Viktor Krum woke in his bed before the sun had risen. His stomach was sick and every limb felt like gelatin as he crawled out of bed and got dressed, pulling on a protective underlayer his father swore was flame resistant, which he was to have on under his clothes. He flexed his fingers in the tight dragon hide gloves as he pulled them tight and tied them off at the wrist.

Aleksander stood on the dock of the Durmstrang ship when Viktor stepped out of his room. He stared at Viktor with a look stuck somewhere between terror and regret. The boy looked around, making sure they were alone on the deck, then took the five steps separating the pair of them and pressed a medallion on a chain into Krum's palm.

Viktor turned the medallion over and found the likeness of Saint George the dragon slayer pressed into the silver.

Aleksander stared into Viktor's eyes.

Viktor put the necklace on, his gaze never leaving Aleksander's as he fastened the clasp at the nape of his neck, the valiant saint's medallion falling against his chest, still warm from being clutched in Aleksander's fist.

"Thank you," Krum murmured.

Aleksander nodded. "Just don't be killed or any other thing of that sort," he said quietly, a weight to his voice that Viktor could feel compressing his chest. "Please."

The last word was desperate.

"I will do my best," Krum answered.

Aleksander stepped back, allowing Viktor to pass by. Viktor walked to the bridge that slanted down to the grounds of the school, and paused, hands resting on the wooden walls of the ship on either side of the plank door, and he looked down at his chest, at the silver metal catching the grim early morning light. As he stared at it, a mist shimmered over the grounds, making the lake sing, and Viktor turned around. "Aleksander," he said.

But Aleksander was gone.

Viktor felt a lump rise up in his throat. He shook his head, turning and trotting quickly down the plank without pause.

Fleur Delacour's hands shook as she braided her hair, staring into her own eyes in the mirror over her vanity table. She breathed slowly, counting between inhale and exhale in an attempt to soothe the nerves channeling through her.

Un... deux... trois... quatre... cinq...

She wove a ribbon through the strands. Her sister had given it to her. For good luck. Her sister who did not know there were dragons waiting for her. Her sister who didn't realize Fleur could die in the task.

Un... deux... trois... quatre... cinq...

Fleur had practiced gymnastics for many years, since she was a child, and she had dreamed of this tournament being similar to the muggle Olympics. A showcase of the strength and talents of well-practiced champions.

It wasn't.

These expectations were higher than she'd ever dreamed they could be.

Un... deux... trois... quatre... cinq....

"Fleur?"

Her father's voice came through the door. "Come in papa," she called. 

The door opened and her father came inside. His face was worn with lines he didn't have when she was a little girl, but the feeling of relief that flooded over her then was just as strong as it had been back then. She leaped from her stool and threw herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck, choking back emotions that she'd been suppressing with her breathing exercises. He squeezed her tight and rubbed her back, his palms splayed between her shoulders.

"There is my girl!" he said, swinging her gently side to side and he kissed her temple, then lowered her to the ground. He was a handsome man with a smile that touched his eyes and he held onto her hands, spreading her arms out like butterfly wings and looking her over as though she was as beautiful as the sunlight. "I am so proud of you, my darling!" he said in French.

She smiled, trying to hold back the nerves that jostled her. "Thank you, Papa."

"You will make the name Delacour one to be proud of, my love."

He had no idea what she was facing, and she could not tell him. There was nothing he could do about it anyway. All it would do would be to make him worry that much longer - he could not stop the impending battle against the dragons. Sure his words of comfort would mean the world to her, but she was afraid he might worry too much to give them, and seeing her father worry would make her worry all the more than she already was. 

She held back the words she wanted to say, the goodbyes she wanted to utter - just in case. Those would have to stay sealed in the envelopes laying on her vanity table, addressed to each of her loved ones, encouraging them and wishing them lifetimes of happiness after her. She'd shaken while writing them, cried all over them with tears that drained her energy.

"I cannot wait to see you perform!" he said, drawing her back in for yet another hug.

Fleur closed her eyes as her body was tucked into the safety of his chest. She just hoped that what she would do was perform - and that her little sister wouldn't be sitting front row to see her sister torn to shreds by a beast; that her mama wouldn't cry into a handkerchief that smelled of the smoke that had torched her eldest daughter; that her papa would not roar with pain as loud as the dragon that killed her.

Un... deux... trois... quatre... cinq...

Cedric Diggory tugged at his tie. It was stuffy in the attic where Professor Trelawney held classes and even if it had been cold as ice Cedric reckoned he'd be choking on the blasted tie anyway. Herbert Fleet sat beside him, pretending to look at their Palmistry book and Cedric's outstretched palm. This was the distraction to keep Trelawney away from them, though they could still hear her from across the room, interpreting Roger Davies's palm and declaring he was certain to soon witness a friend perishing in a greatly horrific manner. She threw a glance Cedric's way and Herbert muttered, "Ignore her."

"It's hard to," Cedric said. His tie hung from his neck, undone and limp against his chest. 

"Well look, see here, you've got a long life line," Herbert said, drawing his finger across Cedric's palm, which made his hand instinctively twitch, ticklish.

"That's my head line, mate."

"Wait. Is it?"

"Yeah."

"Where's your life line?"

"This is it here. It connects to the fate line on mine," Cedric answered.

"Oh." Herbert stared at it. The line was short. He looked up at Cedric. "So anyway, you need to distract the dragon somehow. I'm thinking you could set off a firecracker. I'll bet the Weasley's have got one."

"But I'm not allowed to bring it into the task," Cedric replied. "All I'm allowed is my wand, remember?"

"Maybe you could... I dunno... levitate something? Do you have to kill the dragon?"

"I don't know. Potter only said the task was dragons. I reckon he probably didn't have much knowledge on what exactly we were having to do with it, either," Cedric said, rubbing his eyes with his free hand as Herbert glanced back at Trelawney and stretched Cedric's fingers wider a part, bending closer as though to examine the intricacies of the lines.

"Too bad it isn't a full moon," muttered Herbert. "I could break in and tear the dragon up." He chuckled and looked up at Cedric. "I mean, if it was at night. And if I didn't mine the whole world knowing - well, you know."

"I don't know how well you'd fare against a dragon anyway - even in... that form," Cedric pointed out.

Herbert said, "It'd be a great fight at least. And a distraction."

"Yes, very distracting. Last thing I need is to be worrying about you getting cooked while I'm trying not to be myself," Cedric sighed.

"What if you transfigured it?"

"Into what?"

"Dunno, a puppy, maybe."

Cedric laughed, "A puppy?"

"Sure. A fire breathing Labrador is not as scary as a fire breathing dragon."

"Imagine transfiguring something that big, though?"

"I mean we did those flamingos in McGonagall's glass last week..."

"Dragons are a bit bigger than a flamingo," Cedric said. Then, "And what if I do transfigure it but it becomes a Labrador... at the scale of a dragon?"

"That's horrifying," Herbert said.

Cedric nodded.

"You could cast a patronus."

"That's against dementors not dragons."

"Yeah but the dragon'll be looking at you like a crispy snack and then blam, there's a great big wolf there and it's like oooh shiny things!" Herbert said, turning his head quickly, mimicking what the dragon would supposedly do. "Then while he's looking the other way you slice his head off with a good severing charm."

Cedric laughed in spite of himself. "Do dragons get distracted by shiny things?"

"Have you never read The Hobbit? Of course they do. They love treasure don't they?"

"True," Cedric said, "But a patronus is a far cry from a pile of gold."

"OH you could transfigure the dirt and rocks into gold coins!"

"What if we're inside?"

"Then that won't work!" Herbert said, then, "But of course it'll be outside. Where are they going to put dragons inside?"

"True," Cedric said, rubbing his chin. "That might work... Or I could transfigure a rock into the labrador. Less work and it could run around and distract the dragon while I -- I dunno. Do whatever I have to do." He paused. "Gods I hope I don't have to kill it. That seems cruel, doesn't it?"

"They only had to get past the Kraken that one year they had the Kraken as a task," Herbert pointed out. "Remember? They just had to get onto a boat or something - I don't really remember, as nobody actually completed it, but you know -- maybe the way out of the task is like a door that's behind it or something? Then it'll chase after the dog and you can just... run out. Simple as that."

"Yeah. Simple as that," Cedric muttered.

Suddenly Trelawney was at their table and they both looked up at her. "Let me see how you're doing with Mr. Diggory's reading, Mr. Fleet," she said in her dreamy tone.

"Er -" Herbert looked down at Cedric's palm. "Well, this here is his head line. It's rather long, so... I reckon that means he does a good deal of thinking, yeah?"

Trelawney frowned and marked something on a notepad she held.

"And here's his life line over here, just 'round his thumb - connects here to his fate line and --"

But Trelawney let out a gasp and dropped her notepad, throwing herself dramatically onto a cushion. People turned in their seats to look at Cedric and Herbert as the professor's hand went to her forehead in apparent horror.

"Here we go," whispered Cedric.

Harry had made it through History of Magic, made it through Charms, and he sat now at lunch, feeling sick to his stomach. His hands were trembling as he stared at the meal before him, the very smell of it making him queasy. How could they expect him to eat corned beef when he was going to die in about an hour? he wondered. Fitting, though, he thought, that it was corned beef. That had been the first meal he'd encountered on the Hogwarts Express - a sandwich, split with Ron Weasley on the train after they'd finished all the sweets from the Trolly that Harry had bought...

Harry glanced down the table, but Ron wasn't there.

"You've got to eat, Harry," Hermione was saying, "It's very important that you've got your full strength about you when you face the dragons. Not eating properly will lead to the possibility of not thinking straight or dizziness and you've got to have your wits fully in tact!"

"I don't want to throw up all over the dragon, either, though, 'Mione," Harry said, but he forced himself to take a couple bites of the meat. It felt heavy and thick as it slid down his throat and like a great big brick in his belly. 

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder and he looked up.

Professor McGonagall stood behind him.

"Potter, th' champions have tae come down onto th' grounds now..." she said, her accent thick. "Ye have tae be gettin' ready for th' first task."

"Okay," Harry said, standing up, dropping his fork onto the plate with a clatter.

"Good luck, Harry!" Hermione whispered, "You'll be fine!"

"Yeah," said Harry dully.

Professor McGonagall guided Harry out of the hall and across the entrance to the doors. They walked in silence. Harry stared blankly ahead as they moved, and he felt his trainers catch pebbles, causing him to stumble clumsily as he walked. McGonagall reached out a hand and laid it on his shoulder gently, steadying him as they moved. She looked at him and when he looked up at her, her eyes were damp behind her glasses.

They had come to a stop at the end of the path leading away from the castle, where a tent had been erected by the edge of the forest where Harry knew the dragon enclosure was - just beyond the trees. "Now, don't panic," she said, "Just... keep a cool head."

Harry nodded.

"We've got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand... The main thing is to do ye're best and narry a body will think any the worse of ye for it."

"Alright," he murmured.

"Are you alright?" McGonagall asked.

"Yes," Harry said, "Yes, I'm fine."

Minerva McGonagall stared at him.

"Professor?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"I'm verra sorry, Harry," she said quietly. "I jus' canna help but look at you and see your father."

Harry's throat tightened. "Looked a nervous wreck before facing a dragon one time, did he?" he asked, trying to be light about it, trying to joke.

McGonagall shook her head, "Kept his chin high and brave whenever he faced a terrible task," she replied. "Ye're so much like him for that, Harry."

He was struck by how odd his given name sounded coming from her.

His heart ached for something - something he couldn't put a word to - but it felt a bit like... missing his mother.

"You're to go in here with the other champions," Professor McGonagall said, "And wait for your turn. Mr. Bagman is in there... he'll be telling you the - the procedure..." she stared at him still, and he could see the tears in her eyes growing, see them welling, see them shaking, almost daring to fall. "Good luck, Harry," she said to his back.

He didn't think he could bare it if she cried, so he turned away quickly with no more than a nod of acknowledgement... and pushed his way into the tent.