On November 24th, the first task of the Triwizard Tournament officially began.
During this time, Hermione had tried to probe several times with indirect questions.
But Lia always managed to easily divert the topic with acting cute and being affectionate.
She was still that clingy little kitten; everything that happened in the library that day seemed like a hallucination.
The Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts had been completely transformed; the flat lawn had disappeared, replaced by a massive rocky arena crisscrossed with ravines.
The surrounding high stands were packed to capacity, filled with the cheers and whistles of tens of thousands of spectators, along with the sharp noises emitted by various magical items.
Inside the tent backstage, however, the atmosphere was the polar opposite of the frenzy outside.
Harry could clearly hear the mountain-shaking waves of sound from outside, and even more clearly, he could hear his own heart beating like a drum in his chest.
His palms were slick with cold sweat, and he repeatedly fingered the wand hidden beneath his robes.
At the other end of the tent, Fleur Delacour also seemed restless, constantly smoothing her long silver hair.
Viktor Krum sat in a corner with a dark expression, eyes closed to rest, radiating an aura that warned others not to approach.
Only Cedric Diggory looked somewhat composed; leaning against a tent pole, he even gave Harry a slightly forced, encouraging smile.
The tent flap was lifted, and Ludo Bagman hopped inside cheerfully.
He held a fancy purple velvet pouch, a brilliant smile on his face that felt completely out of place with the atmosphere.
"Champions, it's time to draw! Ladies first!"
Fleur took a deep breath and reached into the bag with a trembling hand.
What she pulled out was a lifelike miniature model—a bright green Welsh Green Dragon, with a delicate number '2' hanging around its neck.
"Mr. Diggory!" Bagman presented the bag to Cedric.
Cedric reached in and quickly pulled out his opponent.
It was a Swedish Short-Snout; its silvery-blue scales shimmered under the magical lights of the tent, with the number '1' around its neck.
Next was Krum.
He snatched a model from the bag—a Chinese Fireball covered in smooth red scales, numbered '3'.
Only one remained in the bag.
There was no longer any need to draw.
Harry felt his throat go dry as he reached in; what he touched was cold and hard.
He pulled out a jet-black Dragon, its tail covered in terrifying spikes.
The number hanging around the small model's neck was '4'.
The Hungarian Horntail.
Even the smile on Bagman's face stiffened for a moment. "Oh... the most dangerous one."
The cheers outside the tent suddenly surged, and a clear name echoed through the sky: "Cedric Diggory!"
Cedric gave Harry one last look, nodded, and then resolutely walked out of the tent.
Harry sat alone in the corner, feeling as though his blood was about to freeze.
High up in the stands, Lia stood beside Hermione, quietly scanning the arena.
Her cat ears twitched restlessly back and forth, filtering useful information from the maddeningly noisy environment.
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the entire world had changed in her vision.
The rowdy stands were no longer just a mass of heads, but a vast halo of magic woven from excitement, anticipation, tension, and schadenfreude—multicolored, brilliant, yet murky.
And in the center of the field, the Swedish Short-Snout, secured by over a dozen thick iron chains, was a source of energy so massive it was suffocating.
It was a mass of burning, flowing fire.
Vast vitality and violent, primal magic surged within its massive body, forming a dazzling golden-red vortex.
Lia could even "see" its soul.
She leaned toward Hermione's ear and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear: "That Dragon... its soul smells like a scorched sun. Very irritable, but... not evil. It's just protecting its children."
Hermione gave her a surprised look, not quite understanding the metaphor of a "scorched sun," but she nodded nonetheless.
In the arena, Cedric performed exceptionally well.
He didn't choose to go head-to-head, but instead used a precise Transfiguration spell to turn a nearby rock into a lively Labrador Retriever.
The dog's barking successfully distracted the Dragon. Cedric seized the opportunity, dashed forward, and narrowly managed to retrieve the Golden Egg from the nest, earning thunderous applause from the entire crowd.
Next was Fleur, who chose a more clever approach.
She sang a hypnotic spell similar to that of a Veela, her melodious voice gradually lulling the violent Dragon into a slumber.
However, as she reached for the Golden Egg, the Dragon snorted, and a spray of sparks ignited the hem of her skirt. Fleur screamed as she put out the fire; though a bit disheveled, she successfully completed the task.
Then it was Krum's turn.
The Durmstrang champion displayed his usual style—simple, brutal, and effective.
He didn't attempt any fancy tricks at all. Instead, the moment the Dragon opened its mouth, he used a sharp and vicious Conjunctivitis Curse to strike the Chinese Fireball Dragon precisely in the eye.
The Dragon shrieked in pain and thrashed wildly on the ground. Krum took the chance to stride over and take the Golden Egg.
Finally, it was Harry's turn.
When the announcer called out Harry Potter's name, Hermione's heart leaped into her throat.
In the center of the field, the Hungarian Horntail was pacing restlessly.
It was larger than any of the previous Dragons, its black scales gleaming with a deadly metallic luster. Every lash of its terrifying spiked tail carved deep grooves into the hard rocky ground, sending splinters of stone flying.
It spotted the tiny human emerging from the entrance and let out a low, threatening hiss from its throat.
A second later, it suddenly opened its massive maw, and a blast of Dragon fire larger than any before it erupted, instantly turning a boulder in front of Harry into glowing, flowing lava.
"Merlin's saggy underpants!" a collective gasp went up from the stands.
Harry scrambled behind a rock, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would jump out of his throat.
He raised his wand high and, using all his strength, clearly shouted the spell he had practiced thousands of times in private:
"Accio Firebolt!"
Time seemed to stretch thin.
One second, two seconds, three seconds... nothing happened.
Unconcealed, piercing laughter broke out from the Slytherin stands.
In the distant sky, a tiny, barely visible black speck was flying toward the pitch at a speed that tore through the air.
It was the Firebolt!
The entire stadium erupted in thunderous cheers, drowning out all the mockery.
Harry's eyes flashed with ecstatic light. He vaulted onto the broom as it hovered precisely beside him and soared into the sky!
The clumsiness and fear on the ground vanished instantly; in the sky, he was once again the undisputed king.
The Hungarian Horntail was completely infuriated by this tiny flying thing. With a violent lurch, one of the iron chains securing its neck snapped!
Massive leathery wings unfurled with a boom, kicking up a gale as it roared and gave chase.
A heart-stopping aerial pursuit began.
Harry pushed his flying talent to its absolute limit.
He wove through the deadly gaps in the Dragon's breath, performing unimaginable extreme maneuvers.
In Lia's Eye of Truth, Harry's figure trailed a pale green magic wake, as swift as a bolt of lightning streaking across the sky.
And the Hungarian Horntail was a swirling storm of out-of-control, furious crimson.
Harry successfully lured the Dragon toward the edge of the arena, away from the nest of closely guarded Golden Eggs.
Seizing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, he suddenly went into a vertical dive, his body and broom forming a nearly straight line as he headed straight for the final goal.
The Dragon let out a roar of realization at being fooled and turned to chase, but it was too late.
The moment Harry's fingertips touched the cold Golden Egg, he used a silent Accio to pull it firmly into his hand.
Success!
All of Hogwarts was in an uproar!
In the Gryffindor stands, people were pumping their fists and cheering for Harry, their faces flushed red.
Harry held the Golden Egg high, circling excitedly above the arena, enjoying his moment of victory.
However, the very moment Harry picked up the Golden Egg, Lia's Danger Intuition suddenly sent a sharp, intense prick of pain.
This deadly sense of crisis didn't come from the Dragon still roaring on the ground, nor from any enemy outside the field.
Its source... was the gleaming Golden Egg in Harry's hand.
That egg... something was wrong with it.
[Quickly praise the Great Cat Queen! Click to remind for updates!]
[The punishment for not clicking is being teased by the Cat-girl until you faint tonight!]
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