"Harry! Good-o!" Ludo Bagman's voice was too jovial, too excited. It was as though he'd been transported to the Champion's tent rather on accident and had mistaken the gallantry for a happy event like a wedding or a birthday party. He clapped Harry Potter on the shoulders with a giddy, child-like happiness that contrasted sharply against the nervous, glum mood of the tent. Harry's shoulder shook from the enthusiasm Bagman had clamped on with. "Come in, come in, make yourself at home!"

Fleur Delacour looked up from the stool she sat upon, her stomach churning horribly. Madame Maxime had dropped her off at the tent ten minutes early, ahead of the other Champions, and left her there, having to go 'round to the enclosure to join the other judges. "Remember my girl that you are just as strong as those boys," Maxime's voice had rumbled, "And twice as qualified!" 

But Fleur felt more like a child.

Which made her all the more sick to her stomach to see Harry Potter there - an actual child.

"Well, now we're all here - time to fill you in!" Bagman said, voice as bright as his violently yellow Wasp robes. "When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face!" Ludo Bagman shook a velvet bag at them. "There are different -er - varieties, you see."

Fleur looked around her. Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Harry Potter all looked varying shades of resigned.

"And I have to tell you something else, too..." Bagman paused, trying to remember, then snapped his fingers, "Ah, yes. Your task is to collect the golden egg." 

Fleur's mind spun.

Collect the golden egg?

Collect an egg... from a dragon? A gold one no less? Dragons were terribly fierce defending their nests... and all the more so over a golden artifact. It couldn't have been a regular egg or an egg of steal or bronze or copper or glass or -- literally anything else. No, it had to be gold.

When Bagman left, promising to be back shortly, Fleur sank onto a stool and stared at the tent wall numbly. A hundred thousand thoughts were racing through her mind and she felt powerless to stop them. They were dizzying and she felt her stomach wrench and twist so violently, she was certain she would throw up. She leaped to her feet and rushed out the flap of the tent, turning to the edge of the woods and bending face first over a brush at the edge, violently retching into leaves.

"Oh, whoa there!" came a voice from behind her and she felt a hand steady her, grasping onto her shoulder just before she tipped forward and another hand scooped her hair up from her neck, holding it back before the sick got all in the braid. Another wave of nausea shook through her and she threw up all the harder, the stinking mess striking the grass and splashing onto a pair of very nice, very cool dragon-hide boots.

When she was done, she turned and looked up and found herself looking into the square-jawed face of a very handsome ginger man. Her eyes widened and her breath caught. If her heart hadn't already been racing... it might've raced then.

The man's eyes danced with amusement. "You're the Beauxbaton champion," he said.

"Oui," she stammered. "Fleur Delacour," she replied.

"I believe you're meant to be in there," he said, pointing to the tent.

"I didn't want to get ze sick all over ze other champions," she said, fighting to keep her voice level. "And are you supposed to be here?"

"Probably not," he said, "I have loads of conflict of interest, see."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." He smirked, "See... first off, my brother's best mate is one of the Champions."

"Weech one is zat?"

"Harry Potter," the man answered.

"Oh."

"And secondly, my other brother is the assistant to one of the organizers, who also happens to be one of the judges."

"Oh?"

"Mr. Crouch," the man nodded, "His assistant, Percy, that's my brother, see."

"I see."

"Thirdly, my other brother is one of the keepers of the -- well." He paused, "Nevermind, I don't reckon I'm allowed to say that."

"A keeper of ze dragons?" Fleur asked. "Zat is already three brothers, how many do you have?"

"Oh loads of others - reckon mum and dad have lost count by now," the man smirked. 

Fleur said, "I see. Well, you do certainly have many, many conflicts of interest indeed, you are correct."

"There are others," he replied. "For example, fourthly, I also happen to have placed a couple bets on the outcome of the First Task."

"Like what?"

"All four pass the task, top marks to the pretty blonde from France," he replied, and his grin widened as he ran a hand through his long, ginger hair, shaking it out in a way that the strands caught the sunlight. His eyes sparkled.

Fleur couldn't help but stare as he stuck out a muscled arm and braced himself against a tree, trying at looking casual. "Moi?" she asked, voice trembling.

He smiled. "Oui," he said in a husky tone and she wondered if it was the only word he knew in French. It probably was. He probably thought he was sooo impressive to her, answering her in French in such a tone as that - a tone clearly intended to sound sexy or something.

Fleur snorted.

"What?" he asked. 

"You... flirting with me!" She rolled her eyes.

Silly boy thinks that I have not seen a hundred boys try at flirting with me already - and that's just today! Every trip into Hogwarts for meals had resulted in half the male population of the school falling over itself in adoration - and a fair bit of the females, too.

"You think I'm flirting with you?" the man laughed.

"Of course you are! I recognize ze flirting when I see it. Many, many men haz flirt with me."

"Maybe it's your modesty." He smirked.

"Eet eez the fact I am half veela, rather," she replied - and, to prove a point - she turned on the charm a wee bit.

As a general rule, Fleur did her best to contain the charm and seductive powers that came with being a veela. Part of it was a natural attraction she couldn't do too much about, but there was a way she could manipulate that to make it stronger when she wanted it to be, or to contain it when she wished to tone it down.

She expected this man to react the way most men did when she turned on the charm - they usually fell over themselves to do whatever she asked of them, made fools of themselves, turned into blubbering idiots... Of course this man would be just as stupid and pathetic as the rest of them. Perhaps maybe even more.

"Pfff. Yeah right."

He looked wholly unaffected by her little bit of charm and she blinked in surprise. Clearly, she was off her game. Her usual charm was effected by the nerves and the queasiness she was experiencing. Perhaps the usual small amount wasn't enough under these unusual circumstances. Too much energy and excitement already in the air. Something.

"I am, on my gran-muzzer's side!" she said... turning the charm on even more.

He paused - and she thought maybe she'd gotten him - but then he shook his head, seemingly still unaffected. "No way."

"Yes, eet eez true!" Fleur was now turning on the charm completely, hitting him with her best shot and he simply stared at her, eyes remaining focused, his resolve remaining strong... 

Most men by now, getting struck with that full force of charm, would have been on their knees proposing and really acting a fool, but this one... this one didn't even seem to notice the amount of charm he was being struck with at all.

He chuckled, then shrugged, "Interesting. Don't see it." 

Was he immune?! Fleur felt her face flush with actual frustration.

He paused, then reached into the pocket of a plaid shirt that he had tied by the arms about his waist, withdrawing a handkerchief. "Here."

"What eez this for?"

"You've got some - er - residue - just --" and he flicked the side of his mouth with his thumb.

"Oh!" she flushed and took his handkerchief, wiping furiously at her face.

"Oi, BILL!" a voice called across the grounds. The man turned about and Fleur's eyes followed the direction he looked to see a set of twins in the crowd making their way to the stands. One of the twins was waving frantically, and beside them stood a sullen-looking boy that Fleur had seen about the grounds near the girl that the Daily Prophet writer had claimed was Harry Potter's girlfriend. The man waved back.

"BILL - BILLIAM!" shouted one twin.

"BILL-iam! BILL-iam! BILL-iam! BILL-ee-um!BILL-ee-um!" shouted the other and the other brother started chanting with him.

"And zees are your bruzzers?" Fleur asked. 

"A few of them."

She realized she'd seen them around the castle at Hogwarts a few times before - all three of them had fallen victim of the veela charm, so whatever this brother's immunity was, it wasn't hereditary...

"Which one eez ze dragon trainer?" she asked. "And ze assistant to ze Crouch?"

"Oh none of those idiots," the man, apparently named Bill, replied. "Percy's far more respectable and  Charlire, Charlie is likely off - you know - training the dragons. Doing important things, those two are... not shouting jibberish on the road side." He paused and made a gesture at his brothers as the waving  and shouting from the twins persisted. As they watched, a girl with hair a red as the rest of them, and a mess of freckles over her face, joined the three boys and waved once - calmly compared to the others - and Bill waved back to her.

"And a sister!"

"And a sister," he nodded. "That's Ginny. There's seven of us in all. Gin's possibly the most normal one of us. It's a wonder the other six of us haven't completely made her mental."

"Billllll! I love you so and I always willllllll!" sang one of the twins loudly while the other made beat boxing noises beside him and the third boy laughed while Ginny admonished them, batting their arms, trying to make them stop at being foolish.

"Your parents must be very busy."

Bill guffawed loudly, "Yes, they've been very busy indeed." He winked.

"Oh. OH." Fleur realized how it had sounded - not at all the way she'd meant it - and she shook her head, "Zat eez not what I meant."

Bill laughed. "That only makes it funnier."

Fleur continued shaking her head, "What I meant was --"

"Anyway. I best be going," Bill said, cutting her off and waving toward the twins, the third boy, and the girl, who were waiting for him. "They'll never stop harping if I don't." He paused. "Are you alright, then?"

"Oui." She paused, then shook out the handkerchief - a silent cleaning spell instantly making it freshly laundered - and held out the handkerchief to return it.

Bill looked at the handkerchief, "You keep it. You might need it again."

"Merci," she murmured.

"Anytime," he answered. Then, with a mischievous smirk playing on his face as he started to walk, backwards, toward his siblings, he added, "And if you decide you, er, do need to give it back to me... all the better for me. Gives me a - another chance to see you again, doesn't it?" Bill grinned, winked, then turned and trotted off.

She watched as Bill walked away, joining his brothers, laughing and growing his arms up over their shoulders as the five siblings walked off across the grounds, disappearing among the others headed for the stands. She held the handkerchief in her fist. It was yellow with double Ws embroidered on the corner.

Fleur tucked it into her pocket and went back to the tent. 

It had been nice for a moment to forget the task looming literally just feet behind her - Bill had done that for her, kindly holding back her hair and even calling her pretty, saying he'd bet on her for as the high scoring champion of the task. Her face flushed at the thought, and she ducked into the door flap of the tent, letting it fall behind her.

The others were precisely where she'd left them - Krum brooding by the fireplace, Harry looking horribly out of place and pale, and Cedric, pacing incessantly to and fro...

And then the tent door opened again and Ludo Bagman was back with that little velvet bag and his over-sized smile and Fleur felt ready to be sick again. 

Ludo Bagman came over and held the bag up in her face. "Ladies first," he grinned.

With one hand, her fingers tightened 'round the yellow handkerchief in her pocket. With the other, Fleur reached into the velvet bag.

In the stands, Declan Alectric stepped carefully over other people's legs, trying not to trod on anybody's toes, carrying four bottles of butterbeer by their necks between his fingers on one hand and two very large, salted and buttery pretzels in a paper sleeve in the other. He picked his way across an aisle and landed in the empty space beside Oliver Kent in the third row.

"Oh excellent seats you scored," Declan praised Oliver.

Oliver shrugged.

Declan held out the pretzels, but Oliver shook his head. "Dunno how you can possibly think about eating at a time like this," Oliver said, glancing over at him. "Aren't you bloody terrified for these kids?"

"Well yeah," Declan said, rolling his eyes. "Obviously. Eating makes me feel better."

Oliver waved him off dismissively as Declan tore up the first pretzel, hovering the other before him as he licked the fat salt granules off his fingers.

"One of these kids could be walking out to their death," Oliver murmured.

"They aren't going to die," Declan said, waving a palm, "They have enough trainers to neutralize a dragon thrice as large as any of the ones they've brought."

Oliver said, "You're awfully confident."

Declan shrugged. He held out one of the butterbeers and Oliver took it, unscrewing the cap. Declan watched him take a long sip, then said, "I saw Walford down there, standing with the other medics."

Oliver lowered the glass bottle slowly from his mouth, looking down at it.

"Did you know he was here?" Declan pressed.

"Yeah, of course I knew," Oliver answered.

Declan raised an eyebrow. "And? Is he going to sweep you off your feet when the event is over then? Take you off for a romantic tea at Madam Puddifoot's? Ravish you at the inn by candlelight with strawberries and champagne to celebrate your reunion?"

Oliver stared down at the empty enclosure.

Declan's eyes stayed trained on Oliver's profile.

"He's staying with Geri after all," Oliver said after a moment, when it became apparent that Declan wasn't going to just look away.

"Oh." The tone was no longer teasing, no longer playful.

Oliver looked over at Declan and their eyes met. Declan's grey eyes were apologetic, concerned... kind. They were the eyes that Oliver wished he could find it in his heart to truly love as much as he knew they loved him.

"I'm sorry, Ollie," Declan said sincerely.

Oliver shrugged, a lump rising up in his throat. He shook his head, he couldn't let his emotions get the best of him - not right then. He had a champion to root for, after all. It had taken all of his strength to get up and go to the task, and it had been largely at Sirius Black's insistence ("How else am I supposed to get all the details?") that he'd actually done it. Falling into that downward spiral of self loathing and loss was not an option this morning or else he would've done it then, in the privacy of his room.

As a distraction, he pointed, "Actually I'll have that pretzel after all."

Declan paused, staring at Oliver, then he grabbed the pretzel from where he'd levitated it in the air and handed it to Oliver.

"Thanks," Oliver muttered.

The stands filled - and Oliver saw Herbert Fleet sitting next to a Ravenclaw boy and two other Hufflepuffs a few rows to his left, and he saw the staff members lining the front row down to his right... The judges were assembling in a sort of press box that overlooked the enclosure.

There was a shriek of surprise far off to the left and he turned, looking. Declan leaned forward to look past him, too, and they watched as some gates in the enclosure wall opened up and a large, blueish-grey beast came into the enclosure. The ground thundered with the power and weight of it, the trees shaking, and Oliver gripped the bench seat he was on, knuckles turning white with the grip. His mouth was dry as the beast moved, all pure muscle, her neck swerving this way and that, eyes glinting like dark opals. A trainer carried a golden egg... held it up for the dragon to see, and placed it in a large nest in the center of the enclosure. The dragon's wings flapped and a wind blew back the hair of the spectators as she raised herself up just enough to land gracefully on top of the egg, completely covering it with her sinewy back quarters.

Oliver's eyes were wide.

That thing was massive. It was bigger than he'd imagined dragons being.

"Holy shhhh--," Declan whispered.

Oliver's heart pounded in his chest.

"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD AFTERNOON WITCHES AND WIZARDS, BOYS AND GIRLS, AND MAGICAL FOLK OF ALL SORT," came Ludo Bagman's voice, loud and echoing around the stands. The crowd roared to life, echoing off the mountains and trees that surrounded Hogwarts. The sound was like thunder and the dragon looked up, a defensive expression in her eyes as she studied the crowd... and crouched lower against the nest, more protective than ever over that little golden egg. "WELCOME TO THE FIRST TASK OF THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT!"

More cheers.

"BELOW YOU SEE THE FIRST OF FOUR DRAGONS, A SWEDISH SHORT-SNOUT... SHE SITS UPON A GOLDEN EGG. IT IS THE TASK OF THE FIRST CHAMPION TO RETRIEVE THE EGG FROM THE DRAGON'S NEST! EACH CHAMPION SHALL FACE THEIR OWN DRAGON AND BE SCORED BASED UPON THE SKILL... THE TALENT... THE DARING... THE IMAGINATION AND SHOWMANSHIP DEMONSTRATED IN THE WORK OF RETREVING THE EGG!"

The seat beneath Oliver shook with the thunderous response from the stands.

It was easy to see the people who were not merely spectators, the ones who the champions belonged to. Those were the people not cheering - the people who looked pale at the sight of the dragon, the people now whispering frantically to others around them, pointing, looking sick and angry and panicked...

Oliver knew he was one of them.

"FIRST UP... HOGWARTS FIRST CHAMPION... CEDRIC DIGGORY!"

From the front of the stands a shout of pride went up, "THAT'S MY BOY!" and Oliver looked to see Amos, Cedric's father, standing up and waving a Hufflepuff flag, wearing a Hufflepuff Quidditch shirt which read DIGGORY across the shoulders and a green badge which read "SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY" on his chest. Amos clapped his hands and waved and stamped his feet... Beside him sat a pale-faced mother, whose hands gripped the rail of the seats.

Hufflepuff flags went up all over the stands, people whipped yellow-and-black scarves over their heads, and there was a whole row of students standing on their seats, clapping with their arms up over their heads...

Oliver looked down into the enclosure, eyes skimming the deep stone walls below him until he spotted the tunnel through which the champions were to enter the enclosure... and stumbling to the mouth of it was a figure that looked so small in comparison to the massive form of the beast that loomed two stories high before him.

Cedric Diggory had entered the ring.

The First Task had begun.