Beta: Cloudy

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

(Sirius)

Sirius Black sat across from Albus Dumbledore shortly after breakfast was served at Hogwarts. Sirius's eyes roamed around Dumbledore's office, pleasantly surprised to find it hadn't changed too much since the last time he visited it.

To be fair it hadn't been that long since he stopped by last year to pick up books on ward construction.

Fawkes looking a little peckish, observed Sirius. Sirius had the pleasure of seeing the phoenix be reborn once before, and he wondered if it would happen again soon.

Dumbledore folded his hands together across his desk. "Thank you for coming in, Sirius."

"Thanks for inviting me," said Sirius. "Remus was getting hoarse from yelling."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, a silent question.

"He and the Weasley's were over for dinner when we got Harry's owl last night," explained Sirius, thinking back on it. Harry had frantically sent Hedwig to tell the family that Rosie had snuck herself in the tournament. Remus nearly had a heart attack when Sirius read the letter out loud. After he and Molly panicked for a while they switched over to what Sirius could only describe as parental rage. It was quite the show.

Sirius had laughed. It was such a James thing to do. He was so proud of how mischievous his goddaughter could be. Harry had too much of Lily's good sense to take up the Marauder mantle.

Rosie was clever, but she used her wits in the name of Glorious Chaos; Sirius could not be prouder. He wished she had attended Hogwarts with him and James, she would have been a delight to either prank with, or start a prank war against.

If only he could curb that budding malice inside her. While Rosie was an excellent schemer, however of her plans could be... vindictive.

It wasn't as if she were a cold or dangerous person. No, no. Rosie and Harry were both warm hearted kids. Kind in their own ways, even though both had a certain... feel to them. As far as Sirius was aware neither of his wards had done anything particularly heinous or dangerous, but it did not shake his instincts about them. They both had potential. Rosie's potential just seemed a more likely to come to fruition than Harry's—a concern Sirius hadn't been able to deal with yet.

It was hard to describe exactly. If Sirius had to put the feeling into words he'd explain it like so: Rosie was the type of person who would purposefully lead someone she disliked to a werewolf attack; but unlike Sirius, it wouldn't be because she wanted to scare them. It would be because she genuinely wanted to hurt them, or worse.

He loved her, he really did, but Sirius Black could not deny that his goddaughter had some Dark in her.

Being told she hoodwinked Dumbledore and stole the spotlight by entering the tournament... it was so absurdly delightful. Dangerous, reckless, and the definition of Gryffindor. Best of all, it was a scheme that didn't involve hurting anyone else. It made Sirius grin when he read Harry's letter before he burst out into laughter.

Remus was not amused. Neither was Molly. Or Arthur.

For some reason Sirius was the one who got lectured last night, not Rosie.

Dumbledore nodded at this, smiling. "They are aware of the situation, then?"

"Yeah. They aren't happy. Remus wanted to come down himself, but I talked him out of it," said Sirius. "He's furious with Rosie right now, it'd be best if he didn't see her right away."

"His concern is justified," said Dumbledore, "but perhaps this situation can be forgiven... Rosie had one of her hunches."

Sirius sat up straighter, frowning. Her last hunches had her steal the Philosopher's Stone before Voldemort could get his hands on it, and finding the Chamber of Secrets. Could have been chalked up as coincidences, but Dumbledore didn't think so. Dumbledore had a hunch of his own, and Sirius Black and come to understand that Dumbledore was rarely wrong in his guesses.

"She seemed to think if she did not put herself in the tournament, Harry would have been forced to," explained Dumbledore.

I see.

Now Sirius understood why Dumbledore had called him down. Rosie's hunches weren't things that could be safely put into a letter. If her hunch was accurate again then—

"Think they're in danger?" somberly asked Sirius. "More so than usual, I mean."

"I think," said Dumbledore delicately, "we should carefully monitor the tournament. If Rosie tells you anything..."

"I'll let you know," promised Sirius. "I—"

Whatever Sirius was going to say next was interrupted as the office door swung open and a furious Igor Karkaroff stormed inside. Sirius recognized the man immediately—he had kept tabs on all escaped Death Eaters—and fought against reflexively scowling at the man.

"Dumbledore!" Igor snapped. "I—Who are you?"

"Sirius Black," Sirius coolly introduced himself.

"You are the guardian of Potter?" demanded Igor. "Can you withdraw her from the tournament?"

Dumbledore raised his hands in a gesture of calm. "Lord Black his not here to withdraw Miss Potter."

Igor snorted derisively. "I should have known."

"Why are you so concerned with her?" asked Sirius, eyes narrowed. Not only did Rosie have a hunch about Harry being in danger, but a Death Eater had an interest in her.

Sirius Black always knew the war would come again. Voldemort wasn't dead. Sirius had spent the past decade in preparation for that event. He and a few other Order members had meticulously put together dossiers on all known Death Eaters, and monitored them whenever possible. Sirius had taken up ward construction and used a good chunk of the Black wealth to set up safe houses.

By the time Voldemort returned, Sirius would be more than ready for him and all of his disgusting followers.

"I am concerned that we were promised our participants would only be of a certain age group. Yet Hogwarts' champion is coincidentally one of the Twins-Who-Lived," sneered Karkaroff. "She should not have even been considered, and yet here we are. The press, I'm sure, will already be delighted by that."

Sirius frowned at that, folding his hands together. He never had the pleasure of directly meeting Karkaroff prior to today, but Sirius Black knew his type.

Oh, yes.

Sirius Black knew his type painfully well.

Cowardly, slimy, and always quick to complain when things did not go exactly as planned. He had heard through the grapevine that Karkaroff had been the hardest for Bagman to convince to try the Triwizard tournament. The Durmstrang headmaster adamantly wanted the Tournament to be held at Durmstrang and would refuse to budge for months prior. It took a year of Bagman whittling the man down before the git finally granted Hogwarts the honor.

And even then, it was only after he was able to ensure that his prized student—Viktor Krum—would be able to attend and not have it conflict with his Quidditch career.

How fantastically prestigious it would be for Karkaroff to not only mentor a Quidditch star, but a Triwizard Champion. Sirius could easily picture the man making a greedy face over that title.

And any hiccup—no matter how small—would warrant immediate complaints in his mind.

Sirius would bet a hundred galleons Igor Karkaroff was the type of person to bellyache if the House Elves served his tea a temperature too hot or too cold.

What could Sirius expect from a Death Eater who gleefully tortured Muggles and sold out his comrades as soon as things got taught? Honor was not a word in Karkaroff's dictionary, as far as Sirius was concerned.

And so it did not surprise him to see him complain about something out of their control. Sirius was surprised by the vehemency about it, and that Karkaroff even brought up Rosie's title at all.

All the Headmasters had agreed to the age restriction, but Sirius Black wondered if Karkaroff agreed not because he was concerned for the younger student's safety, but because he did not want his prized pupil to face off against Magical Britain's darling?

Was he actually intimidated?

Given how cowardly he is, it wouldn't surprise me if he was scared by a little witch, Sirius thought darkly.

He decided to voice his thoughts with a sneer, "Scared of my goddaughter, Karkaroff?"

Karkaroff glared icily at him. "I am not intimidated by a witch who has not even taken her O.W.L.s How do you think the press will react? When Viktor wins, can you guarantee there won't be a slander piece in the Prophet about him that will spur on the Potter fans to send him hate mail? That people will try to ruin his—and Durmstrang's—reputation because how dare their savior not win?"

"I didn't think you read the Prophet," Sirius said icily. He couldn't refute what the Prophet might do, nor what fans of Rosie and Harry Potter would do. Even if there were no fan clubs at Hogwarts, Sirius paid attention to the press and knew there were an abundant amount of witches and wizards who adored the twins.

Anything the Prophet wrote about the twins was ravenously devoured. Dozens of times Sirius had to turn away reporters and decline interviews when he went out in public while the twins were at school. He had to change up disguises whenever he wanted peace. It had been a genuine concern the twins would face stalkers. There were a couple of close calls, but Dumbledore had been able to neatly deal with them behind the scenes.

Karkaroff had a fair point. If the Prophet painted Viktor Krum as some terrible bully who ruthlessly took advantage of Rosie in the tournament...

Yeah. He'd probably get some hate mail. If the masses were spurned on enough, there was a chance for Krum's reputation and credibility to be attacked.

But that was all what if, and the man was immediately assuming Krum would win.

It irritated Sirius.

"I stay informed," Karkaroff snapped. "There is no winning in this situation. It is absurd that we cannot redo the drawing."

"What's done is done," said Dumbledore with patience Sirius envied. "I am sorry, Igor."

"Then she should not compete at all! Have her sit on the sidelines," said Karkaroff stubbornly.

"No," said Sirius. "If my goddaughter wants to compete, she should compete."

Privately, Karkaroff had a good point.

But Sirius really hated how he said it, and really didn't want to agree with the man. It'd be as bad as agreeing with Snape.

Plus I bet she could kick Krum's ass, Sirius thought, glaring at Igor.

Sirius already mentally promised himself if Rosie scored better than Karkaroff's pupil he'd let her wear whatever she wanted outside in the summer.

For at least three—no two—okay for one outing. She could wear whatever she wanted for one outing and Sirius wouldn't make her put on more clothes.

Ugh.

Why did his goddaughter have to be cute? Sirius knew exactly what teenagers thought.

He didn't even want to imagine the bloodshed if someone solicited Rosie and she was in a bad mood. Or worse: solicited a grumpy Rosie in front of a grumpy Harry.

He was doing it for their own good, really.

Surely one outing would be safe, though, right? One outing. Yes... one...

Sirius had vague flashbacks to the tic bomb.

Nope.

He'd think of a different reward.

Igor Karkaroff and Sirius Black continued to glower at one another until Dumbledore politely cleared his throat. "For the moment, gentleman, I fear that we cannot come to an agreement. Miss Potter must compete. The Goblet of Fire has gone out and will be returned to the Ministry tomorrow. Sirius, as Miss Potter is still a minor you are entitled to file a complaint with the Ministry and Board of Education."

"No complaints," quickly said Sirius. "If that's all, I'll leave you and... Karkaroff."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Thank you, Sirius."

She better kick Krum's ass, thought Sirius. Or else I'll double ground her with Remus.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

(Rosie)

Monday afternoon it was time for the brief photoshoot. One of the first year Slytherins had been sent to fetch me from Transfiguration, and I was headed off to one of the normally empty classrooms.

Most of the desks had been pushed aside to leave a large space in the middle of the classroom. A few of them, however, had been placed side by side in front of the blackboard and covered in velvet. Five chairs had been seated behind it, and Ludo Bagman sat at one of them who chatted with a woman that I guessed was Rita.

Viktor Krum stood moodily in a corner, while Fleur stood away from him, examining her nails. Bagman spotted me and waved me in.

"Here she is, our final champion. Do come in, we need to do the wand weighing ceremony. The rest of the judges will be here in a moment. And then there's going to be a little photoshoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet."

"Maybe not that small, Ludo," said Rita Skeeter, her eyes looking me up and down. "I wonder if I could have a little word with Rosaline before we start? The youngest champion, you know... to add a bit of color?"

"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is—if Rosaline has no objection?"

"Nope," I said.

"Lovely," said Rita Skeeter, and in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers grasped my arm in a surprisingly strong grip. She steered me out of the room again and opened a nearby door.

"We don't want to be in there with all that noise," she said. "Let's see... ah, yes, this is nice and cozy."

It was a broom cupboard.

"Pity. I'd wish my first trip into a broom cupboard was with you," I teasingly flirted with Tom.

Tom coughed, covering up his snorts.

"Aww come on! That was good! Laugh with me."

"Come along, dear—that's right—lovely," said Rita Skeeter again, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing me down onto a cardboard box, and closing the door, throwing us into darkness. "Let's see now—"

She unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out a handful of candles, which she lit with a wave of her wand and magicked into midair.

"You won't mind, Rosaline, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally... "

"Go for it, but make sure it describes me as pretty," I laughed in good nature, causing Rita to giggle quietly.

"Gorgeous," she assured me. "Stunningly so."

"Thanks, you're the best."

"So, Rosaline... what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Oh, please my friends call me Rosie," I told her, watching as the quill wrote out:

The stunningly beautiful witch's vibrant blue eyes glistened with admiration as she insisted that the attractive blonde Rita Skeeter refer to her as—

"This is gonna be fun to read later," I told Tom.

"I entered the tournament as a way to test myself," I told her. "I do so love a challenge."

"And how do you feel about the tasks ahead? Excited? Nervous?"

"Oh, definitely excited," I answered her. "I only hope to do my family proud. You know my godfather—he's still single, by the way—took me and my twin in after we lost our parents. He's the most daring and brave person I know. I wasn't sorted into Gryffindor like he would have wanted, but—"

"Ah, say no more," Rita said, and I could already see the angle she'd be going for.

"You're sly."

"Yep."

Her questions went on until the door of the broom cupboard was pulled open.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at us.

"Hi Grandpa," I said cheerfully with a wave of my hand.

Professor Dumbledore smiled. "The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if one of our champions is hidden in a broom cupboard."

"Talk to you later, pretty lady," I said, ducking out of the cupboard and heading back to the room.

The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door, and I sat down quickly next to Fleur, looking up at the velvet-covered table, where four of the five judges sat—Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman. Rita Skeeter settled herself down in a corner.

"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges' table and talking to the champions. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."

"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.

Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.

"Hmmm."

He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully.

"Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches... inflexible... rosewood... and containing... dear me... "

"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," said Fleur. "One of my grandmuzzer's."

"Yes," said Mr. Ollivander, "yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands... however, to each his own, and if this suits you... "

Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, "Orchideous!" and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand-tip.

"Very well, very well, it's in fine working order," said Mr. Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. "Miss Potter, you next."

Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at me when I passed her.

"Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" said Mr. Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as I handed over my wand. "Yes, I remember it well. Redwood with a phoenix feather core, nine and a half inches and hard flexibility... Yes, very well cared for."

"I love it dearly," I admitted.

"It shows."

Mr. Ollivander sent a stream of silver sparkles across the room from the tip of my wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, "Mr. Krum, if you please."

Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duck-footed, toward Mr. Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"Hmm," said Mr. Ollivander, "this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wandmaker, though the styling is never quite what I... however—"

He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes.

"Yes... hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" he shot at Krum, who nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees... quite rigid... ten and a quarter inches... Avis!"

The hornbeam wand let off a blast like a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.

"Good," said Mr. Ollivander,

"Thank you all," said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges' table. "You may go back to your lessons now or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end—"

"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" cried Bagman excitedly. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"

"Er—yes, let's do those first," said Rita Skeeter, blatantly eyeing me up and down. "And then perhaps some individual shots."

"She wants me."

Tom scoffed loudly.

The photographs took a long time. Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand far enough back to get her into the frame; eventually she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl; Krum skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group; Dumbledore, thankfully, looked absolutely stylish with his purple robes with twinkling stars on it. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front, but Rita Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging me into greater prominence. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions. At last, we were free to go.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

The piece Rita released ten days later was indeed a riot. I was happy she was true to her word and included how pretty I was which made me howl with laughter.

I was sorted into Slytherin, but I've always wanted a chance to prove to my godfather and parents how brave I am. I miss them terribly. I only hope that by entering and winning this tournament I will make my family proud of me...

On and on it went.

It was great. We tossed it around the Slytherin common room, each one taking a quote out and mocking it. We laughed so hard some of us fell out of seats in tears.

Professor Snape came by and scolded us for being too loud, but when we showed him the article and why we were laughing, he sighed then gave me detention on Sunday (I cried out how unfair that was which made Draco and Pansy laugh so hard they fell out of their chair), and left.

The best part was when Fenrir sent me a letter asking about the article. I had to reassure him it was hogwash, and he was greatly relieved because he was rubbish at comforting crying children.

On the Saturday before the first task, all students in the third year and above were permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade. I planned to use that as a chance to purchase more supplies to make the animagus potion for myself and Harry. We had both reached the next step of our training that we needed to take the potion and properly meet with our animal. After that it was just lots of practice trying to turn into it.

On the way to Hogsmeade Harry grabbed me in the hallway, out of breath and wide-eyed. "Dragons!"

"Come again?"

"Ron's brother, Charlie, wrote in to visit. Dragon's. You have to fight a dragon during the first task."

"Thanks, dear," I chirped. "I've already got a plan."

Harry blinked once, twice, then sighed with relief. "You always do."

"What are you going to do with dragons?"

"They have sharp hearing and good eyes. I was thinking about using the flash-bang spell."

"That would disorient them, but that's about it. How would you kill it?"

"I'll check the rules, but if possible I'd like to summon a draught of the living dead and throw it down its throat while it's disoriented."

"You would need a highly concentrated batch."

"A good thing I've brewed plenty at Lunar's Orchid in my spare time then, isn't it? Although, we don't even know if we're supposed to kill the dragon. They're protected species."

"That's true."

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Tuesday morning I got dressed, handed Iris to Draco so she wouldn't get caught up in the match, and silently practiced my wand motions for the two spells I planned on using.

Lucidus Tonitrum was the flash-bang spell I had crafted with Tom in the third year. Invented shortly afterward was Quiescis Tenebris, a type of shield charm that would prevent me from being disoriented by my flash-bang. The shield would only last a handful of seconds as it blinded and deafened me.

The Slytherins wore badges with my face on it, a clear show of support. They patted me on the back and gave me words of encouragement when it was finally time for me to head out.

Professor Snape was chosen to pick me up. "The champions are required on the grounds, Miss Potter."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Scared?"

"I may not be wearing gold and red, but I've been told I've got my mother's heart," I said offhandedly.

And spitefulness.

Professor Snape did not continue the conversation after I mentioned Lily. I couldn't see his face very well to tell if he was upset, perplexed, or wholly indifferent to the matter.

It was a chilly November afternoon. I hugged my cloak tighter, hoping that the waiting tent would at least be warm. Around the edge of the forest, past a clump of trees, we arrived at a large tent. Professor Snape nodded once towards it, then abruptly left me.

Heading inside, I was pleased to find that it was warm. 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.

"Potter! 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 Quidditch 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!"

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. Chants of God Save the Queen could be heard which made me giggle.

Bagman opened up a purple silk sack.

"Ladies first," he said as he offered 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.

Gimme the Horntail baby. Gimme, gimme, gimme.

Since I was also a lady he then held out the sack to me and to my utter delight I did indeed get the Hungarian Horntail with number three around its neck.

"Do I get to keep this model?" I asked, cooing at the adorable babeh in the palm of my hands.

"Certainly!"

"Totally worth it now. The Horntail looks the coolest."

Krum was last, he pulled out the scarlet Chinese Fireball. It had a number one around it.

"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 for a moment, because I'm commentating. Mr. Krum, you're first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right?"

He and Victor Krum exited the tent together, leaving Fleur alone with myself.

I scratched the baby model's chin. It trilled at me as it nipped at my fingers, simultaneously behaving with aggression and affection.

"I'll call you Tsu," I whispered to it as I pulled the collar off its neck.

Seconds later, we heard the roar of the crowd.

Fleur and I took seats opposite of one another in the back of the tent. The whistle blew, the crowd chanted, and Victor Krum's match began.

"Very daring!" Bagman yelled as the Chinese Fireball let out 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 winter air like breaking glass; Krum had finished.

"One down, two to go!" Bagman yelled as the whistle blew again. "Miss Delacour, if you please!"

Fleur was trembling from head to foot. The poor dear looked so shaken I couldn't help but give her an encouraging, "You'll be fine, dear."

She shot me a look that could only be conveyed as: You, a child, should not be comforting me right now.

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, the crowd nearly deafened me with its roar of approval.

There were hundreds and hundreds of faces staring down at me from stands that had been magicked into existence. The Horntail, at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her gleaming yellow eyes upon me, a monstrous, scaly, black lizard, thrashing her spiked tail, leaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground. The crowd started chanting God Save the Queen which honestly almost made me giggly again.

I readied my wand and the nesting dragon raised her head to give me quite the stink eye.

As quick as I could, I bellowed, "Quiescis Tenebris! Lucidus Tonitrum!"

Due to my first spell I was protected from the flash-bang. A good thing too, as when it cleared out I could see that everyone else in the stadium was bent over, clutching at their ears and groaning. The dragon was staggering around, disoriented and breathing fire wildly.

Blinded as she was, it was short work to nip the egg. While she—and everyone else—was still struggling to regain their vision and hearing, I lobbed my one good canister of Draught of the Living Death (sneakily placed near the stadium last night so I could Accio within seconds) down her throat.

By the time everyone else had their vision returned, I stood triumphantly over the dragon with a golden egg.

Stunned silence.

I loudly cleared my throat.

The Slytherins were the first to react—along with Harry, which I appreciated—and they screamed in approval.

"Look at that!" Bagman shouted with utter glee. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is quickest to get her egg! And in one spell! LOOK AT THAT!"

It was not one spell, but sure—

Dragon keepers rushed forward to the dragon, plain concern. I caught one of them and said, "She drank a sleeping potion. I'll give Hagrid the antidote later."

"Sleeping potion?" the keeper muttered in disbelief. "Nothing short of Draught of—no. You didn't."

"I did."

The keeper groaned. "Damn, she's going to be grouchy for months."

"Glad I'm not her keeper then," I chuckled as I headed back into the tent, prepared to gloat over my victory.

"How'd I look? Impressed by me yet?"

"You have my attention."

I giggled.

ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

Happy Valentine's my lovelies.

The downside to having pre written so many chapters is when people ask for something to be explained that won't be explained for a while and I'm just like: ;n;

Latin is beautiful but weird. I respect its archetype as the magical language for fantasy worlds so I will press on with trying to use it to create spells. If you feel a different translation would work better lemme know.

Answer: If I was good at magic, then hell yeah I would. I'd be excited if someone snuck me in, and maybe a bit anxious.

Question: How would you handle the dragon?

Reviews are love!