A/N: look at me typing like a son of a gun! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Harry awoke, and instantly felt his stomach churn with nervousness. Today was the day.

The first task was today. Only yesterday evening had Harry seen a huge stadium be erected by many, many ministry wizards from his bedroom window.

He wished he could lie here in the darkness of his coffin forever, but alas, he had to get up.

Soon he was dressed, wearing the red Griffindor champion robe that had been made for him. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it definitely looked flammable, something that wouldn't be helpful.

"How're you feeling?" Draco asked, already sitting in the living room, waiting for Harry. The vampire replied with a pained grimace.

"We've been over the plan a hundred times, Harry, you'll be fine," Draco said comfortingly, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "And if all else fails, you're a vampire. You'll figure it out."

Harry gave a shaky nod, not trusting himself to speak. He knew his voice would crack embarrassingly with fear.

******

The champions tent was stuffy and uncomfortable in Harry's opinion. Not to mention that the other champions weren't really... Champion material.

There was Fleur for starters. She was a drama queen, melodramatic over everything. Only this morning, she'd broken a nail and wailed about it for half and hour before she realised she could simply fix it with magic.

Viktor Krum, a Quidditch champion he may be, but up close he resembled a gorilla more than anything. He had more muscle than he knew what to do with and already a mane of facial hair was beginning to grow.

Then Cedric. Good old Cedric, complete lady charmer. Well, unless his dragon was a female he could simply chat up to win the task, his pretty eyes and chiseled jaw weren't going to get him anywhere.

All four of them stood in a circle, Barty Crouch standing with them. He had a bag in his hands, a bag that contained something that was squirming around.

Barty offered no explanation, and simply held the bag towards Fleur who narrowed her eyes, unsure. She put her hand in the bag and flinched, but pulled out something anyways.

She pulled out a tiny, animated dragon. It was a bright shade of forest green, snapping angrily at her hand and shooting out tiny jets of flames.

"The Welsh Green," Barty remarked, turning to hold the bag towards Krum.

He raised an eyebrow and put his hand in, pulling out a dragon the colour of a blazing fire. It was a deep red, shooting red hot flames from its mouth filled with razor sharp teeth.

"Chinese Fireball."

Cedric was next. He put his hand in, doing his best not to flinch as he pulled out a blue dragon. It leapt around in his palm, flapping its wings angrily.

Harry gulped as the bag was offered towards him, pulling out the last dragon.

It was a horrific beast, the colour of stone. Spikes stuck out from all its appendages, it's knife-like teeth hanging over its bottom jaw. It's eyes were a ferocious yellow, it's wings torn in some places.

It simply sat there, in Harry's hand, docile as a dog as it stared up at him.

"The Hungarian Horntail."

******

Harry knew that if his heart could still beat, it'd be thundering wildly. He felt sick to the stomach with nerves, terrified of the beast he'd have to face.

A canon fired, signalling that Cedric had just beaten his dragon. Drawing in a deep breath although he didn't need to, Harry stood up and paced a few times to rid himself of the shaking in his legs before exiting the tent.

The stadium was set up in a circular arrangement around a huge area of rocky terrain. Sharp stones stuck out here and there, large boulders littering the stone ground. In the centre was a huge dragons nest, filled with eggs, and one that shone in the sun. The golden egg. That was what he needed to pass the task. Behind the next was a huge hole, and out of the darkness crawled... The dragon.

It was a spitting image of the one that had curled itself into Harry's hand only a few hours ago... Except it was huge. Much, much bigger than the other dragons that the other champions had to face, surely.

The roars of the crowd were deafening, Harry longing to look towards them and pick out his frosty haired friend, but pushing down that thought and turning to the dragon ahead of him.

Remember the plan. You know this could work. And if it doesn't, you have your wand. Use it.

Draco's words filled his mind, and with those in his thoughts, he ventured forward.

The dragon was in a lying down position, not moving a muscle as Harry drew closer.

"Hello," he began to speak, his voice as a soft, gentle and unthreatening as he could make it. "Aren't you a magnificent beast?"

Harry was soon close enough for the dragon to simply open its mouth and swallow him whole, yet it didn't. The dragon blew out a breath through his nose, the gust of wind blowing Harry's hair back.

Silence reigned across the arena, everyone staring as Harry Potter did the impossible. Draco was sitting on the edge of his seat, internally yelling with triumph.

Harry reached out a hand, being sure to be as a slow as he could. "You and I," he said. "We're both the same, aren't we?"

The dragon blinked it's huge, yellow eyes in a silent answer. "Just seriously, misunderstood creatures."

Harry had to hold back his yell of triumph as the dragon pushed its nose into his outstretched hand.

Okay. Remember what to do next.

Harry's eyes flickered towards the nest. He had to recover the egg. Recover the egg, escape the dragon, and it was over.

Throwing all the force he could into his ankles, he leapt for it.

The next events happened too quickly for anyone to register.

His fingertips had brushed the egg, intending to grab onto it, but the dragon was too fast. It let out a roar of rage at being betrayed, it's motherly instincts of protecting its eggs making it throw aside all care for its new friend.

The dragon had leapt for him, sinking one of its claws into his left leg and pulling him back to the ground. The egg rolled, and Harry's cold, dead heart sank as it fell down the hole.

Pain was erupting through his leg, searing, white hot agony. He could only cry out in pain before he knew he had to act, or he'd lost the whole task.

Turning, he flicked his wand and a beam of pure, raw, black energy soared towards the dragons claw.

Everyone in the crowd shielded their eyes as an explosion rang out. The dust cleared just in time for everyone to see the dark haired boy fall down the hole in pursuit of the egg.

Draco's heart sank as the dragon roared in rage, and took off after him, it's whole claw blasted off by Harry's magic.

It was only because of his impeccable night vision that Harry was able to make anything out in the dark cavern at all. The hole hadn't been endless, it seemed, and it opened up to a huge, hole. He supposed this was where the dragons were kept before they were released into the arena.

And he was correct.

The Chinese fireball, Swedish short-snout, and Welsh green were all tied to edges of the arena, snapping angrily at each other, and now him.

He could hear the roar of the dragon above, and he knew he had to be quick.

"Accio, Firebolt!" He yelled, grabbing the egg that was lying on the floor.

His desperation was so great that the magic channeled faster than usual, and his broom was at his side within seconds.

He flew to the roof beside the opening, and watched as the Horntail flew in, escaping through the hole.

The dragon roared again, angry at losing its prey. Harry could feel the heat singing the tips of his hair as all four dragons shot out jets of flame, Harry barely managing to escape the hole as flames flew our after him, erupting like a volcano.

He kept flying, like a bullet towards the champions tent, the dragon shooting a final, angry bolt of flames towards him as he crashed to the ground, collapsing as he entered the tent.

Immediately, Draco had flown into action, channeling all the magic he could to keep Harry's disguising charm fully functional, and fixing Harry's hair while he was at it. Harry deserved to look perfect... Perfect like always. He was the first to leave his seat, making a desperate dash towards the champions tent.

He was there within the minute, barely catching sight of everyone else leaving the stands before he burst in.

Harry was collapsed onto the nearest chair to the exit of the tent. Sweat rolled down his forehead, his broom lying on the floor beside him.

Harry gasped as he felt himself be pulled into a pair of arms, barely able to register Draco's excited voice. "You did it! You bloody idiot, you did it!"

Harry gave a weak laugh in reply, closing his eyes to the familiar thrum of Draco's heartbeat before falling unconscious.

******

Draco had sat Harry back down on the chair, thankful that he was unconscious as he waved his wand and began to cauterise the wound.

Confusion spread through him at seeing it. It had been a huge, gaping hole, and blood had been pouring out of it. Blood. Harry wasn't supposed to be able to bleed, he was a vampire.

Ignoring that, he raised an eyebrow at his work. The wound had scarred over quite badly, but it otherwise looked okay.

He was extremely proud of his friend, and also simply thankful he was alive.

After spending the whole night in the library, Draco had returned to the bookshelves in his room. Upon doing this, he'd found a particular book that wasn't in the school library.

It derailed many, many accounts of dragon trainers, revealing that the majority of them had been vampires or werewolves. Apparently, they shared some sort of bloodline or DNA that allowed them to communicate long, long ago. Eventually, this was lost to breeding, but could still be activated. Harry had proven this right.

******

Hermione was frustrated. Well, more confused that frustrated. She was sitting in the Griffindor common room, Ron next to her.

"Something about that task wasn't right," she muttered.

"Yeah I know, I mean he's still alive-" Ron started scornfully.

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "No, did you see what colour his magic was?"

"Nope, I was too busy cheering on the dragon."

"It was black, Ron. All wizards have magic that is some sort of colour, and you can usually tell what kind of person they are from it. For example, all the spells Viktor used came out as red. All the ones Cedric used were yellow. Black magic isn't unheard of, but it is feared."

"I don't get it."

"He didn't even use a spell," Hermione was more talking to herself now, than the redhead. "He was running off pure magic, and it was black. Why was it black?!"