Chapter 4: The First Task: Fire
Hermione walked through the dark hallways of Hogwarts. She wasn't headed towards the Gryffindor dorms despite the late hour - it was well past curfew. She was going to the east wing, where the unused storage and classrooms were. The young witch needed to vent. She was so angry she was afraid she'd have an episode of accidental magic soon. A destructive episode. She had kept it together during the evening, supporting Harry while things had been sorted out - to a point - with the Headmaster and the Tournament officials. Been helpful, respectful, thoughtful. Even got to quote a few rules. The dutiful retainer. She had pushed her anger away, focused on playing her role. But it hadn't gone away. Fueled by the memories of the sneers and mocking cheers from Malfoy and other students who resented her, Harry or both of them, it had simmered all evening.
And now it was boiling over, turning into rage. She had been named as Harry's stake in this barbaric tournament! And the goblet had confirmed it! She had wanted to destroy it, right then and there. No matter that it was a priceless artifact. No matter the spells on it. No matter that it had been used for this tournament for hundreds of years. She was not a thing! She wasn't like a broom or a family heirloom! No matter what a piece of copper forged by barbarians in a time when slavery was still legal said! She was a witch, equal to the every pureblood or half-blood witch - more skilled even, than most!
Hermione all but kicked the door open to "her" room - a former classroom, now her unofficial training room - only her own spells on the door holding her back. She really needed to destroy something. Preferably a cauldron or goblet, but she lacked either in this room. Snarling, she lifted her wand, and slammed the door closed, trusting the spells on it to muffle the sound outside. Then she reduced a few of the desks she didn't use, standing in a row at the back wall, to kindling with a series of reductos. It didn't help much. Too easy.
"Reductincendo!" The next desk was turned into burning splinter that started fires all around it. For a moment she was tempted to let it burn, let it all burn. Then reason took over and she used an aguamenti to extinguish the flames. She needed the room, after all. It took a while, and tired her out some.
Sighing she sat down on a desk in the center, barely singed, and started repairing what she had destroyed. Chain casting reparo helped her calm down. It also made her think of a repair spell that wasn't limited to one object. Or an aguamenti that did not create the water at the tip of a wand. And a spell that combined the effects of incendo and reducto. She knew she could create those spells - if she had the time to spend on such pursuits. But spells for her and Harry's robes, for security and status, had a higher priority. And of course she had spent a lot of time learning the Patronus Charm. That had been a matter of pride - she didn't want to lag behind Harry.
Harry… Hermione felt her torc grow a bit warmer, and knew he was close. She closed her eyes. It wasn't his fault, she knew that. And she didn't blame him for the situation they found themselves in either. But she didn't know if this was because she knew he was not to blame, or because of the Patron Oath.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Her Patron was outside. She pointed her wand, and unlocked the door, then opened it with a flick. Her friend stepped inside and closed the door. For a moment they looked at each other, Hermione still sitting on the desk, Harry standing at the door. Then he walked over and sat down next to her. Hunched over, eyes on the floor. She knew that pose, although she hadn't seen it much, lately. He felt guilty.
The witch reached over and slung her right arm around his shoulders, leaning into him and resting her head on his shoulders. The enchanted silk felt smooth and warm on her cheek. Comforting. "It's not your fault." she said before he could start. "It's the fault of whoever manipulated that stupid goblet, and whoever thought of that bloody tournament in the first place."
Harry was silent for a bit, but wrapped his arm around her waist. "But I can refu…"
"No, you can't!" Hermione cut him off and snapped her head up to stare at him. "If you refuse to honor the stakes you'll lose your magic. It's not wo..."
This time Harry cut her off. "You are worth it." Hermione felt both happy and afraid at hearing that, at seeing his face when he said it. He meant it, and yet he was wrong.
She shook her head, fighting back tears. "It wouldn't help. If you lose your magic, and someone else will become my Patron anyway. Same result. You'd sacrifice your magic - your life - for nothing. Besides, it's tradition to ransom the stakes back to the losing Champions. Whoever wins would not break tradition." Or so she hoped - a few Champions had done so, in the past.
Harry closed his eyes, and she used the opportunity to quickly wipe her own eyes. He spoke in a whisper, trembling with emotion. "But… you'd be safe from… "
"Safe from getting a test ride, you mean?" Her plain, crude words shocked him into staring at her, and she started to blush. Now she was looking away. "I think there's no danger of that happening. I am no broom, the goblet's opinion notwithstanding. I am rather sure such a thing would not be tolerated. The Headmaster was clear that the times have changed since the goblet was created."
Harry remained silent. Glancing at him, she realized he didn't look like he was sharing her opinion. She swallowed. "Harry...?"
He closed his eyes again. "Sirius told me … " he paused, taking a deep breath, then went on, "He told me that there were rumors. At least in his time. Of Patrons... abusing their power. And what we hear of Durmstrang, and purebloods there..."
Hermione drew in a hissing breath. "Just rumors." Harry nodded, somewhat reluctantly. The witch clenched her fist, anger rising again. She fought it down. Fought to remain calm. It wasn't Harry's fault. "Even so I think Fleur will not try … that… and Krum… he's got a reputation to consider, as a Quidditch star." She patted his shoulder. She really needed to have a talk with Sirius about those lessons though.
Harry nodded. "You're right. But Malfoy and others will use this to needle us."
Hermione scoffed. "He's nothing to worry about. Not with someone trying to kill you. Which is another reason you can't risk your magic for me, you hear me?" She glared at him until he smiled ruefully.
"The Headmaster didn't name names when he explained how the goblet had been manipulated, but I think we know who's behind this. The only one with both the motive and the power for it."
Hermione agreed. "Voldemort."
"Voldemort." Harry leaned back until he was lying on the desk, legs dangling, eyes staring at the ceiling. "That monster keeps coming back from death. Three times so far."
Hermione followed his example, then, impulsively, used her wand to turn the ceiling into a clear nightsky full of stars. A static imitation of the ceiling in the Great Hall. "At least everyone knows that someone manipulated the goblet and wants to harm you. Malfoy will claim that you cheated, but only idiots will believe him."
"Moody will be taking charge of the security."
"Good." Moody was paranoid, but paranoia was exactly what they needed right now. Or so Hermione thought. She felt a sudden urge to hurt, to kill whoever was after Harry, and once again wondered if it was her own feelings, or the result of the Oath. She'd do it anyway.
They remained like that for a bit, staring at the artificial sky until it faded.
"We should head to the dorm. They'll still be waiting for us." Hermione sat up, but Harry caught her hand, and gently pulled her back down.
"Let's stay a bit longer like this. Ron will understand and can handle the others."
Hermione didn't answer, but cast the illusion on the ceiling again.
*****
The day after the Choosing of the Champions started as Harry had expected. His own House, not surprisingly, was supporting their celebrity and star seeker. When he and Hermione had finally entered the Gryffindor dorms, well past midnight, all the other students in the house had all still been up and waiting. Even the first years. Harry had suspected someone had dealt out Pepper-Up potions, and Hermione had muttered that the quality of Prefects had gone down a lot with Percy's graduation, but that had not changed the fact that Harry had had to explain what had happened, in detail.
As a result the Gryffindors were quite tired the next day. Harry and Hermione took some Pepper-Up potions from Harry's private stash and used cosmetic spells extensively to portray an immaculate facade in public. Ron had given it a pass, stating he'd sleep in History. Hermione's reaction to that statement had made Harry smile - he needed that kind of familiar, light-hearted banter right now. Of course a number of the older students regularly took similar measures - those in their 7th year usually after study sessions that robbed them of their sleep, those in their Year of Discovery for other but similarly tiring reasons. Harry wasn't sure if the majority of this year's Quidditch Team had slept at all in the first week of the term. That reminded him that he couldn't fly for Gryffindor this year, another result of being a Triwizard Tournament Champion, and he lost his smile.
In the Great Hall, Harry could see the Hogwarts rumor mill at work, spreading what he told the other Gryffindors last night to the rest of the school. Padma must have waited for her sister Parvati right at the door, and gotten the news straight from her, judging by the way half the Ravenclaw table and several students from Slytherin were clustered around her. Lavender Brown was chatting with Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot, with most of the other 'Puffs listening in openly. The Slytherin table acted aloof, but the students there were already eyeing the Slytherins at the Ravenclaw table with impatience.
Luna and Aicha were on their way towards the Gryffindor table as soon as he, Hermione and Ron had entered. The blonde witch was carrying her oversized notebook and enchanted fountain pen - she was after a story for her father's magazine. Harry caught Hermione's scowl at the sight, and smiled again. That the Lovegood family's well-known eccentricity and long pureblood ancestry allowed Luna to use the pen and notebook without receiving the sneers Hermione would get for using them had irked his friend ever since she had introduced the things to Luna back in their second year. Though to be honest, people still sneered at Luna for being eccentric.
"Harry! Hermione!" Luna greeted them from several meters away, as cheerful as ever. She waved with her notebook since her other arm was linked with Aicha's, who nodded in greeting. Without waiting for an invitation - which technically wasn't needed since no one had yet taken a seat - she headed to Harry's usual spot at the end of the table, dragging the Arabian witch with her. Harry, Hermione and Ron followed, smiling. It was hard to keep a bad mood around the exuberant blonde Ravenclaw.
They had barely taken their seats next to Neville, who had arrived a few minutes before them, and started breakfast when the questions began.
"There are rumors that the Goblet of Fire was manipulated and you have been chosen despite not having entered your name. Is that true?" Luna was munching on a scone and commanding the pot with the hot chocolate to float over to her with a wriggle of her fingers while her enchanted pen wrote down her question.
Harry waited until Hermione had cast a spell to grant them some privacy before answering. "That is correct. I was surprised to hear my name announced, and shocked that whoever did enter me had the gall and perfidity to name Hermione as my stake. She's not a thing to be put up for a wager like a broom or necklace." He'd have liked to add "and my best friend", but that would not have been proper, and he and Hermione needed all the good publicity they could get in their situation. Hermione had already written to Rita Skeeter to arrange for an interview during the next Hogsmeade weekend.
"And who do you think is responsible for this?" Luna stared at him while buttering up another scone. Hermione was finishing a more healthy fruit while Ron was going through a pair of sausages and eggs and black pudding with the appetite of a growing boy. Harry himself had stuck to pumpkin juice so far, or rather, the orange juice he had color changed to look like pumpkin juice. Hermione had come up with that idea in their second year, to allow them to drink orange juice without offending the more traditional wizards and witches. Aicha was eating scones but drinking tea - in the style of her family's homeland, so sweet that Luna was the only other one to drink it more than once. Though rumors claimed the Headmaster liked it as well. Neville was following Ron's example, in his selection, if not in the amount of food he ate.
Harry sighed. He didn't like to lie to his friends, but claiming it was Voldemort would have consequences neither he nor Dumbledore could afford right now. At least Ron knew the truth. "I do not know. I hope it's just a tasteless prank, but Headmaster Dumbledore suspects there is someone nefarious behind it, and has increased the security for the Tournament. Retired Master Auror Moody has volunteered to help."
"Oh! That's great news! Moody is so perceptive, I am sure he'll be able to see nargles if he tunes his eye just right!" And there went the interview, Harry thought. He consoled himself with the thought that the article Luna would be writing would be at least interesting and filled with things he did not know before.
While Luna started to tell about her latest nargle sightings - they were centered on Draco Malfoy, but avoiding Pansy, or so Harry understood - he was looking around in the Great Hall. A number of students looked away, not wanting to be caught staring. Others met his eyes, with a smile or a sneer. He smiled in return, friendly and not.
The staff table was no exception. Snape was sneering and glaring at him. As was to be expected. Dumbledore had set the professor straight in Harry's first year, after he had lost his temper and attempted to hex Harry. That had been right after Harry had become Hermione's Patron. But while the professor had not actually cursed Harry since then he hadn't even tried to hide his hatred. Snape always seemed to think the worst of Harry, going as far as to threaten Harry with emasculation should he force himself on Hermione. That would have sounded oddly protective of a muggleborn for the pureblood Head of House Slytherin, if Snape had not worded it in a way that made it clear he had no doubt Harry would do exactly that sooner or later.
Sirius, who had gone to Hogwarts with Snape, had had a number of things to say about the Potion Master, and none of it friendly or positive. From what Harry had heard, there had been a veritable blood-feud between Harry's father and Snape - or would have been, if Snape's pureblood parentage had been revealed before his graduation. Thought a half-blood during his time in school, he hadn't had the status to stand up to purebloods, much less the scion of the Black family and his best friend. Of course, students were not supposed to be stating blood feuds, but… that was more of a guideline than a law. How Harry's mother had been involved in that mess he wasn't sure even after several talks, but Snape being jealous of James Potter because of Lily Evans was a creepy thought he'd rather not pursue. Though he'd like to hear a bit more about his mother than "she was brilliant, but scary, and had a temper like a redhead." When he started to ask for more details, Sirius had told him how he once had enchanted the mirrors in the baths of the Gryffindor girls' dorm to peep on the girls, and what he had seen of Lily Evans then. That had stopped Harry from asking further questions. Maybe if he asked with Hermione present next time… but if that didn't deter Sirius, then the results wouldn't be pretty, given Hermione's temper.
*****
Ron Weasley was looking around while Luna was asking Harry questions he already had the answers for. He almost frowned at seeing Harry being the center of attention, again. Triwizard Tournament Champion, without having entered his own name - another feather in the cap of the Boy-Who-lived. Ron would have likely been more than slightly jealous if he hadn't known what was behind this: Another plot by Voldemort. The thought of the Dark Lord plotting his friend's death drove such petty thoughts away. They'd return, he knew that, but he also knew he wouldn't let petty jealousy dictate his actions. He had stood with Harry against a troll as a first year, against a basilisk and Voldemort himself as a second year, he had been ready to stand against an escaped mass murderer in his third year. He'd certainly not abandon his friend in their fourth year. He was a brave Gryffindor, not some slimy Slytherin.
Ron was cutting his sausages into bite-sized pieces with the speed his appetite demanded, and the precision his manners, drilled into him by his mother since his early childhood, allowed. The Weasleys were not a rich family, but Molly Weasley made sure they knew how to act in polite society, especially during the - sadly rather few - dinner invitations the family received. Not that that could be helped, given the amount of dinner invitations they could extend themselves. Unlike other, richer families, the Weasleys couldn't afford the expensive entertainment that was part and parcel of dinner invitations from Wizards, and Molly's cooking, unrivaled in Ron's opinion and experience, the twin's clever spells and Arthur's extensive collection of muggle curiosa could only go so far in making up for that. They still had enough friends, even rich ones, who invited them, and as importantly, who could be invited to the Weasleys in return without taking offense. The Weasleys were not social pariahs or the kind of dinner entertainment the Lovegoods were perceived as in some circles.
Ron had known that for years now, which didn't mean he liked it. None of the Weasleys liked it, and all of them were determined to change their family's fortunes. Arthur would have managed that already, being Head of a Department at the Ministry for Magic, if he hadn't had to pay for seven children going to Hogwarts. All of them knew that as well, even if no one ever talked about that. But it was the reason Bill was a curse-breaker and Charlie was a Dragon Handler in Romania - both very dangerous professions, but also ones that paid very well. Percy had already started at the Ministry, after being Head Boy at Hogwarts, and the twins were planning their own joke shop, with Arthur's, if not Molly's full support. And Ron had made a name and a small fortune for himself already as a Basilisk Slayer. Of course, if the Ministry had finally paid out the compensation for the beast's carcass, he'd be really set. And Ginny… Ginny was another topic the Weasleys didn't talk about much.
The girl had, finally, started to change back into the feisty witch with a fiery temper she had been before her first year at Hogwarts. Before Voldemort tried to possess her. Had possessed her. She still had a way to go to return to normal.
Ron waved his wand, and another sausage floated down to land on his plate while his glass refilled with fresh pumpkin juice. Ginny also seemed to be interested in Harry as a boyfriend, again, or still. Ron wasn't sure what to think about that. He preferred not to. Think about it, that was. Ginny was still not back to normal, in his opinion - he hadn't been hit by a bat-bogey-hex in months - and Harry was…
He drank some juice, and ate half a sausage, and more pudding. Harry was the youngest seeker in a century. He was the Boy-Who-Lived. And he was the youngest Patron in centuries. Maybe ever. His best friend. And he had been raised like a true muggleborn. Like Hermione. His other best friend. Ron knew he wasn't the best friend of either of them. But in this case, second best meant a lot, given how close those two were. Any witch who married Harry would have to live with Hermione. Any wizard who married Hermione would have to contend with Harry.
Another thing he didn't want to think about. Not that it would matter much to him, personally. He liked Hermione. He might even like her as more than a friend, but they would have no future. She was a muggleborn, he was a pureblood, they couldn't marry. He'd certainly not live in concubinage with a muggleborn witch, any children they'd have would be muggleborns, unable to inherit much, and without many prospects. His mother had raised him better than that.
Ron suppressed a sigh. Even him and Hermione doing some "exploring" together during their 6th year was a rather unlikely prospect. She was a true muggleborn, and as his father had explained to him, they didn't see things the same when it came to sex. They were more uptight. They'd expect more than some fun times in bed, more than Ron could or would offer.
Ron hoped Harry would have overcome that way of thinking thanks to Sirius by the time their Year of Exploration started. Two Basilisk Slayers would have the pick of the girls at Hogwarts. Maybe the Patil twins, together… but there would be Hermione too, at Harry's side. She'd be hurt... Ron shelved those thoughts and focused on his breakfast. Hopefully things would work themselves out before their 6th year.
*****
"Look at Potter, still eating with Weasley and the mudblood. And to think last night I had hoped he had finally decided to put the mudblood in her proper place!" Draco angrily commented. He took a sip from his pumpkin juice then put the glass down with such force the sweet juice swapped over his hand. Pansy quickly vanished the splashed juice with her wand and kept from rolling her eyes at Draco's antics. Only a fool would have ever believed Potter would have put his retainer up as stakes for the tournament, so naturally, Draco had thought so.
"Not that the tournament is anything but a disgrace already, with the French witch a veela! Truly, Magical France has sunk lower even than I expected if that mongrel is the best their school can offer." Draco scoffed and sneered, but it didn't look like either Potter nor Delacour noticed. Pansy smiled - not at his words, but at the thought that Draco apparently still hadn't heard the rumor that Malfoy family had veela ancestry. Close veela ancestry. And no one knew Pansy had started it a few weeks ago, when she had praised Draco's grace and beauty, and remarked on his French ancestry. With Fleur having made such an impression upon her arrival, it hadn't taken long for those rumors to start up. Pansy just hoped she'd be around when he heard it - she was curious how he'd react.
Taking a sip from her own juice, she glanced around. Greengrass, fresh from talking with Davis, who had returned from the Ravenclaw table where Patil had filled them in about the news from Gryffindor, was staring at Potter with a faint smile on her face. Did the blonde witch fancy Potter? Pansy would have to stop that. It wouldn't do for the blonde to get a better boyfriend than Pansy had. Not that it was likely that Greengrass would be able to charm the Boy-Who-Lived anyway. She had insulted Granger a bit too often, and Potter carried grudges. Cho Chang was a good example for that. Potter hadn't forgotten what the Chinese pureblood had done to Lovegood in Pansy's second year, after Lovegood had proved her wrong about some magical animal or other. It seemed Ravenclaws took such matters more seriously than Slytherins took their ancestry.
Pansy was about to assure Draco that Potter would stand no chance against Viktor Krum - and at the same time make her boyfriend jealous of that Quidditch star - when Dumbledore stood up for an announcement about the events of the last evening. She, like all the students, fell silent. They already knew what had happened, but it was always a good idea to listen to the official word on such matters. And he was Dumbledore of course. One did listen to him.
The Headmaster did explain that Potter had been entered in the Tournament against his will, and that while a prank was a possibility, they would take measures to ensure the safety of all participants. Many at the Slytherin table showed as much mirth at those revelations as was possible and still within the borders of politeness, but privately Pansy was concerned. Someone who could manipulate an artifact like the Goblet of Fire must be powerful, and might not care about bystanders when he or she went after Potter. Staying near the Boy-Who-Lived would be hazardous. Which of course meant that her idiot boyfriend would try to hound Potter as much as possible, given his past behaviour when faced with danger.
*****
The following days brought little relief for Hermione's temper. A number of students, mostly but not exclusively Slytherins, were discussing broom and jewelry prices whenever she was nearby - a subtle but effective way to insult her without giving her Patron any cause to be offended. She didn't know who started it. It was too subtle and too effective for Malfoy, which ruled out his cronies and girlfriend too. That only left most of House Slytherin and half of Ravenclaw, though Aicha didn't think anyone from her House had started it. Luna claimed that it was someone who repelled more nargles than one would expect, which of course made no sense at all.
And it wasn't the full moon either, so she couldn't even let off steam by hexing some of those students in Moody's practical lessons which happened when Remus was indisposed. Not that showing what she had learned during the summer and now was capable of would be smart; not with the duelling competition coming up. But it would feel so good to hex some of those bullies! If they'd threaten Harry she could even curse them freely - retainers were allowed to raise their wands against anyone in defense of their Patron, even if their targets were half-bloods or purebloods, which custom usually prohibited muggleborns from casting at unless attacked first.
She was walking with Harry into the Great Hall when she heard a familiar and hated voice. "Ah, Mister Potter. I wish you the best for the tournament." Malfoy. She saw Harry tense up - he hadn't taken the bullying well either, and stepped a bit closer, the best she could do to support him in public, where touching would be improper.
"Thank you, Mister Malfoy." Harry's voice was so cold, it could have frozen fiendfyre. Malfoy didn't seem to notice, but Hermione saw Parkinson wince a tiny bit.
"It goes without saying that I am very pleased that you have chosen to uphold our oldest traditions with your stake in the tournament." Malfoy smiled at Harry, then glanced at Hermione. The witch kept her face expressionless, but it took some effort.
Harry cocked his head sideways. "Thank you. That is too kind of you. Although, since I did not choose my stake in this myself, nor ever intended to, I have to admit you have me at a disadvantage. What kind of traditions do you mean?"
Malfoy floundered, and Hermione almost smiled. The bigot couldn't explicitly claim slavery was a tradition to be valued. "Ah… your intention to go honor the conditions set by the goblet, despite not having chosen them yourself." A weak attempt at recovery, even for Malfoy.
"I can't imagine anyone who would rather lose their magic than their gold, but apparently you would find such a decision a difficult one, and worthy of note. Peculiar, Mister Malfoy, but not entirely unexpected." Malfoy gaped, trembling with rage as he realized the insult he had just been dealt, and for a second Hermione thought he was about to draw his wand. Her own was just a flick of her wrist away from sliding into her hand, but the moment passed as Malfoy kept his temper under control, even though it looked like he might suffer a stroke from the effort. Hermione had to fight from giggling in a rather undignified manner as she and Harry left the fuming Slytherin and walked to their table.
*****
One good thing the tournament had caused was, in Harry's opinion, the opportunity to continue his lessons with Sirius and Remus, and now Moody, in preparation for the first task. Their lessons, now, he corrected himself with a glance to Hermione and Ron. Knowing that Voldemort was back, again, meant his friends would stick close to him. Not that anyone would try, much less succeed in keeping them away anyway.
Remus was showing them the flame-freezing charm. The first of the four tasks would have a fire theme, so learning that spell, or mastering it, was a priority. Hermione was already planning to enchant his robes with a variant of the spell, but Harry wasn't sure she'd manage to do that in time for the task. "Now, the spell is easy, but hitting fire and flames that are moving can be hard." Remus explained, and he and Sirius created floating motes of flame in the former duelling chamber they were using for the training. "Try to hit them before they reach you. The flames won't hurt you, of course, but they'll mark you if not frozen. Your goal is to avoid getting burned."
The three students raised their wands, and the dozens of floating fires shot at them, some straight, some in wild turns, others seemed to attempt to circle around them. Harry took care of the closest, fastest first. His spell hit, rendering it harmless even though it didn't actually freeze it or stop it from moving, and he quickly switched targets. Another fire was rendered harmless, and then another. He had to dodge a fast one, missing it with his next spell, but hitting another sneaking up on him from below. Then suddenly the ground was on fire, and and while he tried to freeze those flames he was hit multiple times from behind, each spark acting like a stinging hex. Judging by the yelps from Ron and hermione, they too had been had. Then the exercise ended.
Sirius smirked while Remus smiled encouragingly, unaffected by their glares. "As you can see, the charm is not that effective when used against moving targets, such as fire elementals or animals with a flame aura. Against fire-breathing animals, it's useless. Harry saw Hermione mumble something. She was likely trying to work out how to adapt the spell to remove that weakness. He raised his hand out of habit.
"Yes Harry?"
"As far as I know I'll have to face such animals in the first task." Hermione had researched the tournament thoroughly, and the Fire task usually dealt with fending off or defeating such opponents. Often while surrounded by fire, or enchanted lava.
"Yes. But you are likely to have to deal with enchanted fires as well, and for those the flame-freezing charm works very well. Much better and quicker than aguamenti, for example. You'll learn a protection spell as well, after the bubblehead charm." That spell would be needed to breathe while surrounded by smoke, and would help with the next task as well. Almost all tasks involving water involved some amount of time spent in and under it, after all.
"Remember: The tasks are as safe as we can make them, but there's still a slight risk." A bigger risk, with Voldemort meddling with the tasks. The goblet's power prevented the tasks from being altered too much as well. Harry couldn't help but being nervous. The uncertainty was not helping either - it was likely that Voldemort would make his attempt during one of the four tasks, but the dark Lord might have other plans as well. Moody's attitude started to sound rather appealing to Harry these days.
Then they had to dodge and freeze the flames again. And failed again. And again. Not even working together and covering each other's blind spots - which was not the goal of the training anyway, since Harry would compete alone - helped that much. Those flames stung, and Sirius' cackling laughter whenever he heard them yell didn't help either. Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione, then nodded towards Sirius. She nodded, understanding his intent. Ron took a bit longer, but not much, to understand.
Then the flames flew at them again, but instead of casting the flame-freezing charm, Harry sent a stinging hex at Remus, followed by Ron's body-binding hex. He saw the eyes of his teacher widen in surprise right before the spells hit and and Remus toppled over. Sirius was already trussed up in conjured ropes courtesy of Hermione, and judging from his complaints, she had added a few stinging hexes for good measure. With the two controllers out, the flames had actually frozen in mid-flight.
Grinning, Harry pointed this out. "All flames were prevented from burning us." The glares he got in return made him grin wider.
*****
After the lesson, Harry and Sirius sat together on conjured chairs in a small alcove in the room, which originally had been meant for the judges' table. Ron had gone off to get a snack and Hermione was badgering Remus with questions about the spells she planned to adapt. Harry's godfather pulled two bottles of butterbeer out of his mokeskin pocket and handed one to him.
"How are you doing?" Sirius took a pull from his own bottle, but his eyes didn't leave Harry.
"I am doing ok." Sirius narrowed his eyes a bit, and Harry amended "Given the circumstances."
"No nightmares? No urge to kill nuisances? No desire to drink fire whiskey?"
"No." Harry realized Sirius was going through his own symptoms. He didn't mention that though - Sirius had a new goal to focus on, keeping Harry alive, and he was doing better. Prying or prodding his godfather wouldn't help anyone.
"Still an eye for the witches?" Sirius grinned while Harry gave him a flat stare. "Lighten up, Harry. You're handsome, if not as handsome as I am, you're a Triwizard Champion, and you're famous. Witches will flock to you even before the Year of Discovery." The older wizard glanced over at Hermione, still deep in a discussion with Remus. "You should be preparing for that as well. I am sure Hermione would agree with me. She might even help you."
"I am sure she would hex your bits off for asking that." Or his.
"That's why you should ask. Safer."
Harry snorted, to hide his growing unease. That wasn't a topic he wanted to discuss. With anyone. Least of all Hermione herself. "How are you doing?"
Turning the tables was a cheap shot, but effective. Sirius gave some evasive answers, and both drank the rest of their butterbeers in silence.
*****
Viktor Krum was an imposing sight, even up close, and away from his broom, Harry thought. Tall, muscular - unlike most professional seekers - but quick on his feet. Not very talkative, but that could just be the occasion. Dumbledore had called the other two Champions and their Headmaster and Headmistress to his office to discuss security for the upcoming first task. Moody was there as well, standing in a corner, his dark cloak almost melding with the shadows if one did not pay enough attention. He was staring at Karkaroff as if he was just a second away from cursing the man to death. That was likely the case, Harry realized, since Karkaroff was a former Death Eater.
Strangely though Harry felt reassured by this - he was sure that if Karkaroff was a threat to him Moody would have already taken care of the wizard in the ruthless manner he was famous and infamous for. Karkaroff himself looked nervous, almost trembling in his the fur-lined red robes, but that was normal for anyone Moody glared at with his artificial eye.
Harry snuck a glance at Fleur Delacour. The veela was as beautiful and perfect as she had appeared each day, clad in her ethereal blue silk robe which seemed to float around her rather than be worn. He had trouble imagining the French witch covered with sweat, soot, and dust after a training lesson, brushing a lock of her unruly brown hair back behind her ear… Harry blinked. The French Champion was blonde. It must be the unusual absence of Hermione, who was near him almost constantly, that had caused that slip.
He briefly looked over at Olympe Maxime. Sitting next to Fleur, she looked smaller than he remembered her. Maybe some enchantment - he had heard from Hagrid that she didn't like to stand out too much, even though she was not as self-conscious about her ancestry as she had been before she had met Hogwarts' half-giant teacher. Of course her robe was splendid, fitting the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, but more sturdy-looking than Fleur's ensemble, which gave the impression that a strong gust of wind would blow it away, exposing the witch. Harry clamped down on that thought as well, and silently cursed Sirius for telling him about the spell the Marauders had created once that did exactly that.
"Now that we are all here, let me inform you about the security measures taken for the first task." Dumbledore sounded calm and serious, lacking the hint of humor usually present in his voice. "We have done what we could under the constraints of the Goblet. I cannot go into too much detail regarding the task itself, but I have personally checked the enchantments in the arena that safeguard the Champions, and will do so on the day of the task again. Alastor will make sure the staff members and everyone connected to the tournament are safe before they can get on the grounds. We have acquired - at great cost, I note - a Thief's Downfall for this from Gringotts. While we cannot interfere directly during the task, each Champion will receive a potion that will disable him or her if ingested, and then turn into a portkey to our infirmary. That way the Goblet will note them as incapacitated, and allow them to be withdrawn from the field without punishing them." Theoretically. No one really knew what the goblet would be doing, after all it had been manipulated already. But it beat dying. Harry still resolved not to use the potion and he thought his fellow Champions didn't plan on using theirs either.
Dumbledore detailed a few more security measures taken, nothing unexpected as far as Harry could tell. The arena, constructed similarly to the one that had housed the Quidditch World Cup, was tamper-proof by design. It could simulate a variety of environments, whose settings could be locked for a set time, preventing sabotage and meddling during the task. Apparition was warded against, for this task at least. Since Harry couldn't do that anyway - though he and his friends had plans to learn that next summer, just in case - he wasn't bothered by that restriction. And of course the area housing the creatures used for the task was heavily warded and isolated. Only a select few could enter, and those usually stayed there.
After a bit of discussion - mostly to let Karkaroff feel like he had as much of a say in this as Dumbledore had, Harry thought - the meeting started to break up. Harry was about to head out to rejoin Hermione when Viktor Krum approached him. "Mister Potter? May I have a word, please?"
"Of course, Mister Krum." Harry nodded, and saw Fleur Delacour eye them discreetly. He cast a privacy charm, which seemed to surprise the older boy. Maybe even impress him, Harry thought.
"I wish to tell you that contrary to some unsavory rumors I have heard, I have no untoward intentions concerning your retainer. I will follow custom and traditions, as expected, should I win the tournament." His accent was strong, but his English was good. Maybe a translation charm, though those could remove accents as well, Harry remembered Hermione telling him.
"I would not expect anything else from a wizard of your reputation, Mister Krum." Harry nodded. "Should I happen to win the Tournament, I will of course do the same." Which was quite unlikely, in his opinion, even though he couldn't help having a few fantasies about winning the tournament, and holding all three stakes in his arms as well as the trophy.
Krum nodded at him, and then stepped outside the spells radius, to leave with his impatient Headmaster. Harry was about to leave himself, when he was stopped again.
"A secret meeting between Champions, Mister Potter?" Fleur Delacour sounded amused, but also interested.
"Mister Krum just assured me of his intentions to honor custom and tradition should he win the Tournament." Harry explained. The French veela faintly smiled in response.
"That is good to know. Although I would 'ave expected the chastity enchantments to work well enough to prevent anything untoward." The witch bowed her head and glided out of the room before Harry managed to respond.
"The what!?"
Harry heard Dumbledore laugh behind him, and turned around. The Headmaster was clearly amused, and even Moody was grinning - usually a terrifying sight. After a bit, the old wizard explained. "There are persistent rumors in the other schools that all Hogwarts students below 6th years are under spells to ensure they remain chaste. To keep them safe from the mandatory orgies of our upper years, you understand." Mirth twinkled in his eyes while Harry gaped. "Oh, yes. Our school has quite the reputation among the students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. There's a lesson, I guess, to teach us not believe everything we hear about the other schools. Or from them. Off with you now, your friend is waiting and might start to grow concerned about your continued absence."
Outside, Hermione was indeed looking worried. Before the young witch could ask anything though, Harry spoke up. "Did you know the other schools think we have chastity enchantments and mandatory orgies?"
"They what?" Harry hadn't seen his best friend that flustered in quite some time.
*****
The day of the first task had finally arrived. Hermione was waiting in the Gryffindor common room for Harry to descend from his dorm, so they could walk together to the arena. She hadn't managed to finish the adaption of the flame-freezing charm in time, but she had brewed some fire-retardant to soak Harry's robes in. And his hair, just in case. There were not many left in the dorm, most had already gone ahead to secure good spots for themselves, including Ron. Neither Harry nor herself would have to worry about that, of course. Harry would be taking part in the task, and Hermione had a spot next to the judges, together with a broom and a necklace. Just thinking about the indignity made her frown. And then she felt guilty for it. She would be safe, and secure, while Harry would be taking part in this stupid tournament, dangerous enough on its own, but manipulated by a homicidal maniac.
Her torc grew warm, interrupting her thoughts. Harry was on his way. Hermione checked the room. No one else was around. She quickly started up the stairs, meeting Harry halfway. Before he could say anything, she hugged him with all her strength, as if she could keep him here and safe that way. "Please be careful." She whispered, her face buried in his shoulder.
"Of course." He rubbed her back until she pulled back, wiping some tears from her face with her sleeve, the moisture fading at once thanks to her spells, then nodded.
"My Patron."
"My Wand."
They made their way towards the arena. It was a marvel of magic, Hermione had to admit. As big as a Quidditch arena on the outside, but expanded inside in a way that enlarged the floor several times beyond the Arena's capacity and yet kept all spectators as close as if the arena was actually smaller than it was. As far as expansion charms went, it was the most complex and mind-warping example she had ever seen. Truly inspirational. If only Harry wouldn't be forced to enter it and compete in the tournament.
They entered through the reserved gate for the staff and Champions and walked to the judges. Harry whispered "I am sorry", before he motioned her to the chair next to judges' table, flanked by two pedestals holding a Krum's broom and Delacour's necklace. "It's alright." Hermione whispered back before taking her seat there, feeling various protection charms and spells snap into place around her.
"The Hogwarts Champion has placed his stake." Dumbledore announced formally, and Harry walked towards the small platform where the other two Champions were already waiting. Delacour was wearing a sturdier robe, Hermione noticed - though she was sure it wasn't any less enchanted. Probably less vulnerable to a finite. The arena floor was shrouded in shadows, keeping anyone from seeing what had been prepared.
Hermione fought to not bite her lip. To remain stoic, and not show how nervous she was. She distracted herself with studying the audience. Some of them, she suspected, were mainly here to see if Harry would die. Rita Skeeter's article, while based on the facts they knew, had been as sensationalized as ever, and had more than simply hinted at some nefarious design behind the manipulation, even speculated to a link to the attack on the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione had liked that - it meant an extra-complement of aurors standing guard. No one wanted a repeat of that incident. Especially not with most of the Wizengamot and the Ministry here. Of course, Hermione thought, spotting the Malfoys, some of the prime suspects of that attack were here anyway.
The whole spectacle reminded her strongly of Roman gladiator games. The parallels were hard to miss. Though contrary to ancient times, no gods were called upon here - the Goblet had been forged in the time before the Witch Hunts had soured Christianity for the Magical World.
"With all contestants ready and their stakes on display, let the first task of the Triwizard Tournament begin!" Dumbledore raised his wand, and the shadows dispersed, revealing the arena. Hermione gasped at the sight. The floor was made of lava, from which stone pillars rose, holding up a platform made of what looked like wood, three meters above the lava. Hermione knew the lava was enchanted, it couldn't be real or the wood and anyone passing over it would burst into flames from the heat, but it still was a sight she'd rather not have seen.
The audience disagreed of course - applause filled the arena. It grew stronger when a dozen shapes appeared from a gate opposite the Champions, what looked like hundreds of meters away, and yet was as easy to observe as if she was sitting just a dozen meters from it. Fire drakes, Hermione realized. Fire-spewing flying lizards, as large as a border collie. Luna had told her and Harry about them, when they had studied fire-themed animals. They were fiercely territorial, related to Dragons, resistant to magic; if not to the same degree as their much larger relatives, and could smell their prey, especially fire crabs, which they considered a treat, from miles away.
Another flick from Dumbledore's wand sent three shining gems into the arena, a golden one, a silver one and a bronze one. They settled on a pedestal in front of the gate the Drakes had come through. The flying lizards at once rushed around the shiny gems, screeching. The drakes coveted shining things, Hermione remembered. Even if they very rarely hurt humans seriously, preferring to drive them away from their nests with fire and intimidating behaviour, they would defend such a prize. And accidents could happen.
Dumbledore hadn't finished though. Another swish and flick, and the wooden platform was filled with a veritable obstacle course of wooden walls, ladders, and figures of all kinds.
"Whoever reaches the golden gem wins the task, with silver earning second place and bronze third." Or last, Hermione thought. Then the wooden figures and walls and obstacles on the platform started to burn. "The longer you wait, the less obstacles you have to pass, for they will have burned down. But be careful, for the floor will be sinking down, and if you wait too long you will end up in the lava yourself. The gate will only open if you hold a gem." At that moment, Hermione wanted to hurt whoever had thought of such a task, but judging from the loud cheering, she was a tiny minority there.
A loud fanfare was the signal to start, and the three Champions entered the arena. Hermione couldn't help but cry out when Harry stepped on the wooden floor, and a transparent shield appeared behind him, cutting him off from the audience.
*****
Harry was grateful for the bubblehead charm, the air inside the arena was filled with smoke, partially obscuring their goal. It was hot, but not as hot as it should be, so close above lava. He was still looking around when Krum started for the first obstacle in front of them, a burning wall made of wood. The seeker's reducto blew a hole into it, but a rather smallish one, Harry thought Judging from the curses Krum muttered, Harry hadn't been the only one expecting a bigger one. It would have been too easy, he realized, if they could simply blast their way across the platform.
If he had his broom with him he could simply fly right at the prize… He grinned suddenly. Lateral thinking, Hermione called it. Going through the obstacles was a slow process, even without the animated figures attacking them. But going above…
Harry used a few reductos to blow up a wooden wall until he had a board broken off, then cast a levitation charm on it. It wobbled a bit, but rose obediently. Perfect. it wasn't a broom, and it would be very slow, but still faster than going through the obstacles.
Though as soon as he sat down on it it burst into ashes, dropping him on the ground. Apparently, he hadn't been the only one thinking of this. Though on the other hand… if he could cast that spell on an obstacle, and then step on it to destroy it in seconds…
Loud screeching interrupted his planning. Looking up, he saw a dozen fire drakes descend, fangs bared and claws out. Krum was in the middle of climbing over an obstacle 20 meters in front of Harry, and two of the drakes attacked, raking him with their claws. They had not spit fire at Krum, Harry realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach. They were not trying to frighten him away, they were hunting Krum! And himself!
He dropped to the ground and rolled away when he caught a winged shape dive at him, barely evading fangs that could crack a fire crab carapace. The young Champion shot a stunner at the beast without thinking - and without any effect, the spell splashing harmlessly against the drake's wings. For a moment he thought of using the potion-portkey, but then decided against it - if he was knocked unconscious, even if only for a few seconds before the portkey worked, those drakes would tear him to pieces. And eat him. A sprint carried him past another dive-bombing reptile, closer to where Krum had fallen down. If the lessons from Remus and Sirius had taught him one thing, then that teamwork was the key when defending against multiple fast attackers.
Harry jumped at a burning wall, trusting the potion covering his robes to protect him, and pulled himself up, then over it. A blunt impact behind him, right as he slid down the other side, told him another drake had gone after him. He ran around the burning embers of a ripped apart scarecrow and dove through a small hole in the next wall, pursued by two more drakes who had to pull up to avoid that obstacle. There was Krum, on the ground, one arm dangling uselessly and bleeding at his side, but casting and holding three of the drakes at bay!
Harry screamed like a madman - it couldn't hurt, he later defended himself - and then sent a glowing stag at the drakes. The stag had not much of an effect, but distracted the beasts long enough so he could reach the Bulgarian wizard. Crouching down next to Krum, he cast a shield. "Can you heal yourself?" he shouted, to be heard over the screeching of the lizards.
Krum nodded, and flicked his wand at his bleeding arm. Harry couldn't check how much it helped, he had to focus on his shield as one, then another drake crashed against it, almost shattering it.
Then a much larger figure landed - or crashed - to the ground near the two. Harry almost cursed at it, until he realized it was Delacour, in her bird form. Gone was the perfect face, replaced by the beak of a bird of prey. Large wings had sprouted from her shoulders, and her clawed feet held the broken remains of a drake, crushed on the ground. She raised her head and screeched at the drakes circling above them. Harry barely heard Krum whispering curses or prayers under his breath while he stared at the sight. He couldn't help but briefly wondering what Ron would think of her now.
Then the remaining drakes attacked again, and he was busy shielding. Krum blinded one of the drakes with a well-aimed conjunctivitis curse, Delacour flew up and smacked two more from the air, crushing one as she came down on it just as Harry used a reducto on the ground under the other, turning the wood into deadly splinters that pierced even drake scales.
And opened a hole for the heat simmering under the platform. Even Delacour, with a veela's affinity to fire, was driven back when the temperature rose quickly and drastically, and the wooden planks around the hole started to burn. Harry exchanged a glance with Krum, then started to run towards the gates, their original goal, followed by Delacour.
The drakes were still chasing them. It made no sense, they had seen three of their number killed and another blinded, and yet kept coming. Delacour's screech warned them of another attack, and Harry raised his shield in time to see two more impact on it. He was straining to keep it up while Krum finished one of them with a curse that looked like a poison effect. Delacour ripped the other to pieces with her claws, screeching at the remaining six again.
One of those seemed to respond to what Harry realized was a challenge, and dove at her, spitting fire that washed harmlessly over her. Her own fireballs, launched from her hands, showed an equal lack of effect. Then the two met in a flurry of claws fangs and beaks. The drake fought fiercely, but Delacour had size and mass over it - and her wings were far more powerful than the drake's. She knocked it down with one blow from her left wing, then smacked it 10 meters back with the other when it jumped up. That was enough for the drake, who flew away before rejoining his brethren.
Harry expected the next attack, wand ready, while Krum healed the cuts Delacour had suffered, but none came. "I claimed you as my prey." Delacour explained, her voice distorted into an alien sound, drastically different from her usual melodic voice.
"What?" Harry blinked. Had he heard correctly?
"They see you as prey. I challenged them." Delacour kept her eyes on the circling drakes.
"You can understand them?"
"Yes."
"Oh." Harry shouldn't have been so surprised, He was a parselmouth, after all. It stood to reason that a veela might understand other creatures of air and fire.
"They have simple minds, seeing everything as either predator or prey. I proved to be stronger." She turned her head with her blood-stained beak towards Harry and Krum. "I am not eating you." The screeching laughter that followed told Harry just how shaken he and Krum must have looked.
Working together - the drakes were still following them, "They hope to scavenge from me", Delacour had explained - the obstacles posed no problems for the three champions, and soon they stood in front of the pedestal holding the three gems, exchanging looks. Everyone needed a gem to escape the arena, but who would get which one?
Krum didn't hesitate long. "Miss Delacour saved us both, she gets the golden one."
Harry nodded. "And you get the silver one. It's my fault those drakes attacked us."
Krum looked like he wanted to argue, but nodded after he met Harry's eyes.
With the drakes still waiting for an opportunity to attack, the three went through the gate together. The first task of the Triwizard Tournament was over.
*****
Barty Crouch Jr. laughed, reading the Daily Prophet detailing the events of the first task. As if he had struck then and there if he had actually wanted to kill Potter. No, he'd have waited, let them grow complacent and lower their guard, before striking. But now, and for just an imperius, an obliviate and a few liters of fire crab liver extract, his Master's enemies would focus even more on Hogwarts, allowing him to prepare the resurrection ritual with very little risk. And who knew? With a bit of luck, Potter might still die to his next attack. And should that happen, should the Boy-Who-Lived die in Dumbledore's care, then the meddling old wizard would be far too busy dealing with everyone screaming for his head to oppose Barty's master until it was too late.
The Death Eater stood up, dropping the newspaper on the table, then smiled at his father and the family elf, Winky, both bound and gagged by his spells. "I'll take my leave now, father. I'd love to kill you, but… that would create a risk I cannot take. Not yet. So…"
He pointed his wand at his father's head. "Obliviate! Your son died in Azkaban. Your wife died soon afterwards. You never thought to rescue him.You have spent the rest of your life alone, with Winky as your only companion, regretting that you sacrificed your son's life for political ambitions which ultimately failed."
After wiping the knowledge of his continued existence from the minds of his father and his elf and canceling the spells that held them, Barty left his family home. He had his Master's resurrection to prepare.
Chapter 5: Duels
