November waned, the onset of colder weather and shorter days bringing with it the foreboding shadow of the first task. Harry's dread fueled the passage of time, each day slipping by faster and faster as the twenty-fourth drew near. Days spent in busywork with Hermione, learning each and every spell she could get her hands on, and nights spent deep in troubled dreams left little room for any light in his life.
While Hermione's enthusiasm on his behalf was welcomed, without the distractable hand of Ron to pull them out of study-mode from time to time, breaks were few and far between. He had been practicing the banishing charm, which they had covered the week before, when Hedwig landed in the courtyard they were practicing in. Her gentle landing on a nearby tree disturbed the few remaining leaves, which tumbled to the ground, pushed by a soft frigid breeze.
"W-what is it, girl?" he asked, his teeth chattering against the icy wind that stabbed at his exposed ears.
He made a note to bring a few more of Dudley's old threadbare sweaters next year to wear hidden beneath his Weasley jumper. That was, if the Dursleys weren't so angry he had vanished that they didn't just outright ban him from ever leaving the house again. He pushed the intrusive thought away, a practiced motion that became easier the longer he was at Hogwarts.
He stepped up to the tree, holding an arm out for Hedwig. Then, untied the letter with his free hand and sent her off with a quick scratch on the head. Inside the letter was a familiar, barely legible script.
Harry,
Got something I want to show you. Not a big deal, but I thought you might be interested. Meet me at my house after dinner. It's getting cold, so be sure to bring your cloak.
-Hagrid
Harry frowned down at the letter, jumping in surprise when Hermione brushed against him to read over his shoulder.
"I wonder what he wants…" she said, pulling back as she finished reading. "You should really be spending your time after dinner practicing, you know."
"I know, Hermione." He tried not to sound too exasperated. Her offended huff told him he hadn't been successful. "I'll be quick. Besides, I've just about got this one in the bag."
"Well, yes," she admitted, pulling a sheet from her pocket that had become the bane of his existence as of late. "But you've only got a few days left, and we've still got to work on the banishing hex and the reductor curse if we can get to it in time. It's supposed to be rather difficult, though."
"I'll practice tonight," he said, stuffing his wand in his pocket and moving towards one of the stone arches that led back into the castle. "I promise." Sure, dinner was still an hour away but he could pick up his invisibility cloak, and Headmistress Hermione didn't allow for enough trips to the loo.
XxX
His wonderings throughout dinner, and Hagrid's cagey comments as he led Harry on a strange path through the Forbidden Forest, did little to dispel Harry's curiosity. A roar, muffled only barely by the thick foliage, rattled Harry's bones as they came across a bright clearing.
"Well, Harry," Hagrid said as they broke the treeline. They were just in time to see a dragon stunned into unconsciousness by a half-dozen wizards and witches. "Hope this helps…"
"Dragons?"
"Couple o' beauties, aren't they?"
"Dragons, Hagrid?"
"Reminds me of Norb-"
"Hagrid!" Harry hissed, finally drawing the large man from his wide-eyed appreciation. "How am I supposed to deal with a dragon?"
A furious roar covered his question, the entire camp of frantic people moving in to subdue a black-spined dragon that retaliated against their spellfire with brilliant gouts of fearsome yellow and red flames.
"We should get goin'," Hagrid said, patting the empty air on the side opposite where Harry was standing.
Wooden legs carried Harry back through the forest. They begged him with each step to just stop walking, to join the woodlands around him. Maybe he could still live in a magical forest, even if he didn't have his magic anymore.
Would the Centaurs take him? Did they know there were dragons in their forest?
He bumped into Hagrid's wide back and blinked up in confusion.
When had they left the forest?
"I've, er…got to go," Hagrid said, tugging the front of his dingy, brown coat straight. "You'll figure this one out. I know you will. They wouldn't make you fight em head on…I'm sure they wouldn't. Too dangerous."
Another tall form stepped around the front of Hagrid's hut, the top of her head nearly touching the thatch roof overhang. Madam Maxime motioned Hagrid forward with an elegant wave of her hand, her size belying the smooth, commanding movement.
Harry walked alone up to the castle, not removing his cloak until he was in bed.
At least his anxious nightmares could finally take form.
XxX
The final days before the First Task passed unreasonably fast. Despite his dread and silent protestations, time sprinted forward, dragging him along to his inevitable demise.
Hermione had done her best, pushing him through to the reductor curse, which he had been unable to master in the limited time left to them. Though she wasn't the one that was going to face a dragon, Hermione sat next to him at breakfast the day of the task, looking precisely as haggard as he felt. Dark bags sat below red eyes that focused on a piece of parchment sitting in front of her, her breakfast pushed to the side.
"I can't think of anything else," she said, the admission of defeat part sigh, part sob. "You're the most mobile on your broom, and that's your only chance to keep from being…from…" She turned to him, panic pressing her lips into a thin trembling line.
"Champions!" Professor McGonagall called. "Follow me, please."
Harry rose from his seat, Cedric, Fleur, and Krum following suit from their respective places. They walked the grounds in silence, each step amplifying Harry's thundering heartbeat in his ears. His head of house led them to a tent that had been set up outside of a newly constructed wooden stadium. She held open the flap, ushering the champions through. A hand on his shoulder held him back and he turned to look up at McGonagall.
"Do your best, Mr. Potter," she said. "There are precautions in place should things go poorly but I hope they will not be needed."
"Yes, Ma'am," he answered automatically, though it sounded more like a croak than actual words.
Inside the tent, Cedric, Fleur, and Krum stood next to unused chairs that sat in a semi-circle in the middle. The air was warm, fogging his glasses just moments after he stepped inside. Muscle memory pulled them from his face and he wiped the lenses on the front of his robes.
"Now that everyone is here," said a boisterous voice that pulled Harry's gaze to the blurry form of Ludo Bagman. "We can begin!"
Harry set his glasses back on his nose in time to see Bagman produce a small black pouch from inside his robe. "In the First Task…" he paused, searching the room for expectant gazes. "You will be facing off against a dragon!" He waited, frowning when his declaration fell upon an impassive audience.
Harry's gaze shifted between Fleur and Krum, both wearing masks of stone-faced focus. Clearly word about the dragons had gotten around.
"Well…anyway. You don't have to defeat a dragon, oh no." Bagman's voice regained its theatricality as he spoke, growing as he pushed further from his disappointing reveal. "You must each retrieve a golden egg from the dragon's nest!
"If and when you retrieve this egg," he continued, "leave the arena through the exit that will be to your right. You will gain points for effectiveness, creativity, and skill. You will lose points for injuries to yourself or the destruction of any eggs."
The bag dangled from his outstretched hand. "Who wants to choose their dragon first?"
Fleur stepped forward and stuck her hand in the bag. She retrieved the figure of a small green dragon that paced to and fro on her palm, stretching its tiny wings.
"The Welsh Green!" Bagman held the bag out to Krum, who pulled a Chinese Fireball, and Cedric, who picked the small Swedish Short-Snout. He turned to Harry last, pity coloring his gaze. "Sorry, Harry," he said, tipping the final spiky dragon into Harry's shaking hand. "Rules are rules though. It's got to be random. They say Horntails aren't as nasty as the rumors think they are…"
The two-dozen stunners Harry had seen finally down the beast told him otherwise.
"You four stay put. Barty and I have to announce the start, then you'll come out as you hear your name called."
He slipped out through the flap opposite where they had come in and Harry dropped into one of the wooden chairs. Fleur sat as well, while Cedric gripped the back of the chair in front of him, his knuckles white with the strain.
"I'm not sure if I should thank you, Harry," Cedric said with a weak laugh. "I might have gotten better sleep last night if you hadn't told me."
Fleur's faraway gaze focused on Harry but a voice boomed through the tent before she could speak.
"Viktor Krum will be our first challenger!"
The Bulgarian straightened and strode out of the tent, his Hornbeam wand held in his left hand.
"Do you have plans?" Cedric asked once the cheering outside died down.
" Oui."
"Sort of," Harry said, though he grew increasingly concerned about Hermione's plan to fly a wooden broom around a fire-breathing dragon by the second.
Cedric gave a short humorless laugh. "Me too. I owe you one for telling me. I'd probably get burnt to a crisp otherwise."
Another cheer arose from the crowd, loud enough to rattle the metal poles supporting the fabric of the tent. Ludo Bagman's voice boomed once again, this time calling Cedric to face his Short-Snout.
"Good luck," Cedric said, plastering a confident grin on his face.
"You too," Harry and Fleur chorused before he vanished out into the arena.
"You told him of the dragons?" she asked, her faraway gaze replaced by her look of curiosity, shadowed by the tournament happening around them.
"Yeah. You found out too?"
She nodded. "A certain amount of…impropriety is to be expected from the tournament's champions and their sponsors. It is as much a traditional part of the tournament as the Goblet of Fire."
"Nobody told me that," he groused before a roar from the dragon outside made him jump. Too late he realized he must have sounded petulant.
Instead of mocking him for being childish, she grew angry. He flinched at the sudden fire behind her eyes.
"It is unfair that you are being forced into this tournament against your will," she said, her fierce gaze flashing blue fury. "It is inexcusable that it is being made more difficult for you!"
He blinked, expecting a 'grow up', not more outrage on his behalf.
Before he could express his gratitude, another cheer cut across their conversation, drowning out anything he might have said.
"Well done!" Bagman's voice boomed across the arena once again. "Fast and effective. I expect we will see high marks for that one!"
Fleur's name was called next. She stood and offered him a tight smile before departing, leaving him alone in the large tent. Determined not to get caught up in the worry that built in his chest, he settled on repeating, "Accio Firebolt," over and over. Maybe repetition could force the words out through the fear of standing face to face with his dragon.
He muttered the spell through clenched teeth as Fleur's dragon roared its defiance outside the tent while the spectator's cheers filled the air. Gradually, as his practice continued, the noise outside faded until all he could hear was his own panicked whisper.
A lethargic cheer told him Fleur had been successful. He had no time to wonder at the reaction as his name soon followed in Bagman's amplified voice.
With effort, he forced his legs to carry him from the tent, unresponsive to the fear-filled shudders rolling through his body. Midday sunlight made him squint as he stepped outside, letting the flap fall behind him. The mix of cheers and jeers faded into the background of his hearing, the only sound that of the dragon awaiting him.
It rested in the rocky arena below him, a patchy expanse of dirt and stone cut into the hills outside Hogwarts. Spikes jutted from its scales, running the length of its sinuous back down to more prominent extrusions on its tail. Black wings folded against its back as it surveyed the crowd with narrowed yellow eyes.
"Are you ready, Harry?" Bagman asked, his voice drifting through the haze of fear settling in Harry's senses. Belatedly, he realized he had been asked the question more than once.
He could only nod his lie.
His traitorous body took a step forward. And another.
Each one brought a new jolt of fear up through his feet and deep into his heart. It thundered in his chest, a sound so loud in his ears that the dragon must have heard him coming, even if it didn't yet see him.
A narrow stairway led him into the enclosure that housed the beast, depositing him behind a rock that was twice as tall as him, and three times as wide. On the other side, the horntail waited, its probing gaze having followed Harry down the steps.
His mouth worked and his fingers flexed, neither finding purchase on what he needed. What some dim, still-conscious part of his brain knew he needed.
His holly wand was slick in his pocket.
No, he realized, wiping his hand on his already dusty robe, his hands were wet with fear. He swallowed with a dry throat.
"A-Accio Firebolt," he tried, pulling his wand from his pocket.
A burst of flame to his right made him recoil and almost drop his wand. He fell to the ground, his knee smashing against a rock that was partially buried in the dirt.
He scrambled across the ground, small stones scraping at his palms and legs. Panic pushed the pain from him, allowing him to duck behind another, larger rock.
He gripped his wand, the dirt on his hand giving him better purchase on the slick wood.
His jaw clenched, he raised his wand into the air. The basilisk had been just as terrifying, and he had managed that with enough luck.
Maybe he still had some left.
"Accio Firebolt!" he called again, a burst of surprise following his words. He hadn't expected anything at all to come out.
A roar shook the ground, and the rock behind him shuddered with a blow from the dragon. Another roar of frustration reverberated through Harry's bones and he pushed his back harder against the stone. Another gout of fire soared over the top of his shelter, the heat of it forcing him to shield his face.
Moving on impulse, he rolled to the side and flung a stunning spell blindly around the rock at the beast. His Firebolt was fast, but he didn't want to test to see if it could make it through the flames to get to him without being incinerated. He panted a sigh of relief when the dragon took to the bait.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with a dirty sleeve and scanned the sky. He raised his arm, preparing another attempt at the spell. Before the words could pass his lips, a brown streak soared into view and landed hard in front of him.
Another heavy crash shifted the bolder he leaned against, and he rushed to pick up his broom. He swung his leg over, and with a kick, soared into the air.
His adrenaline-fueled push off sent him far higher than he had intended, but it allowed him to finally take stock of his predicament. The wind cooled his sweat-slicked hair as he stared down at the arena. The dragon paced around the area where he had to assume the eggs lay.
A stiff breeze tried to push him off course and he corrected with his foot, pushing lightly on the back of the broom. He breathed deeply the chill November air, hoping the distance might help clear the fear from his vision.
The dragon flexed its wings, its long neck arching to look up to where Harry hovered. A gout of fire issued from its nostrils as it chose to remain on the ground.
A warning.
He leaned forward, pitching his broom into a wide spiral back down towards the arena. No matter how he looked, there wasn't even a glint of gold around the dragon's feet. It stood over its nest, shielding its eggs from the one who dared get too close.
Harry stopped his descent opposite the dragon, far enough away that he would have time to react if it dove for him.
He hoped.
Smoke curled from the corners of the Horntail's mouth; a toothy maw opened wide. It snapped it shut, reaching towards him with the motion. Its wings flexed open again, and it raised onto its hind legs, towering over the arena, its head at the same level at which Harry hovered.
Finally, beneath its wide-set legs, Harry spied gold.
Before his mind or mouth could scream a halt, he dove to the ground and into his seeker training.
A tap of the foot, a twist of the hand.
He rolled as he sped around the boulder he hid behind, its top partially crushed by the powerful swipe of the dragon's tail. He leaned forward, his eyes watering against the wind rushing past his face.
Lean to the left, barest of brakes to avoid overtilt. Pick up speed.
The dragon was dropping back to all fours, a breath of fire following too slowly behind him, heating the stones to red hot luminescence as it moved. The radiant heat stung his neck and back, even from such a distance. Dust and dirt trailed behind him as he banked around the dragon's left foreleg, using his foot against the ground to complete the hairpin turn.
He could see it beneath the dragon's underside, still gleaming in the shadow. The golden egg sat nestled in the middle of four others.
He loosened his grip with his knees and tilted to the side until he was parallel with the ground.
The air vibrated with a furious roar. The bass rumble in the dragon's chest thrumming in his ears.
He let his left hand go and pulled hard on his right, the momentum of the sharp arc threatening to spin him out of control.
More speed.
The force of it pushed him painfully against the handle. The sudden acceleration made his hand bounce against the dirt just a hand's-breadth from the nest. A bloody, dusty hand scooped up the egg and curled it up against his chest. His legs and right hand screamed in protest at his unnatural angle but he ignored them, pushing the broom even faster.
He shifted his grip on the handle and pushed away from him, opening his arc to avoid the dragon's back right leg.
Another roar of fury and the tail smashed the ground behind him. Dust filled the air, clinging to his skin and sweat-streaked glasses. With a heave, he pulled himself upright and tilted himself up and away from the ground.
He needed to go faster. Almost finished.
Pushing the broom for all it had with the not-inconsequential extra weight of the golden egg, he leaned forward until his torso pressed against the wood. He pulled it in a final arc, pointing the nose to the exit. Through the dust coating his glasses, the stone arch of the finish line called him.
The dragon spun on his left, following Harry's deft movements too slowly. But it was almost upon him.
He pressed his chin to the wood, opening the Firebolt up for every last bit of speed it could offer him.
There was the rush of the wind in his ears.
A roar of boiling fire.
The flames were a wall, rising to meet him on his left. Bare moments before freedom, it lifted him from his broom. His side screamed in response as he flew unaided through the air.
He opened his right eye, peering through the dust and sweat. The ground rose to meet him, but he'd make it. He'd finish the first task. He had broken bones before, at least he would meet the requirements of the Tournament. He braced himself.
The impact never came. He landed in a pillow, the air giving way to settle him on a floating cushion.
He opened his eye again and found Professor McGonagall rushing forward, her wand extended toward him.
"Don't move, Mr. Potter," she said, her characteristic brusqueness replaced by the shaky command.
He tried to open his mouth, to tell her he was fine. He'd made it.
It wouldn't open. A hoarse, wet noise was all he could manage from somewhere in the back of his throat.
"Do not speak!" Her voice was sharp, a tone unlike any he had heard before.
Belatedly, he realized he was floating, the hazy area around him passing quickly as they moved.
He wanted to ask where they were going, but the strained voice of Madam Pomfrey drew his limited attention. He turned his head to greet her, to explain that he was okay.
"Don't move!" she said, echoing Professor McGonagall. He frowned in confusion, though he felt only the right side of his mouth turn down. He lifted his hand toward his face to find out what was wrong. Somewhere far away, his body vehemently protested his movement.
Madam Pomfrey gestured to Professor McGonagall.
There was a whispered ' Stupify ' from behind him, a flash of red, and his world went dark.
XxX
Harry awoke with a gasp.
He blinked, the blurry scene around him stubbornly refusing to coalesce into meaningful shapes. Muscle memory dropped his arm onto the table he knew would be by his bedside. He found his glasses waiting there, and fumbled them onto his face.
Sitting up, he surveyed the hospital wing around him. It was empty, save for him, with the beds opposite resting below frosty windows. The door to Madam Pomfrey's office sat half-open, the…
Frosty windows?
Harry swung his legs off the side of the bed, suppressing a grimace when his left leg offered an uncomfortable twinge of tight pain. He had gotten both legs dangling over the edge of the bed when Madam Pomfrey rushed into the room, her wand brandished in front of her.
"Lie down," she commanded, her wand already twirling with her diagnostic spells. "How do you feel?" She began to trace his leg with her wand.
"Thirsty," he croaked.
She stopped her scan and offered him the glass that had been sitting next to where his glasses had been. After a couple of large gulps of water, he settled back in the bed, lifting his arm into her waiting hand as indicated.
"How do you feel?" she repeated, poking at his fingertips with her wand.
"Okay, I guess," he said with a shrug. The motion pulled his arm out of her hand a little before letting it drop again.
She appraised the arm, turning it over to inspect a startlingly smooth elbow. "The skin isn't quite as elastic as it should be yet, but that's to be expected. You'll have to 'break it in' as it were."
"What do you-" he trailed off, memory lighting in his mind. Patchy visions of fire, earth, and red. "Did Professor McGonagall stun me?"
The matron placed his arm back on the bed and leaned against the one behind her. "Minerva did indeed stun you," she said. "But it was for your own good. What do you remember?"
"I remember flying around the dragon's legs. I got the egg and got out from under it." He scrunched his brow in thought. "I remember…rushing for the finish and getting thrown off my broom. I fell and was caught by a pillow or something. Then Professor McGonagall stunned me after you showed up."
Madam Pomfrey nodded, her shoulders sagging in a sigh. "That is nearly correct. Mr. Potter, you weren't thrown off your broom, it was incinerated out from under you." He sat up in shock and she stepped forward to meet him. Her gentle hand on his chest pushed him back to the bed as she continued. "You suffered third-degree burns over the majority of your left side. Minerva used a cushioning charm to catch you and was levitating you to the medical tent. I had her stun you so you wouldn't cause any extra damage by moving around."
He frowned. "So I've been in the hospital wing since then?"
"Goodness, no. I'm not able to treat such profound injuries here. You were transported to the medical tent where you stayed until Professor Snape was able to bring some Draught of Living Death for you." He tried to sit up again but found himself easily held to the bed. "We couldn't very well keep stunning you over and over until you recovered, now could we? After that, you were taken to St. Mungos. You were there for a few weeks before being returned to Hogwarts. You were given the antidote to the draught this morning."
He boggled at her, then stared down at his arm. It felt as though he were wearing long-sleeves that were two sizes too small. He lifted his hand to his face, surprised to find no creases at his knuckles.
"They had to regrow the skin," Madam Pomfrey explained as he turned his hand to find an unmarked palm. "There's not much else they can do in cases like that. You'll notice differences all over your body from the regrowth process, even on your uninjured side." She pointed to his right arm with her wand. "That compound fracture scar from your second year is gone. From when you crashed into Mr. Malfoy during a Quidditch game?"
He ignored her gesture, his right hand flying to his forehead where he felt the all too familiar ridges of his lightning bolt scar.
"Not that one," she said gently. "We both know that one is a little different."
He nodded and let his arm fall back to the bed.
"Naturally, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley have been to see you while you were unconscious. Mr. Diggory and the Beauxbatons champion both stopped by as well." She paused, a grimace crossing her normally unflappable features. "They, along with the Durmstrang champion, were the only students to see your condition in the medical tent. I believe they wanted to see for themselves that you were going to recover."
He nodded again, though his mind raced.
Ron had come to visit him?
He wasn't sure he liked that he had to be almost killed by a dragon to make his friend believe he hadn't entered the tournament on his own, but the thought of calling him 'his friend' was a very welcome one.
Madam Pomfrey produced a small red ball from her pocket and tapped it with her wand, muttering an incantation under her breath. Once finished, the ball floated out of her hand and into the air, making lazy figure-eights in front of him.
"I want you to catch that with your left hand. When you do, I want you to bend your knee as far as it will go. Then let the ball go and repeat. It shouldn't take long for you to regain full motion. The ball will get incrementally faster as you catch it, so don't be surprised when it becomes difficult. Once your arm grows too tired, let me know and we'll get you some dinner."
He nodded, raising his hand as instructed and plucking the ball from the air. Then, he raised his knee as far as he could, then let it drop. She watched him for a moment before nodding and returning to her office. He grabbed the ball and lifted his leg, letting his gaze wander around the Hospital Wing again.
Frosted windows.
Just how long had he been gone?