❝OH, MY GOD, IT'S DRAGONS...❞

.・。.・゜✭・.

It takes all of five minutes on Sunday morning for Ara to convince the twins and Lee that Harry did not, in fact, put his own name into the goblet. Lee is skeptical–"But who would put his name in?"–George is relieved–"Oh, thank God, I was worried he was outclassing us..." –and Fred just sighs and nods. "Yeah, I figured. Too bloody strange to be him, innit?"

However, the rest of the Gryffindors are far too stubborn to admit they're wrong. They instead treat Harry as a celebrity–which, unfortunately, he's used to, after his first year and then the year everyone thought he was the Heir of Slytherin–and everyone falls into their old habit of staring at him in awe.

The rest of the school is less impressed. The Slytherins, led by Draco Malfoy, are disgusting to him as always; the Ravenclaws are pompous, believing him desperate for fame and glory; and the Hufflepuffs are the worst of all. Most of them seem to think he'll steal the spotlight from Cedric, whom they believe is the rightful Hogwarts champion, and thus, they treat Harry like shit.

Ara wishes the Houses weren't so divided all the time, but she supposes it's human nature, to be tribal in a way. "I'm like you, we're not like them" and all that.

So instead, she focuses on her studies, keeping up with her homework as Christmas break approaches. Fred and George told her just last week that they'll be staying over at Hogwarts Christmas, since the tournament will still be going on, and Ara would very much like to not be catching up on homework during the holidays.

One night, while Ara is working on a particularly difficult essay for Professor Babbling about the difference between the Elder and Younger Futhark runic alphabets, someone taps her shoulder gently. "Oi, you."

Ara sighs, glaring up at the intruder. "Yes?" But her eyes soften when she sees that it's Fred. "Oh. It's you."

"'Tis I," says Fred, grinning. "George and I are just finishing up this letter to Bagman. Can you check it for us?"

"Sure." Ara sets down her quill and parchment and walks with Fred over to the corner where he and George are sitting. George smiles up at her when she sits down next to him, curling her legs beneath her, and passes her their letter.

It's direct and to the point: The twins want their money, and they'd rather not cause a scene by approaching him in public, but they will if they must. Ara reads it through twice before nodding. "This is good. All that's left is to sign off politely."

"Ah, you can do that, Fred." George waves his hand, yawning and climbing to his feet. "I'm beat. And hungry. Think we've got some leftover Pumpkin Pasties in the dormitory."

"Oi, save some for me!" Fred calls after him, then rolls his eyes at Ara. "Thank God I've got my own food. There won't be any left by the time I get up there."

Grinning, Ara passes him the quill and watches carefully over his shoulder as he concludes the letter: "Respectfully, Mr. Bagman, let's handle this as adults. You owe us, and we have politely requested you pay back yourdebt It's the respnshbl–"

"Freddie, focus on the letter." Ara nudges his shoulder, noticing his eyes drifting from the parchment and toward her. "Your grammar's atrocious."

Fred shakes his head, laughing softly. "You know I can't focus when you sit so close to me."

This is muttered quietly under his breath, nearly inaudible over the chatter of the common room and the crackle of the fire in the grate, but Ara hears it just the same. And she sees it: Fred's hands are shaking just a little. The only times she's ever seen his hands shake are just before a Quidditch match or while he's waiting for Dumbledore to announce the winner of the House Cup: They only shake when he's truly nervous.

Could she be the reason his hands are shaking?

Do I make Fred Weasley nervous?

But Fred's already fixed his mistakes and signed his name at the bottom of the parchment, looking up at her questioningly. "Is this alright?"

Ara recovers quickly enough to nod, glancing briefly at the letter. "Yeah. Just make sure George signs it, too."

"Will do." Fred leans over and presses a whisper of a kiss to her temple before hopping to his feet. "'Night, love."

Ara spends most of the night lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if the fantasy she's been quashing for months could be reality. Could Fred be feeling the same things she is? The butterflies whenever they touch, the ache to be nearer to one another, the dangerous dreams in which they are not simply best friends...

But these are unhealthy thoughts. Even if Ara and Fred were ever...you know, how would George feel about it? And–Ara wishes she hadn't even thought of this–what would Percy say? It would be cruel for Ara to turn him down, only to fall for his younger brother. But of course he can't expect her not to, can he?

Ara knows very well what Percy might say. He'd say that Fred is reckless, dangerous, with no thought to the future, and that he is the very antithesis of security and safety. He'd market himself as a trophy boyfriend, one that would never make waves, who'd be gentle and even-tempered.

And this is all true.

But if Ara is entirely honest with herself... Percy is boring. He wants to work in a cubicle for the rest of his life, content with routine and mediocrity and office politics, the same way Stephen is. He's kind, of course, and a good man, but in a deeply middle-of-the-road way.

Fred is just the opposite. He wants to change the world, he wants to try new things, he's willing to take risks... He sees life as an adventure, and Ara desperately wants adventure in her life. She'd much rather live on the edge than live in a padded room, even if it means dangerous risks.

Ara finds herself dwelling on these thoughts more often than she'd like over the coming weeks, but thankfully, the weekend before the first task is a Hogsmeade weekend, and she finds solace in accompanying Fred, George, and Lee down the road toward the village. Ron joins them, unusually stoic and downcast. Ara has a sneaking suspicion it might have to do with the fact that he and Harry aren't speaking.

But now the upcoming first task is not the only hot topic of conversation: Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter, is staying at Hogwarts for the duration of the tournament, and her first article was just published this last week. It was meant to be about the beginning of the tournament, but really, it was all about Harry. Ara thinks it's a load of dragon dung; anyone who knows Harry can see that virtually none of what Rita wrote is true, but the problem is that no one but Ara, the twins, Lee, and Hermione–who is mentioned as Harry's supposed girlfriend in the article–seem to care.

It is chilly out, the brisk November wind signaling the beginning of winter, and Ara wraps her cloak tighter around herself as they walk down the High Street of Hogsmeade. They hit all the usual stops: Zonko's, Honeydukes, and of course, the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer before returning to the castle.

As usual, the Three Broomsticks is packed, but it is warm and cozy compared to outside. Ara finds a free table while the boys head up to the counter to order their drinks. Fred and George never let Ara pay for her own drink anyway; they haven't since she can remember.

As Ara waits for the boys to return with butterbeers, she scans the crowd of people in the pub. Most of them are students, and about half of them are wearing Support Cedric Diggory! buttons, a recent product that's appeared over the past week. (If you press them, they change to say Potter Stinks, which Ara finds rather unsavory.)

"Here you are." George interrupts Ara's thoughts by setting a butterbeer firmly in front of her.

"Thanks, George." Ara smiles at him, wrapping her hands around the warm mug and taking a careful sip. Butterbeer is perhaps one of the few things she could have every day and never tire of. It has a strange warming quality, heating you up from the inside out–both physically and emotionally, sometimes.

But today, the butterbeer does not take away the increasing worry Ara feels for Harry as the first unknown task approaches, worry that lingers in her stomach and ruins her appetite.

Fred, George, and Lee are preoccupied with a pile of homework they have pushed off, and they spend most of the weekend catching up in the common room. Ara sits next to them, re-reading an old Muggle book Hermione gave her last year–Emma by Jane Austen–and occasionally glancing over their shoulders to check spelling or proof-read.

And then, just after dinner the next Sunday, there's a tapping on the common room window. Ara glances over, frowning, and sees that there's a small gray owl outside the window with a letter tied to its leg, frantically knocking its beak against the glass.

She hops up from her seat next to George and opens the window, pulling the shivering bird inside and moving it closer to the fire. "Poor thing. You must be freezing."

Jasper chitters enviously from his place on the arm of Fred's chair, glaring at the owl, as it has somehow usurped him.

Ara unties the letter from its leg and is surprised to find that it's addressed to her–in very familiar handwriting. Thankfully, Fred, George, and Lee are too preoccupied to notice. Otherwise, they'd ask too many questions.

She lets the owl warm up by the fire while she reads the letter. In cramped, messy, lovely handwriting, it says:

Ara,

I'm technically not supposed to tell anyone I'm here, but I've missed you! Meet me by the greenhouses in half an hour.

(Don't tell anyone about this. It could get us both in trouble.)

Love,

C.W.

Fighting the irresistible grin on her face, Ara makes some excuse to Lee and the twins, saying she's left her sweater in the Great Hall, and hopes they won't notice when she hurries past wearing her cloak.

Curfew is not for another hour, so Ara doesn't have to worry about finding teachers or prefects in the halls. She hurries down the stairs and slips through the entrance hall doors without a sound, inhaling sharply as the chilly night air hits her square in the face.

But once her body adjusts to the cold, Ara can truly appreciate how beautiful it is tonight. The sky is clear, stars twinkling brightly, and the moon is round and full, casting its crystalline light over the grounds and reflecting off the glass walls of the greenhouses, illuminating a stocky figure nearby.

As Ara approaches, Charlie looks up and hastily drops the cigarette he'd been smoking, stamping it out in the damp grass. "Wasn't expecting you just yet," he says, offering her a guilty smile.

"You said you'd quit, Charlie," Ara says, wrinkling her nose at the smell, but throwing her arms around his neck anyway. "I hate it when you smell like smoke."

"Sorry." Charlie kisses her forehead, squeezing her so tightly he actually lifts her feet off the ground. "I mean, I did quit for a while, but the girl I've been seeing–"

"She smokes too?" Ara raises her eyebrows. "You know what your mum says about bad influences..."

"No, she broke it off unexpectedly, and I picked it back up afterward," Charlie replies seriously. "'M trying to stop again, Ara, really I am."

"Oh." Ara's smile fades. She regrets giving her opinion without listening. It's a bad habit she's learned from the twins. "I'm sorry, Charlie."

"It's alright." Charlie proffers his arm to her, his cheeky grin returning. "Wanna take a walk round the lake? I've got some time to kill, and I couldn't miss the chance to see you, especially since you won't be back for Christmas."

One thing Ara can always count on, no matter what happens in the world, is Charlie Weasley. He's the same as he was in her first year: kind, gentle, selfless, and always smiling. And no matter what, he'll always have her back.

So she loops her arm through his, and they head past the greenhouses toward the lake, glistening silver in the moonlight.

"What was her name?" Ara asks, looking up at Charlie curiously. "And why'd she want to stop seeing you?"

"Rumi," Charlie replies. "Dunno, really. We were doing alright, at least I thought so, and then one day, she dragged me out of the pen and told me she wanted out. Said I wasn't 'adventurous enough' or something. And that was the last of it."

He doesn't seem sad or even disappointed, but Ara knows him well enough to guess that he feels more than he lets on. Even if he and Rumi weren't serious, Charlie loves wholly and completely. His is a pure love, and if you break his heart even a little, it takes him a long time to recover.

So Ara changes the subject. "What are you doing here anyway? Your letter was awfully cryptic."

Charlie grimaces. "Can't say." Then he affects his best Percy impression, which makes Ara laugh out loud. "'Top secret Ministry business, you know.' But really, I'm not allowed to say. You'll find out on Tuesday, anyway."

"So it has to do with the first task?" Ara asks shrewdly.

"Damn." Charlie shakes his head, chuckling softly. "I've already said too much." He pauses, leaning against Ara's favorite willow tree, the one with the best view of the lake, and pulls Ara gently into his side. Ara leans against his arm, remembering how she and the twins used to come down here when he was still at school, and how he'd give them candy he'd bought for them in Hogsmeade. Those were good days, days when she didn't have to think about the darkness drawing ever nearer...

"I'm worried, Charlie," Ara says after a long, comfortable silence. "I'm worried about Harry."

Charlie nods, glancing down at her. "I heard about that. Any idea how he put his name in the goblet?"

"He didn't put it in." Ara shakes her head firmly. "Someone else did. Harry didn't want to be in the tournament at all."

"Are you sure?" Charlie raises his eyebrows. "That's not what I heard."

"No one can prove he did it. And anyway, Dumbledore drew an Age Line around it that even Fred and George couldn't fool. Harry's no better than them."

"Suppose that's true," Charlie says with a shrug.

"Can you at least tell me if the first task is dangerous? He's so young, and I don't want him to–" Ara stops herself, not wanting to voice what the thing she fears the most– "to get hurt."

Charlie sighs, turning to face her fully, grasping her shoulders firmly. "There's a team of wizards there in case anything goes wrong."

Ara opens her mouth to respond, but then the pieces fall into place. Her heart begins to pound against her ribs. "Oh, my god, it's dragons. That's why you're here. The first task is dragons."

"Shit." Charlie runs a hand through his hair. "You're too bloody smart, Ara, you know that? You can't tell anyone about this, not even the twins. Don't even mention you were out here with me. No one can know. Especially not Harry. Promise me you won't say anything."

Ara promises she won't tell, but the knowledge does not relieve her worry. It only makes things worse. Now she dreads Tuesday morning and the danger Harry and the other champions blindly face. She wishes she had never known.

But worrying changes nothing. Time goes on, and before Ara knows it, it is dawn on Tuesday morning–the day of the first task. She lies in bed for a moment, staring at the ornate canopy above her, mulling everything over in her mind.

She had thought about telling Harry, breaking her promise to Charlie, but she could never bring herself to do it. And anyway, she didn't even have the chance. When Harry wasn't in the Great Hall for meals, he was in the library with Hermione or practicing spells in an unused classroom. He seemed confident enough, and Ara refused to be the one to break his spirit. He had enough on his mind, what with the tournament and his best friend being an arsehole.

So she dresses quickly, before any of the other girls in the dormitory are awake, and hurries down to the common room with a piece of parchment and a quill. Today is one of many days at Hogwarts when Ara wishes Stephen and Calla hadn't been so cheap and perhaps bought her an owl, instead of a second-hand squirrel. She adores Jasper, of course, but the Owlery is quite a far walk from Gryffindor Tower.

Ara pens her letter quickly and hurries to the Owlery and back just in time to catch Fred and George heading down to breakfast.

George frowns at her. "Where are you coming from in such a hurry?"

"Owlery," Ara says, attempting to catch her breath. "Had to...send a letter."

"This early?" Fred asks, raising his eyebrows. "What's so urgent?"

"Just...a letter to Charlie. Didn't realize...I might be late to breakfast." Ara shrugs nonchalantly, although her letter is much more consequential than she lets on.

Dear Charlie,

Please don't let anything happen to Harry today. I'm afraid he's not prepared for what's coming. I don't want him to get hurt or...worse. Something feels off about his being in the tournament already, and I'm worried someone wishes him ill. Please, just keep him safe.

Love,

Ara

The task doesn't start until after lunch, so no one gets out of morning classes, but for the first time in her life, Ara wishes she didn't have to learn. Her brain is in a strange fog, her stomach churning with anxiety, and George keeps having to nudge her in Transfiguration when Professor McGonagall asks her questions.

Herbology is easy–simply retrieving Snargaluff pods, which Fred chivalrously does most of–but Care of Magical Creatures is quite the opposite. Hagrid refuses to get rid of the Blast-Ended Skrewts, despite Ara's desperate begging, so they spend the majority of class attempting to stay out of the Skrewts' line of fire. Ara wishes they could learn more about real magical creatures; she's worried about her N.E.W.T.s and whether or not she'll be truly qualified to be a Magizoologist. She adores Hagrid, but he seems to be irritatingly deaf whenever she asks him to adjust his teaching plan.

And finally, after Ancient Runes, it is lunchtime–and after lunch, the task begins! Ara picks at her roast chicken, her appetite nearly ruined with worry, and glances down the table at Harry every few minutes. He's staring at his plate, eyes glazed over, clearly spacing out. Ara hopes he has a plan somehow.

One by one, Madame Maxime, Professor Karkaroff, and Professor Sprout all come down from the staff table to collect their champions, leading them out of the entrance hall and whispering encouragement and instructions in their ear. Fleur Delacour nods fervently at everything her headmistress says, her eyes wide; Viktor Krum is emotionless, walking as if he were a tin soldier; and Cedric is ashy white, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his robe. As he passes, his eyes meet Ara's, and she offers him what she hopes is an encouraging smile.

"Prat," George mutters into his potatoes, and Ara nudges him sharply with her elbow. "Ouch."

When lunch is nearly over, Professor McGonagall stands up and walks down from the staff table over to where Harry is sitting. The Great Hall is suddenly silent, all eyes turned to Harry.

"Potter, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now," she says, adjusting her robes nervously. "You have to get ready for your first task."

"Okay." Harry stands up rather woodenly, dropping his fork onto his plate, and follows Professor McGonagall toward the entrance hall.

As he passes her, Ara reaches out and takes his hand, stopping him in his tracks. "Good luck," she whispers, squeezing his hand tightly. "Be safe."
Harry nods, his eyes still very distant, and continues on, walking stiffly behind Professor McGonagall. Ara watches him go, hoping that this is not the last time she sees him walking normally. Or even upright.

Lunch seems to take ages to end, but at last the bell rings, and Fred stands up from the table, proffering his hand to Ara. "Ready?" he asks.

Ara nods, taking his hand. It's warm and firm, and she squeezes it tightly, leaning against his arm as they head out of the Great Hall. George, Lee, and Fred are all talking excitedly about what they think the first task will be, but Ara keeps her mouth shut. She is far too nervous to say a word. If she does, she will certainly break her promise to Charlie.

"You alright, love?" Fred squeezes her hand, looking down at her concernedly. "You're awfully quiet."

"I'm just worried for Harry," Ara says. "He's not supposed to be here, and for good reason."

"He'll be alright," George replies, nudging her goodnaturedly with his shoulder. "Don't worry."

But Ara does worry. She is not afraid of much, but when it comes to those she loves, she can do nothing but fear for their safety. If it were up to her, she'd trade places with Harry in a heartbeat. Staring down a dragon would definitely make up for all the time spent feeding the Skrewts.

The newly-constructed arena is near the Forbidden Forest, with rising stands circling a large enclosure, and an ornate tent facing them, where Ara suspects the champions are waiting. Fred, George, and Lee choose seats on the right side of the stands, nearest the judges' table, and Ara sits on Fred's left, pulling her cloak tighter around her.

In the center of the arena is a large, makeshift nest filled with very real dragon eggs, but in the center sits a gleaming golden egg. Ara suspects retrieving the golden egg might be the task, but she worries if she opens her mouth, she might be sick, so she doesn't say a word.

When the stands are full and the crowd is roaring with excitement, a whistle blows loudly from somewhere, and the judges enter and take their places at the table. The last of these is Ludo Bagman, who places his wand to his throat, the way he'd done at the Quidditch World Cup, and suddenly his voice is magically magnified, booming around the arena.

"Welcome, everyone, to the first task of this year's Triwizard Tournament! I shall introduce your judges: Madame Olympe Maxime, Professor Igor Karkaroff, Professor Albus Dumbledore, Bartemius Crouch, and of course, myself, Ludo Bagman!"

As each judge is introduced, they wave politely to the crowd, each receiving appropriate applause. Once the crowd has died down again, Bagman continues. "The nature of this task has been kept highly secret, and for good reason: We are testing the mettle, magical knowledge, and most of all, the courage of our champions! But I shall reveal to you now that the danger your champions will be facing this afternoon–" He pauses for dramatic effect– "is dragons."

The crowd gasps as one, some in shock, others in dismay. Fred and George both whisper, "Wicked."

"Each champion has been given a species of dragon which they will face today in a certain order," Bagman says, clearly enjoying the crowd's emotion. "Their objective: retrieve the golden egg with minimal injury. When they have completed this task, the judges will give them their score. Our first champion: Cedric Diggory."

The whistle blows again, and Cedric emerges from the tent. From her place in the stands, Ara can't make out the look on his face, but she imagines he is terribly frightened.

"Mr. Diggory will be facing the Swedish Short-Snout," says Bagman, sounding all too excited. "At the sound of the whistle, the dragon will be–Oh, good heavens!"

For the whistle has already sounded, and a gate near the far end of the arena opened. Ara leans further into Fred's side, grasping his arm tightly.

A massive, scaly dragon lumbers into the arena, and if it weren't facing down one of her classmates, Ara would find the creature quite beautiful. With glistening blue scales, golden wings, and bright yellow eyes, it's otherworldly. But it is also crouching low over the nest and huffing angrily at Cedric, who seems to be frozen in one place.

And then, out of nowhere, he snaps to and points his wand at something on the ground. There's a flash of light and then a brown, fluffy dog appears. Cedric backs away from it, shouting words Ara can't make out, waving his arms at the dragon.

Surprisingly, the dragon takes the bait and moves toward the dog, exhaling smoke, eyes narrowing. The dog is very confused, but knows enough to bark at the dragon, bravely standing its ground.

With the dragon occupied, Cedric makes his move: He edges around the dragon's front leg, barely avoiding being stepped on as the dragon walks toward the dog–"Ooh, narrow miss there, very narrow," says Bagman in an excited whisper–and creeps slowly toward the nest.

Cedric snatches up the golden egg and sneaks back out from beneath the dragon and toward the edge of the arena. "He's taking risks, this one!" Bagman shouts gleefully, and just at that moment, the dragon's head jerks away from the barking dog. Its eyes land on Cedric.

Cedric realizes all too late, and before he can move, the dragon's opened its mouth and shot a burst of fire directly at him. The crowd gasps as a whole, and immediately, the gate opens and a dozen dragon tamers emerge–Ara notices Charlie at the front, shouting at the dragon, rope in hand–to yank it back into the enclosure. The gasp turns into a roar of excitement, accompanied by thundering applause.

"Clever move," says Bagman over the crowd, as Cedric is ushered into the tent by Madam Pomfrey, half of his face bright red and blistering already. "Pity it didn't work! But very good indeed! And now the marks from the judges!"

Each judge, beginning with Madame Maxime, raises their wand into the air and conjures a silvery, ribbon-like number. Cedric's final score is thirty-eight, out of a possible fifty. Not bad, Ara supposes, even for being injured. The boys have other ideas, however. "Boring," remarks George, to nods from Fred and Lee.

Next is Fleur Delacour, who is facing a Welsh Green. She does quite well, Charming the dragon into a sort of magical sleep, and then slowly levitating the golden egg from the nest. But her Charm works a little too well, perhaps, because the dragon suddenly snores, and a jet of flame shoots out from its open mouth and catches her robes on fire. Thankfully, Fleur thinks quickly enough to levitate the egg to the side and put out the fire with some water from the end of her wand.

"Good lord, I thought she'd had it then!" Bagman yells, sounding rather like a child at a football match. The judges award her thirty-five points. Ara thinks she deserved more, but Karkaroff is rather stingy, and so is Mr. Crouch.

Krum is perhaps the most confident so far, facing down the Chinese Fireball with steely-eyed determination. Before the dragon is even looking at him, he fires a Conjunctivitis Curse directly into its eye, eliciting a horrible, wailing yell, and dives straight for the golden egg between its legs. This would have been a perfect plan, except that the dragon tramples some of the real eggs as it stomps around in pain, and Krum loses marks for this. However, in the end, he escapes unscathed and with forty points in hand.

"Bloody hell," says Fred, mouth agape. "That was wild!"

And then finally, at long last, it is Harry's turn. Ara's stomach churns worriedly as she stares at the entrance of the tent. She hopes he has a plan. Otherwise, the Hungarian Horntail, the most dangerous dragon of all, will eat him alive.

The whistle sounds, and Harry emerges from the tent, a tiny figure in comparison to the muscular, scaly dragon before him. Half the crowd is cheering, the other half booing, and Ara feels like she might actually be sick. She buries her face into Fred's shoulder, screwing her eyes shut tightly.

"Come on, love, he'll be alright!" Fred shouts, squeezing her hand.

"I can't watch!" Ara has never quite felt this way before. But she can't bring herself to watch Harry come so close to death.

So she listens to the crowd gasp and scream, to Bagman shouting, "Great Scott, he can fly!", to the sound of the angry dragon belching flames and beating its wings. All the while, Ara is silently hoping that Harry is still upright, that he might actually have a chance to get the egg.

And then the crowd erupts, and Fred leaps to his feet, dragging Ara with him. "He's got the egg!" he screams hoarsely. "Ara, he's got the egg!"

Numbly, Ara stares down at the center of the arena, where Harry has landed, holding his broom in one hand and the golden egg in the other. His shoulder is smoking, but otherwise, he seems unhurt. Professors McGonagall, Hagrid, and Moody are hurrying to meet him, and the dragon tamers are yanking the Horntail back into the enclosure.

Thank god he's alright. Ara still might be sick, but at least now she can smile a little. The first task is over and Harry Potter lives to fight another day.

.・。.・゜✭・.

sorry for the long wait, my dears, i've been very busy. there will also not be an update next week, as i am headed to ireland for a much needed vacation! bear with me, i hope to update more regularly soon <3