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Harry was not ready to face anything. Not a dragon, not Rita Skeeter, not anyone. Then again, he’d think he’d rather face the dragon, any dragon, than face Ron. He couldn’t believe Ron. Seriously, did Ron forget all they went through? Did he forget being crushed by the chess piece or being chased by Siris? (He might’ve forgiven Sirius, and was excited to actually have Family, but that didn’t mean he’s forgiven Sirius for what he did to Ron).
How could Ron betray him like that? It didn’t make any sense. He thought Ron was his friend. His brother. How could he forget all they went through?
“Pst, Harry,” A familiar whisper drew Harry out of his musing. He was certain it was her voice, but he wasn’t sure. Not a hundred percent sure.
“Hermione?” He asked, pulling the curtain back. He couldn’t explain the relief that hit him when he saw Hermione safe and sound. He hated what the past few weeks had done to her. He could see how torn she felt, and he hated it. He never should’ve put her in the position to feel torn between them, but he refused to accept the accusations Ron was giving him. He wasn’t going to accept the blame for something he never did. Not again. He wasn’t eleven years old, and stuck in the broom cupboard anymore.
“Harry!” He felt the tension flood from him as Hermione pulled him into a hug. At least he knew she’d still stand by him, not that he really questioned it. Still, it was… nice in a way he couldn’t explain to feel her arms around him. It was like when Molly would pull him into an all-encompassing hug, or when Fred and George would tease him, only to prank whoever called him names. It… it felt like what he’d expect an older sister to hug him. It was nice.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re all right. I couldn’t find anything else on the dragons in the library, but are you sure you saw Norberta?” She asked, pulling away. He was thankful the other champions gave them space, especially after Cedric glared at the champions. Not that they would've set anything anyway. After the realization set in, after the realization that they'd be fighting dragons, that they could DIE, set it, everything changed. They seemed to enclose him, protecting him from the others. Acting as a buffer between the adults who wished to prey on him and the students who hated him. Not that it would matter in the end. He was only fourteen years old. He wasn't equipped for any of this. None of them are. They were just kids or young adults. Not even fully grown adults fight Dragons on their best day. He didn't know why Dumbledore, why anyone, let it happen. Dumbledore was supposed to be safe. Dumbledore was supposed to protect him. And HE FAILED
“She’s much bigger than when we last saw her, but I’m certain it was her,” He replied, trying not to feel relief. It was strange to see her again. It only felt like yesterday he snuck her out with Ron and Hermione. She felt so tiny, despite weighing a few dozen pounds. He could hardly believe how big she’d gotten, even though Charlie’s been sending them photos since his first year. He was even taken to visit her every summer, considering he spent the majority of the summer with the Weasleys.
“I hope we get to visit her after all this,” Hermione said, stubbornly clinging to the bright side of things.
“Me too,” He said, forcing himself to take deep breaths. Of all the Dragons he gets, he wishes to get her. She’d be more likely to recognize him, and hopefully, he could get out of it without having to fight. He wasn’t sure if there was a compulsion or curse on the Dragons forcing them to fight, but he hoped she’d recognize him.
A white flash blinded him, before he heard Rita’s grating voice calling out to them.
“Oh, young love,” She said, with a grin, one that made Harry bristle and sneer, hiding Hermione behind him, “Stirring.” The look in her eyes made Harry shiver, even as Hermione stood up beside him. Usually, something within him would unwind and relax at knowing Hermione, or Ron had his back, but when faced with Rita Skeeter, it just felt wrong. He wanted to, nearly needed to, hide away from her. To leave her knowing, nearly gleaming gaze, and hide away. To be safe.
“If everything goes unfortunately today,” She grinned, a grin that made Harry feel like she was the dragon, “You two may even make the front page.” Harry couldn’t help but relax as the other champions circled, separating Harry and Hermione from Rita.
“You have no business here,” Victor Krum sneered, standing in front of them and glaring at Rita with crossed arms, “This tent is for champions and friends only.” He stood tall, effectively cutting Harry and Hermione from Rita’s view. Even Cedric and Fleur stood near them, further separating them from Rita.
“No matter,” She said, after shrugging, “We’ve got what we wanted.” Rita gave Harry another smile, a grin that made him shiver, before she marched out.
“Good day, champions, gather round, please.” Dumbledore said, marching in as Rita left. Harry pulled Hermione close as Dumbledore and the other professors entered the tent. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about the other professors. For the most part, they advocated for him to stay out of the tournament, if only because it would be unfair for their school. But still, they advocated for him, while Dumbledore allowed him to participate almost right away.
“Now, you’ve waited, you’ve wondered, and at last the moment has arrived. A moment only the four of you can fully appreciate,” He announced, before stopping to stare at Hermione, barely tucked behind Harry, “What are you doing here, Miss Granger?” Harry wasn’t sure if he should’ve been happy or not from the slight glare she gave Dumbledore, considering she hadn’t been happy about him competing. Either way, it felt… nice that one of his best friends cared for his well-being.
“Sorry,” She sneered, “Just checking in on Harry.” She stared at Dumbledore for a few more seconds before marching off, throwing a worried glance at Harry before leaving.
“Gather round, champions,” Mr. Crouch said, pulling everyone into a circle around them, before pulling out a bag, “Now, Miss Delacour, if you will.” A puff of smoke lifted from the bag before Delacour, tentatively, put her hand in it. She winced before pulling out a green blob. It took Harry a second to realize it was a dragon, a miniature dragon.
Victor went next, pulling out another miniature dragon. Harry barely held in the sigh of relief when he revealed a Chinese Fireball, only known from when Ron went through his ‘Dragon Phase’. But, with the green blob Harry didn’t recognize, and the Chinese Fireball taken out, that left Noberta, and the Hungarian Horntail. As much as he liked Cedric, a little too much if you asked his questioning sexuality, he really didn’t want to face the Hungarian Horntail.
His heart nearly leaped out of his throat when Cedric reached down into the bag. He wasn’t sure if it was from the fear of Cedric pulling out Noberta, or the flirty, thankful smile Cedric gave him. Either way, his heart pounded as Cedric slowly pulled out his hand. For a second, Harry thought he was safe. That he’d only have to face Noberta, that he’d be perfectly fine.
That was until Cedric opened his hand, revealing a miniature Norwegian Ridgeback. A familiar Norwegian Ridgeback, with an oh-so familiar scale pattern. Barty Crouch’s announcement sounded like it came through water. It felt like he was forced to wade through the freezing Black Lake. He was forced to face the Hungarian Horntail, a Dragon not even Hagrid wanted to deal with. Rather, a Dragon Hagrid would struggle to deal with.
“Mr. Potter, please draw your dragon,” Mr. Crouch said, shaking the bag once. Harry winced before taking a deep breath. He tried not to wince as he pulled out the Hungarian Horntail, a dragon that earned him a look of pity from the other champions and professors.
“The Hungarian Horntail,” Mr. Crouch said, his tone somber, “A ferocious dragon.” Harry barely saw the look of pity Mr. Crouch gave him before he turned to the other champions. Actually, Harry struggled to hear anything Mr. Crouch was saying past pulling out the Horntail. All he could do was stare at the Horntail, struggling not to let his fear shine through.
He didn’t know how he was supposed to fight against the Hungarian Horntail. It was meant to be the strongest, the most vicious of all the dragons. He’d know. During his ‘Dragon Phase’, Ron went on an hour-long lecture, almost as bad as a Hermione lecture. Of all the dragons he faced, it was the Hungarion Horntail he’d rather face last.
“Harry, are you okay?” Cedirc asked, forcing Harry to look from the small dragon in his hand. He hadn’t even noticed the cannon go off, consumed by the meaning of the dragon in his hand.
“Y-yeah,” He lied, forcing himself not to look at the miniature dragon his Cedric’s hand, “Just… got easy on her. She may not seem it, but she’s a gentle soul.” He tried not to see the hypocrisy in his own words, but he couldn’t help it. Ever since their first year, Noberta has been his friend. She’s even stopped trying to attack him on sight last summer. He missed her greatly, and he wished he’d face her.
“Do you know her?” Cedric asked, with a raised eyebrow that forced him to push down a blush.
“It’s a long story. Just… be gentle, please. And she likes ferrets.” Harry said, nearly blurting the words out instead of saying them normally. Cedric just gave him a thankful smile before finally marching out, shooting a glare at the professors as he marched past.
The next few hours passed in almost a blur. He barely noticed the cannons going off as each champion went off. The only thing he remembered was the Champions giving him a worried look or a pat on the back before they left. He wasn’t sure if he was still in shock from Cedric or having to face the Hungarian Horntail. Maybe it was a mix of both. Either way, he barely noticed the time passed until he was left alone in the tent, after a worried look from Fleur.
He gently placed the miniature dragon on the table before placing a cup over it. He doubted it would attack him, but the small burns and nicks on his hands proved otherwise. He grabbed hold of his wand before taking a deep breath.
“I can do this,” Harry whispered, forcing himself to fill with the same confidence he felt staring down the Basilisk. It didn’t work, but the shaking stopped. He wasn’t looking forward to facing the dragon, but he was certain he’d be able to face the Horntail. At the very least, he knew he could fly faster than the Horntail, so, hopefully, he’d be able to fly in and out. But he wasn’t sure if the broom would arrive in time, or if it would arrive undamaged. If he didn’t have his broom, he’d be screwed. He knew he couldn’t fight a dragon. His Protego wasn’t strong enough to hold against dragon fire, much less a dragon attack. He didn’t even know any spells he could do to fight the dragon. Everything seemed hopeless if his broom broke.
Harry barely recognized the next cannon going off. His cannon going off. It was by pure luck that he walked forward, entering the arena. The arena was filled with rocks, like he had entered the middle of the highlands, rather than entering the arena. He could see a gleam of gold, the egg most likely, far off in the distance. The sound, the chanting, was deafening, ringing in his ears. He wasn’t sure what was more worrying. The fact that he couldn’t see the dragon, or that he couldn’t hear it.
He marched toward the egg, one careful step at a time. He kept his wand by his side, carefully walking forward. He didn’t make it far before the tail came crashing down behind him. He was barely able to cast Protego before the debris fell around him. There, in all its glory, was the Hungarian Horntail. If it weren’t for the situation, Harry would’ve felt honored to see such a majestic creature. It was tall, fifty, maybe sixty feet. Its skin was born with bronze horns protruding from its head. The yellow eyes reminded him of the basilisk, yet they were filled with much more malice than the Basilisk’s ever were.
The heat of its fire breath was much more intense than any flame Seamus produced. It felt like the heat was going to melt his skin off and burn away his clothes. It burned in a way he’d never expected before, one he’d never experienced before. He wanted to hold his ground, to try and fight back, but he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. So, he ran, dodging claws, flame breath, and spikes raining down from the skin.
“ACCIO FIREBOLT!” He shouted, forcing his magic toward the spell. He could feel it catch, could feel his magic guide the eager firebolt toward his waiting hand. But he had to wait for it to arrive. He had to wait for the firebolt, a fast broom, to make its way from the Quidditch pitch to here. That meant, if his timing was right, he’d have to wait for an extra five minutes. He’d have to survive an extra five minutes against a Hungarian Horntail. God, he was going to die, wasn’t he?
“PROTEGO!” He shouted, just barely able to shield himself from the raining debris. He could feel his magic drain, feel the cuts and bruises forming from where the debris made its way through. He could feel the burn forming on his shin, making it difficult to run further.
But he could see his broom in the distance. He could see it arriving, far in the distance. He only had to wait a few more seconds, maybe even a minute. So, he ran, running toward where the broom would land. Where he first summoned the broom.
He could feel the Horntail looming over him, rather than see it. He barely dodged the fire-breath attack, barely stopped the debris from crushing his arm. His freedom, his way of winning, was a hair's breadth away.
90 centimeters, a flash of flame. 80 centimeters, a shard launched into his arm. 60 centimeters, a stumble to avoid spikes. 50 centimeters, barely avoiding stumbling over a rock. 40 centimeters, just barely out of reach. 15 Centimeters, his fingertips brushing against the well-worn, well-known wood. 5 centimeters, his hand just barely wrapped around the handle. 0 Centimeters, a large rock came crashing down, earning a loud crack.
Harry didn’t know what was worse, the fact that he couldn’t move his hand, or that he could feel splinters of sharp wood piercing through what he could feel. He didn’t want to move the rock, he didn’t want to confirm what he knew. He could feel the tension in the air, could feel the absolute horror filling the stands. With a shaky wand, he forced the rock away with a simple Leviso, confirming what he already knew. There, beneath the rock, lay his mangled hand, and the Firebolt lay in two.
“No,” He whispered, collapsing to his knees. His broom, his only means of survival, was gone.
“HARRY!” “RUN” “MOVE ON” The screams of the stands felt like simple background noise to him. They blended with the ringing in his ears, and the looming monster, the laughing monster behind him. He wasn’t going to survive. He knew that. He’s known that since the first year, when Quirell tried to kill him. No matter what he did, no matter what he tried to do, someone was going to try to kill him. And, in a matter of years, they’d succeed.
So, why not let them succeed now? He let his knees stay down, let his neck rise. He waited for the blast, the blaze to consume him. He couldn’t help but wonder if the Horntail would burn him to death, or if it’d crush him. Maybe it’d give him a slower, agonizing death by eating him. Either way, he’d die.
“HARRY! NO!” He barely recognized the familiar voice calling out. Barely heard the wings beating down above him. All he felt was the same familiar warm feeling curl around him, as a large beast came crashing down around him.
When he opened his eyes, he couldn’t help but give a sign of relief. Couldn’t help but let the relief fill his body, burning away the agony to the dark corner it lived in. The dark corner he refused to acknowledge. Curling around him, with a broken collar hanging around her neck, was Norberta, the best Norwegian Ridgeback to ever exist. Her wing was curled around him, shielding him from the flames of the Horntail.
“You will not lay a claw on him!” She hissed before blasting white hot flames at the dragon. When the Horntail backed off, her flames burning away the scales of the Horntail, she lifted her wing to give Harry a look.
“Go,” She softly said, gently nudging him with her tail, “I’ll keep him off you”.
Harry gave her a thankful smile as he walked toward the egg. Norberta walked alongside him, not quite an adult, but large and vicious enough to be a threat. She glared down the Horntail, spewing fire whenever it stepped forward.
When he picked up the egg, he was surprised to find how light it was. It almost seemed to glow in his hands, radiating magic.
As he walked back toward the entrance, Norberta walked with him, even jamming her head into the doorway. Harry couldn’t help but scratch beneath her chin, the same way he’d do so when she was just a babe, and they were sneaking her out of the castle.
“Thank you, Norberta.” He couldn’t bring himself to speak Parseltounge, not after the events of a few years past, but he knew she understood him all the same. Instead of saying anything, Norberta just smiled, or gave him her version of it anyway, and huffed smoke into his face. Then, without warning, she flew away, glaring down the Horntail once more.
He held the egg close, even as he waited for the professors to arrive, to call him out. For once, since his name was called, he finally felt peace.