
𝟢𝟣𝟣,𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐤
❦ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐕 ❦
He is not prepared. At all.
"Did you get a hint?" He asks Minho, impatient, bouncing on his heels.
"Even if I did, it would be too late to tell you."
They're at the first competition of the tournament, and Thomas has no idea what is waiting for him. He hadn't focused on it at all. Was too busy trying to get revenge for the things Jannah does to him— all the time.
"But did you?"
Minho shrugs innocently. "Alby showed me a little something in the woods, yeah."
"And?"
"And what?"
"Minho, come on!" Thomas hisses. "What's waiting for us outside this tent?"
With a final sigh, his friend steps closer. "You'll be fighting a creature."
"Creature? What creature?"
"Can you stop asking questions?" He rolls his eyes. "You'll be fighting a Griever."
"A Griever? What's a—"
"Ladies, gentlemen!" A voice interrupts. Minho immediately spins away from Thomas, as if they were never communicating in the first place. It's Ava Paige speaking. "The first task was designed to test your daring, which is why we did not tell you what it is— right now, that'll change."
Minho and Thomas share a glance. Teresa puts her raven-colored hair up in a ponytail while Newt sticks his wand inside his pocket.
"You must take the compass that is hidden somewhere in the arena. But not without obstacles, of course..." She takes a red velvet, tiny bag from her pocket. "Each of you take a note out. That will decide when it is your turn to fight. Scamander."
She holds the bag towards Newt, who immediately slips his hand inside. "Four," he reads off the note.
"Agnes."
Teresa takes a note as well. "Three."
Thomas's eyes meet Minho's again, but this time, they're sharper. Both full of rivalry. The note Minho takes will decide if Thomas has to go first or not.
"Lee."
Thomas tries to hide his sweaty hands by wiping them on his pants, mentally hitting himself for being this nervous as Minho takes the second last note.
"One," he reads.
"That means Romanov goes second," Ava Paige confirms. A ton of weight flies off Thomas's shoulders. "Your name will be called soon, Mr. Lee."
Minho takes his hoodie off, revealing a dark green compression shirt. He flexes his muscles for a moment, then looks at Thomas. "Wish me luck."
"Be careful, don't die."
He watches as Minho slips out of the tent and disappears into the arena, the crowd's cheers fading as he goes out of sight.
Minutes drag by, each one longer than the last. He clenches and unclenches his fists, silently begging to hear the sound of Minho's return. But there's nothing—no applause, no sign of anything.
"Nervous?" Newt asks, plopping down next to Thomas. Teresa sits down on the other side of him.
"A bit. You?"
Newt cracks a grin. "A bit."
Finally, a voice calls from outside the tent, "Lee has completed his task."
A breath leaves Thomas's mouth, but his relief is short-lived. Almost immediately, he hears his own name.
The tent flaps part, and Thomas steps forward, squinting against the bright lights of the arena. He takes in the uneven landscape, the jagged rocks and twisted vines snaking across the ground.
A low, metallic growl rumbles through the air, and Thomas freezes— he was barely done grabbing his wand.
The Griever appears. Thomas's imagination could have never possibly lived up to it.
It's massive, with claws and gigantic eyes. Its body is a sickening blend of metal and flesh, writhing as it crawls over the rocks. The crowd's distant cheers fade. All Thomas can now hear is the creature's guttural growl.
The Griever lunges out of nowhere, and he barely manages to dive out of the way.
He scrambles to his feet, heart hammering, and raises his wand. He casts a quick Stunning Spell, but it barely slows the creature.
"Think," he mutters, eyes darting around the arena. He has to use the environment somehow—he won't be able to overpower the Griever on his own, not without thinking it through very well.
But there's no time for thinking anything through.
The creature charges again, but this time, Thomas is ready. He allows the monster to chase him around the arena, forcing it to push its bulky body through tight spaces.
An idea sparks in his mind. He spots two enormous stones on either side of a narrow passageway and sprints toward them. The Griever is right behind him.
Thomas skids to a halt between the stones and whirls around. The Griever barrels toward him, and he waits, even though his heart is racing.
When the creature is close enough, he raises his wand, "Depulso!"
The spell sends a powerful blast at one of the stones. Shoves it into the other. The rocks collide, trapping the Griever in the narrow passage. It screeches, thrashing against the stone, but it's pinned, unable to break free.
With one final spell, Thomas forces the stones together with a crunch. The Griever gets crushed between them.
With a final, horrible screech, the creature falls still.
For a moment, Thomas just stands there, breathing hard. The crowd erupts into cheers.
The compass. He stumbles back. His eyes dart around, searching.
After a while, he spots it— a faint glint of metal nestled between more rocks. He sprints toward it, ripping his skin open to other rocks in the mean while.
Reaching the compass, he drops to his knees and grabs it, the cool metal solid in his hand. He can hear the crowd roaring even louder.
He forces himself to stand, the compass clutches in his hand, head spinning slightly as he takes a breath. He raises the compass high, showing it to the audience. Their cheers swell.
As he makes his way back to the tent, he catches sight of the other champions waiting for their turns. Newt gives him a quick nod. Teresa, ever calm, gives him a slight smile.
Inside the tent, Minho is waiting with a proud grin. He claps Thomas on the shoulder, pulling him into a quick embrace. "Not bad, man. Not bad at all."
Thomas's young friend Chuck marches towards him. "Did you see it? Fight it? You beat it, right?"
"Weren't you in the crowd?" Thomas wonders, out of breath. He wipes some sweat off his forehead.
"No. I got scared. Nearly pissed my pants. Went here to avoid it." A pause. "So...? Did you see it?"
"He didn't just see it," Minho scoffs, "he killed it."
✧
Later that day, the whole Gryffindor common room is partying. Thomas has kept his compass close. It doesn't leave his pocket unless someone is really desperate to have a good look at it.
"What do you think it's for?" Jeff wonders. Ben leans closer, interested.
"Must be a hint for the next task," Thomas sighs out. "But it's a regular compass."
"I think you have to find something?" Ben suggests. "Just keep it close. Don't lose it."
"Obviously," Thomas mutters.
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: Truyen247.Pro