Chapter Seventeen: Of Dragons and Firebolts
Harish told the others about what Harish had said to him. He talked with the twins about the assassination attempts and he talked with Hermione and Daphne about the first task. It was slightly annoying to him. Talking to Hermione was like talking to a brick wall, or he at least got as much inspiration from her as he would a wall. One example was a conversation they held two days after he had spoken with Sirius.
"So what did Sirius tell you about the first task?" Hermione asked.
"Play to my strengths," Harish grumbled. "But I don't know how that would help me."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Honestly," she said. "You can be so thick. What are you really good at?"
"I dunno," Harish complained. "That's why the advice is no use."
But Daphne's response was really different.
"Play to your strengths?" she asked. "Well, you are amazing at Quidditch."
Harish, who had been thumping his head on the table bolted upright and exclaimed, "Daphne, you are a gem! How could I have not thought of that?"
Daphne beamed.
"Well two heads are better than one," she supplied modestly.
So that night he and the twins plotted about how they were going to defeat the dragon by flying.
"So, all you need—"
"Is your broom," they said.
"But we aren't allowed anything but our wands," Harish said.
The twins cracked two identical smiles.
"Exactly."
So the morning of the first task arrived with Harish feeling prepared and—slightly nervous. The atmosphere was thick with excitement. Lessons were to stop midday, giving all of the students time to get down to the dragons' enclosure—though of course, no one but Harish and no doubt the other champions (for Harish was sure Maxime and Karkaroff would do anything to get one on Dumbledore, and he didn't blame them) knew what they would find there.
Everyone was either wishing him good luck or hissing, "I'll have a stretcher ready."
Harish rolled his eyes, their jabs not bothering him a bit. Nonetheless, the twins still aimed their "body-guard glares" in every direction. Harish trudged through all of his classes, mentally planning out what to do in his head. He did not pay attention in the slightest in any of his classes.
The next thing he knew he was sitting down at lunch, picking through his food. The whole thing was slightly more nerve-wracking that Quidditch (though the young man would never admit he was nervous). Then, Professor McGonagall was hurrying toward him. Everyone was watching.
"Blake, the champions have to come down now," she said. "You must get ready for your first task."
"Yes Ma'am," he replied, standing up instantly. His fork fell to his plate with a clatter.
"Good luck, Harish," Daphne said quietly.
"You'll be fine," Hermione whispered, though it was unclear whether she was trying to reassure Harish or herself.
"You got this!" the twins exclaimed, before Harish followed McGonagall out of the Great Hall.
He was led out onto the grounds in silence until a tent was visible around a clump of trees.
"You're to go in there with the other champions," McGonagall instructed him. "And wait your turn, Blake. Mr. Bagman is in there. He will be telling you the procedure—Good luck."
And she strode away. Harish suspected that the woman was not very happy with having him as the Hogwarts champion. The teen shrugged before entering the tent.
Fleur Delacour was sitting in a corner on a low stool. She did not look her usual composed self, but pale and clammy. Viktor Krum looked even surlier than usual, which Harish supposed was his way of showing nerves. And Harish himself did not betray any of his nervousness other than the fact that his eyes were wider than normal.
Bagman turned and spotted Harish.
"Blake!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Good-o!"
Harish noticed that the man was wearing his old Quidditch robes again—the Wimbourne Wasps. They were slightly stretched as he seemed to have gained a few pounds since his youth.
"Well, now we're a;; here—time to fill you in!" he exclaimed brightly. "When the audience has assembled, I'm going to offering each of you this bag"—he held up a sack of purple silk and shook it at them—"from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different—er—varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too…ah, yes…your task is to collect the golden egg!"
Harish nodded and leaned against the wall. The other two did not react at all. Fleur simply looked down at the ground again and began rocking in her seat while Krum looked surly as ever.
In no time at all, hundreds of feet could be heard passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking…Harish felt very separate from them as he anticipated which dragon he would receive. He went over the plan once more in his head before the tent flap opened and Bagman walked over, opening the neck of the silk bag.
"Ladies first," he said, offering it to Fleur.
She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny perfect model of a dragon—a Welsh Green. It had a number two around its neck. Fleur showed no surprise, but a determined resignation. When Krum pulled out a model of the Chinese Fireball with a number one on it, he had just blinked, sat down, and stared at the ground. This confirmed Harish's suspicions that the other champions would find out about the dragons before the task.
Knowing what was left, Harish gritted his teeth stuck his hand into the bag. He pulled out the model of the Hungarian Horntail. It had the number three around its neck and was spewing fire into the air.
"Well there you are!" Bagman exclaimed. "You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to compete, do you see? Now I'm going to have to leave you in a moment, because I'm commentating. Mr. Krum, you're first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle all right?"
And with that he left. Minutes later, a whistle sounded and Krum left the tent. Harish and Fleur shared a glance for just a moment before Fleur stood up and began pacing. Harish leaned against the wall of the tent once again and listened to the commentation of how Krum was doing.
"Very daring!" Bagman was shouting. Harish could hear the Chinese Fireball emit a horrible, roaring shriek, while the crowd drew a collective breath. "That's some nerve he's got there—and—yes, he's got the egg!"
"And now the marks from the judges!"
He didn't shout the marks, which annoyed Harish slightly. He would have liked to know how the others did before he went on. Still, he supposed the judges must have been holding the scores up and showing them to the crowd.
"One down, two to go!" Bagman yelled as the whistle blew again. "Miss Delacour, if please!"
Fleur was trembling from head to foot as she exited the tent. But, she still held her head high and her hand aloft. Then, the process started all over again as Harish found himself alone in the tent….
"Oh I'm not sure that was wise!" they could hear him shouting gleefully. "Oh…nearly! Careful now…good lord, I thought she'd had it then!"
Ten minutes later, Harish heard the crowd erupt into applause once more…Fleur must have been successful too. A pause, while her marks were being shown…more clapping…then, for the third time, the whistle blew.
Harish walked to the entrance of the tent, now beginning to feel slightly sick. The young man shook his head and forced himself to look confident. He walked past the trees through a gap in the enclosure fence.
And there was the Horntail, at the other end of the enclosure crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her evil, yellow eyes upon him. The crowd was making a great deal of noise, but Harish paid them no attention. It was just him and the Horntail at that moment, just as it had been two years ago in the Chamber of Secrets when he had been facing the Basilisk. The only thing was, he did not have that certainty that he had had then that the creature would not harm him.
Then, he slowly raised his wand.
"Accio Firebolt!" he shouted.
Harish waited, knowing that the broom would reach him. And then he heard it speeding through the air behind him. He turned and saw his Firebolt hurtling toward him around the edge of the woods, soaring into the enclosure, and stopping dead in the air beside him, waiting for him to mount. The crowd was making even more noise…Bagman was shouting something…but Harish's ears were not working properly anymore…listening was not important…
He swung his leg over the broom and kicked off from the ground. A second later, something miraculous happened. As he soared upward, the wind rushed through his hair, and the Horntail shrank to the size of a dog, he realized that the dragon was nothing more than a big ugly Quidditch team that he had to get past to reach the golden egg.
At that thought, he looked down at the clutch of eggs and spotted the prize egg gleaming against its cement colored fellows, residing safely between the dragon's front legs.
"Okay," Harish told himself, "diversionary tactics…let's go…"
He dove. The Horntail's head followed him; he knew what it was going to do and pulled out of the dove just in time; a jet of fire had been released exactly when he would have been had he not swerved away…but Harish did not care…that was no more than dodging a Bludger…
"Great Scott, he can fly," Bagman shouted as the crowd shrieked and gasped. "Are you watching this, Mr. Krum?"
Harish found himself grinning widely as he soared higher in a circle. The Horntail was still following his progress, its head revolving on its long neck—it he kept this up, it would be nice and dizzy—but better not push it too long, or it would be breathing fire again—
Harish plummeted just as the Horntail opened its mouth, but this time as he avoided the flames, the dragon's spiky tail came up to meet him in the shoulder, ripping his robes—
He could feel it stinging as the crowd screamed and groaned, but the cut did not seem too deep…Now he zoomed around the back of the Horntail and a possibility occurred to him…
The Horntail did not seem to want to take off, she was too protective of her eggs. Though she writhed and twisted, furling and unfurling her wings and keeping those yellow eyes on the teen, she was too afraid to move too far from them…but he had to persuade her to do it, or he would never bet near them…the trick was to do it carefully, gradually.
He began to fly, first this way, then the other, not near enough to make her breathe fire, but still posing a sufficient threat to unsure she kept her eyes on him. Her head swayed this way and that, watching him out of those vertical pupils, her fangs bared…
He flew higher. The Horntail's head rose with him, her neck now stretched to its fullest extent, still swaying like a snake before its charmer…
Harish rose a few feet more and she let out a roar of exasperation. He was like a fly to her, a fly she was longing to swat; her tail thrashed again, but he was too high to reach now…She shot fire into the air, which he dodged…Her jaws opened wide…
"Come on," Harish hissed, swerving tantalizing above her, "come on and get me…up you get now…"
And then she reared. Spreading her great, black, leathery wings at last—and Harish dove. Before the dragon knew what he had done, or where he had disappeared tom he was speeding toward the ground as fast as he could go, toward the eggs that were now unprotected by her clawed front legs—he had seized the golden egg—And with a huge spurt of speed he was off, soaring over the stands, the heavy egg safely under his uninjured arm, and it was as though someone had turned the volume back up—for the first time he became aware of the noise of the crowd, which was screaming and applauding as loudly as the Irish supporters at the World Cup—
"Look at that!" Bagman was yelling. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is the quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr. Blake!"
The Horntail was subdued and Harish waited for his scores, which were sent up moments later—An eight out of ten from Madame Maxime, nine out of ten from Dumbledore, full marks from Bagman, and a four from Karkaroff. When he saw this, Harish narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the man. Was he marking down because he was from a different school, or was it because the man knew who his father was?
Harish wasn't given much time to ponder this as McGonagall strode over and forced him to go to the Healer's tent. Harish couldn't help but grin. He would face Madam Pomfrey's wrath any day if it meant winning first place at the first task.