's see if the Short-Snout takes the bait!"
The dragon's head swiveled toward the nearest movement. The rabbit, hopping nervously across the rocky ground.
It worked. The plan was working.
Cedric moved.
He kept low, using the boulders for cover, circling wide around the dragon's left side. The Short-Snout's attention remained fixed on the transfigured animals, head tracking their movements. Thirty feet from the nest. Twenty-five.
The rabbit made the mistake of hopping too close.
The dragon's jaws snapped shut around it with a sound like breaking wood. The transfiguration broke on contact, the rabbit reverting to stone, and the Short-Snout spat out the boulder with an annoyed snort.
But it was still distracted. Still looking the wrong direction.
Twenty feet. Fifteen.
Cedric could see the golden egg now, nestled among the real ones, gleaming and obvious. So close. Just a bit further and—
The fox yelped.
Not the sound a transfigured animal should make. They didn't have vocal cords, couldn't produce noise, that was basic theory.
But the Short-Snout had stepped on it, crushing it back into stone, and something about the crunch had sounded wrong. Wrong enough to break the dragon's focus.
Its head whipped around.
Ice-blue eyes found Cedric.
"Oh no! The dragon's spotted him!"
"Damn it."
The Short-Snout's chest expanded.
Cedric's wand came up on instinct. "Protego!"
The shield charm materialized half a second before the flames hit. Silver-blue fire, colder-looking than the Welsh Green's red but just as deadly, washed over the barrier. The heat was incredible even through the magic. Cedric's boots slipped on the rocky ground as he braced against the pressure.
The flames cut off.
He didn't wait.
"Vera Verto! Vera Verto!"
Two more boulders became animals, a deer and another rabbit, both sprinting away from the dragon in opposite directions. The Short-Snout's head tracked the movement, torn between targets.
Cedric ran.
Ten feet from the nest. Eight. Six.
The dragon's tail swept across the ground.
He saw it coming, tried to jump, but his timing was off by half a second. The tail caught his legs and his world became spinning chaos. He hit the ground hard, rolled, came up on his hands and knees with his wand somehow still gripped tight.
"Diggory's down! He's-no, wait, he's getting back up!"
Four feet from the nest.
The golden egg was right there.
Cedric lunged forward, hand outstretched—
The Short-Snout moved faster than Cedric thought possible.
Its claw came down like a falling guillotine.
Cedric tried to dodge. Threw himself sideways. Almost made it.
The talons caught him across the chest.
Pain exploded through his entire body. His vision went white. And his throat now was hurting from all the screaming.
"MERLIN'S SAKE! DIGGORY'S BEEN HIT!"
He was on his back. When had he fallen? The sky was gray above him, clouds moving slowly across his field of vision. His chest felt like someone had set it on fire and then run him over with a cart.
Move. You have to move.
The dragon's shadow fell over him.
Cedric's hand found his wand.
"Confringo."
The Blasting Curse shot upward, hit the Short-Snout square in the jaw. Not enough to seriously hurt it, but enough to make it rear back, startled.
Cedric rolled. Every movement sent fresh waves of agony through his chest, but he rolled anyway, putting distance between himself and those claws. His hand pressed against his chest and came away red.
Blood. His blood.
"He's injured! Diggory's badly injured but he's still moving!"
Think. Think, damn it.
The plan wasn't working. The transfigurations weren't enough. The dragon was too fast, too smart, too focused on protecting the eggs.
He needed something else. Something unexpected.
What would Harry do?
Harry, who won duels without throwing offensive spells. Harry, who turned opponents' strengths against them. Harry, who never did anything by the book.
Cedric's eyes fell on the transfigured badger, still waddling around near the dragon's left flank.
An idea formed. Stupid. Desperate. Possibly suicidal.
He didn't have a better one.
"Engorgio Skullus."
The badger's head swelled to three times its normal size, the body remaining small, creating something that looked like a child's drawing gone horribly wrong. The Short-Snout's attention snapped to it immediately, head tilting in confusion at the bizarre sight.
Cedric used the moment.
He transfigured his own robes.
The fabric rippled, shifted, expanded. Where a teenage boy had been, a second dragon now stood. Smaller, crude, the proportions all wrong, but close enough. The Short-Snout's eyes widened.
It thought there was another dragon in its territory.
"Is that, did Diggory just turn himself into a DRAGON?"
The Short-Snout roared, the sound shaking the arena floor.
Cedric's transfigured form roared back. The sound came out wrong, more like a dying cow than a dragon, but the Short-Snout didn't seem to care.
It charged.
Not at Cedric. At the malformed badger it had seen first, the closer threat, the smaller target.
Cedric dropped the transfiguration and ran.
His chest screamed. Blood soaked through his shirt. Every breath felt like knives. He ran anyway.
The nest. The golden egg. Right there.
His hand closed around it.
"HE'S GOT IT! DIGGORY'S GOT THE EGG!"
The Short-Snout realized its mistake.
Cedric saw the dragon's head whip back toward him. Saw its chest expand. Saw the silver-blue glow building in its throat.
He did the only thing he could think of.
He threw the golden egg.
It sailed through the air, spinning end over end, and Cedric cast the spell before his brain fully processed what he was doing.
"Ascendio!"
The Levitation Charm caught the egg mid-flight, redirected its trajectory upward. It shot into the sky like a rocket.
The Short-Snout's head tracked the movement. Saw something golden leaving the nest. Breathed fire at it instead of at Cedric.
Cedric ran for the exit.
Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten.
Behind him, the golden egg began to fall.
"Accio!"
It changed direction mid-descent, shooting toward him like a Snitch. He caught it one-handed, stumbled, kept running.
The tent entrance was there. Right there.
Five feet.
The Short-Snout's roar shook the ground.
Three feet.
Cedric threw himself through the entrance.
"HE'S DONE IT! CEDRIC DIGGORY COMPLETES THE FIRST TASK!"
He made it three more steps before his legs gave out.
The golden egg clattered from his grip. The world tilted sideways. Hands caught him, multiple pairs, medical staff, their voices overlapping.
"Chest wound, deep lacerations—"
"Get him on the stretcher, now—"
"Madam Pomfrey's with Miss Delacour, we need—"
Cedric's vision was graying at the edges, but through the haze he saw Harry's face. His friend was there, somehow, green eyes wide with concern.
"You bloody idiot," Harry said, but his voice shook. "You complete bloody idiot."
"Got the egg though." Cedric's words came out slurred. "By the book didn't work. Had to... improvise."
"Yeah. Yeah, you did." Harry's hand gripped his shoulder. "You did good, Ced."
The darkness pulled at him.
Cedric let it take him.