Fleur Delacor sat brushing her little sister's hair, singing quietly in French.

"Il y a longtemps que je t'aime... jamais je ne t'oublierai... chante rossignol, chante... toi qui a le coeur gai..."

Gabriella hummed along as Fleur's fingers laced through her silky hair, eyes closed with contentment. The room smelled of rosewater and lavender, an elixir of Fleur's own mixing, which steamed quietly from a diffuser on her vanity.

The chariot rocked lightly from Madame Maxime's footfalls as she climbed onto the chariot and made her way down the hall. Gabriella looked up, her eyes bright with excitement when the sound of Madame Maxime knocking on the door to Fleur's room. Gabriella had a deep infatuation with the Beauxbatons headmistress - and a very understandable one at that. For as largely sized as Maxime was, she carried herself in such a way as to be nothing short of enchanting in the way that elegant ladies of the past were famous for - Coco Chanel, Audrey Hepburn... Maxime was captivating and graceful and it was rare the one who did not fully admire her once they'd been around her. Fleur herself had once held the same deep fascination as Gabriella did now, once thrilled at the thought of learning under the woman's elegant care, and even now, in her final year of Beauxbatons, Madame Maxime seemed no less breathtakingly fascinating than she had on day one.

"Ah a special time between sisters!" Maxime exclaimed coming into the room to find Fleur brushing Gabriella's hair. Her face was flushed and a certain je ne sai que glowed about her that mingled with the urgency that she carried in her eyes, too, as though she were torn between being utterly thrilled and utterly horrified nearly equally. She glanced at Gabriella, "My dear, could you be so kind as to go and fetch madame a bottle of still water, my mouth is simply parched!"

Thrilled to be asked to do something for the headmistress, Gabriella launched herself out of the room top speed, squealing excitedly. A flick of Madame Maxime's wand had the door to the room shut and silenced, and she turned to Fleur. "My dear girl," Maxime said, her eyebrows cinching with worry, "Oh my dear Fleur!"

Fleur lay the hair brush down on her vanity table. "Whatever is ze matter, Madame?" Fleur's voice rose with concern.

"I have seen ze first task!" breathed Maxime, and she sank onto a stool she magicked, her hands grasping Fleur's urgently. "My girl zey have imported dragons!"

Fleur froze. "D-dragons?" She asked, and her voice trembled.

"Oui!" Maxime said, and she shook her head, "Oh la vanche! Zey are terrible!"

Fleur stared at the headmistress in disbelief.

"I break ze rules to tell you, but it is murder to send you to face zem wizzout warning! Eet is to save your life I must tell you!" Maxime's eyes glistened.

Fleur's hands shook and she struggled to stay calm, to breathe as evenly as possible. "How did you find out?"

Madame Maxime flushed. "Eet eez of no concern!"

Fleur was desperate, "Perhaps eet eez a misunderstanding! Perhaps zey are not ze first task?? Izznt there many, many tourists coming in to see ze task? maybe ze dragons belong to somebody!"

"I have it in good authority zey are ze first task," Maxime said, shaking her head.

Fleur felt sick. "You must help me! You must tell me how--"

"I cannot!" Maxime wailed, "We are bound by magic never to help our Champions! Zare is nothing I can do, I am breaking rules enough already telling you zat dragons are ze first task!"

Fleur stared, dazed and numb, her heart pounding ferociously.

As a child, dragons were her greatest fear. She had been plagued by nightmares of dragons consuming her entire family and setting their home on fire. How many times over the years had she awakened screaming uncontrollably, tears pouring over her cheeks, her mother stroking her hair and cheek and singing songs meant to calm her, meant to chase away imaginary beasts of scales and sinew that chased her through the darkest reaches of her mind? Those childish anxieties arose in her strong and fierce and crippling and she could barely breathe.

Gabriella returned with the bottle of flat water and Madame Maxime thanked her, which made Gabriella illuminate with pride and joy.

Madame Maxime did not linger, she stole from the room, leaving the Delacor sisters alone behind her.
Fleur hugged Gabriella and braided her hair, and although Gabriella asked what was ailing her sister, Fleur insisted she was alright - no need in terrifying the girl yet, and even if, Fleur herself felt unready to speak of her own horror. She could hardy comfort Gabriella's worry if Fleur was unable to speak the threat without bursting into tears.

It was later, curled up in bed, holding her little sister and silently crying after the first nightmare that Fleur realized with horror that little Harry Potter would be facing the dragons as well, and her heart nearly stopped with the panic of it. She couldn't picture Gabriella facing dragons - and he was not much older than that!

Fleur made up her mind to talk to the other Champions first thing the next day. They all deserved to know what they faced.

Especially Harry.

"LIFT YOUR KNEES! YOU ARE WEAK!"

Viktor Krum could barely feel his arms. Or else his arms were all he could feel. He wasn't sure anymore. It had been an extremely long morning of this - his trainer barking at him relentlessly, calling him names, saying he was weak, a loser, pathetic, forcing him to push himself harder and harder than the day before. He was doing pull ups on the mast of the ship, late in the night, the wind coming off the lake freezing his sweat, his breath coming out in puffs that floated dully before him.

"Champion! PAH! What champion are you? You will be beaten by the little girl if you compete as poorly as you are doing now!!!"

"She isn't your average little girl," grunted Viktor, "I will be challenged by her if I could do a hundred pull ups in this condition."

"Oh you think you are funny, funny guy, do you? You can carry on another hundred then!" The trainer barked and Viktor's arms shook with the effort of another pull, wincing for the burning in his muscles.

"Viktor? VIKTOR!" The tall, slim figure of Igor Karkaroff appeared coming up to the deck from the levels below, followed immediately by Oskar Krum. Viktor groaned. Oskar Krum seeing him struggling to perform was the last thing he needed - Oskar would not care if he was on sixty-some-odd repetitions already, only that what he witnessed was no good and his son would be pushed harder still. Viktor's biceps throbbed. Oskar however didn't seem to notice the shoddy struggle Viktor was having of it though, he was too nervous looking as he and Karkaroff came over hurriedly, "We are needing to talk with Viktor alone."

"He has not finished training."

"For tonight, I say he has," Oskar Krum replied. He looked up at Viktor, who hung from the mast, bare chested, a pair of sweat pants and ankle weights on but not much else, and snapped, "Get down from there, Viktor!"

Viktor certainly required no further command, and dropped from the mast immediately, wincing as he hit the ground in a squat, feeling the zing all through his already overworked thighs and calves. He waved bye to the Hulk, who sloped off in a grumpy mood without any argument or lingering. Viktor tore the leather gloves from his hands and reached for a robe he'd tossed over a locker, shrugging it over his shoulders. "What is the matter?" He asked, looking between Oskar and Igor Karkaroff.

Oskar glowered around, then said, "We must go indoors. Too much of these grounds have ears and eyes for Dumbledore!"

Viktor was glad to be out of the cold air and near to a fire as they stepped into his personal room just off the deck. Karkaroff locked and silenced the door, then whorled around to face Viktor, who pulled a blanket around his shoulders and set tea on the hearth immediately. He was more concerned with getting warm than what his father and Karkaroff were worked up about.

He was seated and sipping his tea, hands wrapped firmly about the mug, when his father unceremoniously announced, "You shall begin study on fighting dragons!"

Viktor spluttered into his tea, "I'll what? I -- why?"

Karkaroff's voice was low, "We have discovered the first task, and it is up to you to use this information to prepare."

"You must train even harder, Viktor, with more determination than ever," Oskar Krum said firmly. "This is the only way you will win."

Viktor stared between them. "You are joking."

"We are not!" Oskar said, "Igor has seen the beasts with his own eyes."

"They are vicious creatures, thirsty for blood."

Viktor stared at the table top, a cold going through him that seemed to vibrate just below his skin, though he kept his features carefully stoic, bottling panic somewhere deep inside instead of feeling it rise up. He balled his fists in the blanket and pulled it tighter around himself as though it might protect him.

It was early morning, dew still sopping the grass on the grounds of the castle. Viktor Krum was up and dressed and snuck ashore as quietly as possible, slipping past the heavy cot that held his hulking trainer's form. Now he was slipping on grass and mud, making his way past the Beauxbatons carriage, his eyes sunken with concern, head pounding mercilessly.

"Viktor!" a voice called.

He turned about to see Fleur Delacore, still in pyjamas, hurrying toward him, her pale blonde braid flying behind her as she ran. He waited for her to catch him up, and she stopped a couple paces away, staring at him awkwardly.

They could each see on the other's face that they both knew.

"Are you going to ze library?" she asked.

Krum nodded.

"We have to talk to Cedric," Fleur said, "And to 'arry! We know and so they too deserve to know!"

Viktor nodded.

They stood in silence on the grass. Viktor looked at her and she at him, the nervousness screaming silently between them. Fleur's eyes were wide with the threat of tears and Viktor's knuckles were white, fists balled tight. The moment seemed to last an eon, their emotions firing and ricocheting off one another.

Sometimes words do not need to be spoken to be understood.

Viktor turned and started back up toward the castle at precisely the moment Fleur spun about and ran back to the carriage.

Cedric Diggory had heard the words Harry Potter said, and he sat in Charms staring over Flitwick's head, the words repeating over and over, and the note from Fleur Delacor asking him to meet her and Viktor by the green houses that afternoon in his pocket seemed to burn.

Herbert kept glancing at him, picking up on the tension, knowing something was the matter but certainly never fathoming that Cedric's head was thumping out the words dragons, the first task is dragons, dragons, dragons... Cedric could hardly breathe.

The Charms lesson had been over for a full minute before Cedric realized Flitwick had dismissed the lot of them and Herbert punched Cedric's shoulder lightly, "Oi, Captain, woo-hoo?" he called, laughing. He looked around the room, then back at Cedric, "Dreaming off about some girl are you?"

Cedric shook his head and stood up. He realized that he hadn't even unpacked his things, the book bag hung limply around his shoulders, hastily reparoed and refilled with his things from the hallway thanks to Harry Potter's help, though the getting back to his feet and walking into the Charms room was all a blur in his head. He didn't remember sitting down next to Herbert or anything of what they'd been taught.

Herbert all but pushed Cedric along out to the hall now, too. Cedric could feel his feet falling one in front of the other, carrying him along, but he was only partially aware of the motion, his hands twisted 'round his shoulder strap.

"What's on, Diggory?" Herbert asked, stopping him and stepping in front of his dazed friend. He waved his palm before his eyes. "You look like you've been hit with a confundus?" He glanced around.

"D-dragons," Cedric stammered.

"What's that?" Herbert asked.

Cedric's hand shot out and grabbed onto Herbert's arm, tightening 'round his mate's forearm so hard that Herbert winced and leaned in. Cedric's face was pale as he said the word. "Dragons," he said again, and then, gaining a bit more of himself, "The first task is dragons." His mouth felt like it was moving independently.

Herbert stared at Cedric, then quickly yanked him sideways into an empty classroom. "What do you mean the first task is dragons?" he hissed.

"I mean the first task is dragons!" Cedric said, panic starting to seep into the cracks. He grabbed onto his hair and looked at Herbert, wild-eyed. "Dragons! I can't fight a bloody DRAGON, that's mental!"

Herbert looked utterly flabbergasted.

"What do I do?!" Cedric asked. "What do I do??"

Herbert's mouth flapped like a fish out of water.

"I'm going to be a burnt crisp!" Cedric said. Then, "The bloody fucking grim. Herb - this is it. This is the year Trelawney gets lucky. This is the year she's right."

"She isn't --"

"HERBERT VOORTMAN FLEET YOU KNOW I CAN'T FIGHT A DRAGON! YOU KNOW I AM DOOMED TO BE DRAGON DUNG!"

"Breathe Diggory!"

"I am breathing!!! Just not much longer!"

"Ced!"

"Dragons!"

"I KNOW!"

They stood staring at one another.

"I shouldnt've done this," Cedric murmured. "I ought not to have signed up. I'm a fool."

Herbert shook his head, "You're not a fool. We can figure this out."

Cedric looked at Herbert squarely.

Herbert frowned.

Cedric said, "I have to go talk to the - the other champions." He held up the note in his pocket, which had arrived by owl from Fleur. "Gotta -- gotta go to the library."

"I'll come with you."

"No, I - I think I need some time to think, rather. I'll catch you up at dinner." And Cedric hurried out of the room, as pale as dazed looking as ever.

Herbert Fleet sat heavily in a chair, his heart racing.

He couldn't lose Cedric Diggory. He just couldn't.

Not again.