~.~.~Parts 23-27~.~.~
•Y/n's POV•

I felt oddly separate from everyone around me this morning, whether they were wishing me good luck or hissing "We'll have a box of tissues ready, LeStrange " as I passed. It was a state of nervousness so advanced that I wondered whether I might just lose my head when they tried to lead me out to my dragon and start trying to curse everyone in sight.

Time was behaving in a more peculiar fashion than ever, rushing past in great dollops so that one moment I seemed to be sitting down in my first lesson, History of Magic, and the next, walking into lunch... . and then (where had the morning gone? the last of the dragon-free hours?).

Professor Sprout was hurrying over to me in the Great Hall. Lots of people were watching. "LeStrange, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now. . . . You have to get ready for your first task."

"Okay," I said, standing up, my fork falling onto his plate with a clatter.

"Good luck, Y/n," Hermione whispered. "You'll be fine!"

"Yeah," I replied in a voice that was most unlike my own. I left the Great Hall with Professor Sprout and Cedric. She didn't seem herself either; in fact, she looked nearly as anxious as Hermione. As she walked us down the stone steps and out into the cold November afternoon, she put her hand on our shoulders.

"Now, don't panic, you two" she said, "just keep a cool head. . . . We've got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand. . . . The main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of you. . . . Are you all right?"

"Yes," I heard Cedric say.

"Yes, I'm fine." I added after.

She was leading us toward the place where the dragons were, around the edge of the forest, but when they approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, I saw that a tent had been erected, its entrance facing them, screening the dragons from view.

"You're to go in here with the other champions," said Professor Sprout, in a rather shaky sort of voice, "and wait for your turn, Potter. Mr. Bagman is in there . . . he'll be telling you the — the procedure. . . . Good luck."

"Thanks," we said, in a flat, distant voice. She left us at the entrance of the tent. Cedric and I went inside.

Fleur Delacour was sitting in a corner on a low wooden stool. She didn't look nearly as composed as usual, but rather pale and clammy. Viktor Krum looked even surlier than usual, which I suppose was his way of showing nerves. Cedric was pacing up and down. When Harry entered, Cedric and I gave him a small smile, which Harry returned. I could feel the muscles in my face working rather hard, as though they had forgotten how to do it.

"Harry! Good-o!" said Bagman happily, looking around at him. "Come in, come in, make yourself at home!"

Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, standing amid all the pale-faced champions. He was wearing his old Wasp robes again.

"Well, now we're all here — time to fill you in!" said Bagman brightly. "When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag" — he held up a small 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!"

I glanced around. Cedric had nodded once, to show that he understood Bagman's words, and then started pacing around the tent again; he looked slightly green. Fleur Delacour and Krum hadn't reacted at all. Perhaps they thought they might be sick if they opened their mouths; that was certainly how I felt. But they, at least, had volunteered for this. . . . And in no time at all, hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet could be heard passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking. . . . I felt as separate from the crowd as though they were a different species. And then — it seemed like about a second later to me —

Bagman was opening the neck of the purple silk sack. "Ladies first," he said, offering it to Fleur Delacour. She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon — a Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck. And I knew, by the fact that Fleur showed no sign of surprise, but rather a determined resignation, that I had been right: Madame Maxime had told her what was coming.

Bagman swung the bag over to me, the silk settled back to it's hanging place. I hastily put my hand into the bag, and it sunk deeper in than I had thought. The heat surfaced my hand and the small sensation of a nibble came onto my hand. I pulled my hand out, it was a Ukrainian Ironbelly, with a number four around its neck.

The same held true for Krum. He pulled out the scarlet Chinese Fireball. It had a number three around its neck. He didn't even blink, just sat back down and stared at the ground. Cedric put his hand into the bag and out came the blueish-gray Swedish Short-Snout, the number one tied around its neck. Harry put his hand into the silk bag and pulled out the Hungarian Horntail, and the number five. It stretched its wings as he looked down at it, and bared its minuscule fangs.

"Well, there you are!" said Bagman. "You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I'm going to have to leave you in a moment, because I'm commentating. Mr. Diggory, you're first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now . . . Harry . . . could I have a quick word? Outside?" "Er . . . yes," said Harry blankly, and he got up and went out of the tent with Bagman.

"Feeling all right, Ced?" I ask, putting my hand on his shoulder.

"What?" said Cedric nervously. "I —yeah, I'm okay."

"Got a plan?" I asked, lowering my voice conspiratorially.

"I know what I'm going to do, thanks."

Harry went back inside to me, Fleur and Krum. Seconds later, they heard the roar of the crowd, which meant Cedric had entered the enclosure and was now face-to-face with the living counterpart of his model. . . . It was worse than I could ever have imagined, sitting there and listening. The crowd screamed . . . yelled . . . gasped like a single many-headed entity, as Cedric did whatever he was doing to get past the Swedish Short-Snout. Krum was still staring at the ground. Fleur had now taken to retracing Cedric's steps, around and around the tent. And Bagman's commentary made everything much, much worse. . . . Horrible pictures formed in my mind as I heard:

"Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow" . . . "He's taking risks, this one!" . . . "Clever move — pity it didn't work!"

And then, after about fifteen minutes, I heard the deafening roar that could mean only one thing: Cedric had gotten past his dragon and captured the golden egg. "Very good indeed!" Bagman was shouting. "And now the marks from the judges!" But he didn't shout out the marks; I supposed the judges were holding them up and showing them to the crowd.

"One down, four to go!" Bagman yelled as the whistle blew again. "Miss Delacour, if you please!" Fleur was trembling from head to foot; I felt more warmly toward her than I had done so far as she left the tent with her head held high and her hand clutching her wand. Me, Harry and Krum were left alone, at opposite sides of the tent, avoiding each other's gaze.

The same process started again. . . . "Oh I'm not sure that was wise!" they could hear Bagman shouting gleefully. "Oh . . . nearly! Careful now . . . good lord, I thought she'd had it then!" Ten minutes later, Harry heard the crowd erupt into applause once more. . . . Fleur must have been successful too. A pause, while Fleur's marks were being shown . . . more clapping . . . then, for the third time, the whistle.

"And here comes Mr. Krum!" cried Bagman, and Krum slouched out, leaving Harry and Me quite alone. I felt much more aware of my body than usual; very aware of the way my heart was pumping fast, and my fingers tingling with fear . . . yet at the same time, I seemed to be outside myself, seeing the walls of the tent, and hearing the crowd, as though from far away. . . .

"Very daring!" Bagman was yelling, and Harry heard the Chinese Fireball emit a horrible, roaring shriek, while the crowd drew its collective breath. "That's some nerve he's showing — and — yes, he's got the egg!" Applause shattered the wintery air like breaking glass; Krum had finished — it would be my turn any moment.

I stood up, noticing dimly that my legs seemed to be made of marshmallow. I waited. And then he heard the whistle blow. I have a small nod and smile and I walked out through the entrance of the tent, the panic rising into a crescendo inside me. And now I was walking past the trees, through a gap in the enclosure fence. I saw everything in front of me as though it was a very highly colored dream. There were hundreds and hundreds of faces staring down at me from stands that had been magicked there since I last stood on this spot.

And there was the Ironbelly, at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her evil, piercing blue eyes upon me, a monstrous, scaly, grey and white lizard, thrashing her tail, leaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground.

The crowd was making a great deal of noise, but whether friendly or not, I didn't know or care. It was time to do what I had to do . . . to focus my mind, entirely and absolutely, upon the thing that was my only chance. . . .

I leaped behind a large rock. I raised my wand. "Accio Firebolt!" I shouted. I waited, every fiber of me hoping, praying. . . . If it hadn't worked . . . if it wasn't coming . . . I seemed to be looking at everything around me through some sort of shimmering, transparent barrier, like a heat haze, which made the enclosure and the hundreds of faces around me swim strangely. . . .

The dragon thudded along the ground towards the large rock protecting me from the dragon. On the other side of the arena, I could see Cedric, poking his head through the medic tent. His face covered in small and red scratches, a nervous and supportive smile on his face. I could feel the heat rise around me. And the slight movements of heat encapsulated me.

I snapped out of my daze and saw the red and orange flames of fire encased my right arm and thigh. I could see my skin go redder and redder, fading away from my pale skin.

"Ouch." I muttered to myself, "that hurt!" Putting my hand gently in the redded skin. I hoped and prayed that my spell had worked, I closed my eyes fearfully as the red and orange covered my vision.

And then I heard it, speeding through the air behind me; I turned and saw my Firebolt hurtling toward me around the edge of the woods, soaring into the enclosure, and stopping dead in midair beside me, waiting for me to mount. The crowd was making even more noise. . . . Bagman was shouting something . . . but my ears were not working properly anymore . . . listening wasn't important. . . . I leaped out of the flames and swung my leg over the broom and kicked off from the ground.

And a second later, something miraculous happened. . . . As I soared upward, as the wind rushed through my hair, as the crowd's faces became mere flesh-colored pinpricks below, and the Ironbelly shrank to the size of a dog, I realized that I had left not only the ground behind but also his fear. . . . This was just another Quidditch match, that was all . . . just another Quidditch match, and that Ironbelly was just another ugly opposing team. . . . I looked down at the clutch of eggs and spotted the gold one, gleaming against its cement-colored fellows, residing safely between the dragon's front legs.

"Okay," I told myself, "diversionary tactics . . . let's go. . . ." I dived. The Ironbelly's head followed me; I knew what it was going to do and pulled out of the dive just in time; a jet of fire had been released exactly where I would have been had I not swerved away . . . but I didn't care . . . that was no more than dodging a Bludger. . . .

"Great Scott, she can fly!" yelled Bagman as the crowd shrieked and gasped. "Are you watching this, Mr. Krum?" I soared higher in a circle; the Ironbelly's was still following my progress; its head revolving on its long neck — if I kept this up, it would be nicely dizzy — but better not push it too long, or it would be breathing fire again — I plummeted just as the Ironbelly opened its mouth, but this time I was less lucky — I missed the flames, but the tail came whipping up to meet me instead, and as I swerved to the left, one of the long spikes at the end grazed my shoulder, ripping my robes — I could the stinging, I could hear screaming and groans from the crowd, but the cut didn't seem to be deep. . . . Now I zoomed around the back of the Ironbelly, and a possibility occurred to me. . . . The dragon didn't 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 fearsome blue eyes on me, she was afraid to move too far from them . . . but I had to persuade her to do it, or I'd never get near them. . . . The trick was to do it carefully, gradually. . . . I began to fly, first this way, then the other, not near enough to make her breathe fire to stave me off, but still posing a sufficient threat to ensure she kept her eyes on me. Her head swayed this way and that, watching me out of those vertical pupils, her fangs bared. . . . I flew higher. The Ironbelly's head rose with me, her neck now stretched to its fullest extent, still swaying, like a snake before its charmer. . . . I rose a few more feet, and she let out a roar of exasperation. I was like a fly to her, a fly she was longing to swat; her tail thrashed again, but I was too high to reach now. . . . She shot fire into the air, which I dodged. . . . Her jaws opened wide. . . .

"Come on," I hissed, swerving tantalizingly above her, "come on, come and get me . . . up you get now . . ."

And then she reared, spreading her great, grey, leathery wings at last, as wide as those of a small airplane — and I dived. Before the dragon knew what I had done, or where I had disappeared to, I was speeding toward the ground as fast as I could go, toward the eggs now unprotected by her clawed front legs — I had taken his hands off my Firebolt — I had seized the golden egg — And with a huge spurt of speed, I was off, I was soaring out over the stands, the heavy egg safely under his uninjured arm, and it was as though somebody had just turned the volume back up — for the first time, I became properly 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 second youngest champion is the quickest to get her egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Miss. LeStrange!" I saw the dragon keepers rushing forward to subdue the Ironbelly, and, over at the entrance to the enclosure, Professor Sprout, Cedric and Hagrid hurrying to meet me, all of them waving me toward them, their smiles evident even from this distance. I flew back over the stands, the noise of the crowd pounding my eardrums, and came in smoothly to land, my heart lighter than it had been in weeks. . . . I had got through the first task, I had survived. . . .

"That was excellent, LeStrange!" cried Professor Sprout as I got off the Firebolt — which from her was extravagant praise. I noticed that her hand shook as she pointed at my shoulder and red arm. "You'll need to see Madam Pomfrey before the judges give out your score. . . . Over there, she's had to mop up Diggory already. . . ."

"Yeh did it, Y/n!" said Hagrid hoarsely. "Yeh did it! An' agains' the Ironbelly an' all, an' yeh know Charlie said that was one of the wors' —"

"Thanks, Hagrid," I said loudly.

"Y/n, you did amazing! Are you okay?" Cedric said, pulling me into a hug.

"I'm okay." I replied tiredly.

"You we're brilliant! Are you hurt at all?" He asked, concerned.

"Just a little burn." I shrugged, trying my hardest to ignore the pain in my arm and shoulder, showing him my redded arm.

"JUST A LITTLE BURN!" He yelled. "The burn covered your whole arm Y/n!"

"It's okay, Ced. You're overreacting." I grimaced.

"I'm not overreacting, Y/n. It's really bad!"

"Nothing that Madame Pomfrey can't fix!" I smiled.

"Right then, Potter, the first aid tent, please . . ." said Professor Sprout. I walked out of the enclosure, still panting, and saw Madam Pomfrey standing at the mouth of a second tent, looking worried.

"Dragons!" she said, in a disgusted tone, pulling me inside. The tent was divided into cubicles Madam Pomfrey examined my shoulder and burnt arm, talking furiously all the while. "Last year dementors, this year dragons, what are they going to bring into this school next? You're very lucky . . . this is quite shallow . . . it'll need cleaning before I heal it up, though. . . ." She cleaned the cut with a dab of some purple liquid that smoked and stung, but then poked my shoulder with her wand, and I felt it heal instantly. "You're arm is a bit more nasty, but it's healable." She added, she grabbed a green cream out of her cupboard and rubbed it along my arm, the heat on the burn cooling at the touch. She wrapped my arm in clingfilm then a bandage to protect it from arm, she stood back and sighed. "Now, just sit quietly for a minute — sit! And then you can go and get your score."

She bustled out of the tent and he heard her go next door and say, "How does it feel now, Diggory?" I didn't want to sit still: I was too full of adrenaline. I got to his feet, wanting to see what was going on outside. But before I reached the mouth of the tent, someone came bursting inside had come darting inside — Hermione.

"Y/n, you were brilliant!" Hermione said squeakily. There were fingernail marks on her face where she had been clutching it in fear. "You were amazing! You really were!"

Cedric came into my room and drew breath as he led me reached the edge of the enclosure. Now that the Ironbelly had been taken away, I could see where the five judges were sitting — right at the other end, in raised seats draped in gold.

"It's marked out of ten from each one," Cedric said, and I, squinting up the field, saw the first judge — Madame Maxime — raise her wand in the air. What looked like a long silver ribbon shot out of it, which twisted itself into a large figure eight.

"Not bad!" said Cedric as the crowd applauded. "I suppose she took marks off for your shoulder and arm. . . ." Mr. Crouch came next. He shot a number nine into the air.

"Looking good!" Cedric yelled, thumping me on the back. Next, Dumbledore. He too put up a nine. The crowd was cheering harder than ever. Ludo Bagman — ten.

"Ten?" I said in disbelief. "But . . . I got hurt. . . . What's he playing at?"

"Y/n, don't complain!" Hermione yelled excitedly. And now Karkaroff raised his wand. He paused for a moment, and then a number shot out of his wand too — four.

"What?" Cedric bellowed furiously. "Four? You lousy, biased scumbag, you gave Krum ten!" But I didn't care, I wouldn't have cared if Karkaroff had given him zero; Cedric's indignation on my behalf was worth about a hundred points to me. I didn't tell Cedric this, of course, but his heart felt lighter than air as I turned to leave the enclosure. And it wasn't just Cedric . . . those weren't