CHAPTER EIGHT:

Third Person P.O.V.:

"I don't know how it happened, Fenwick."

"My son, the Hogwarts Champion - what an interesting turn of events."

Charlie could hear the muffled voices of his father and grandfather on the other side of the office door as he approached it. Upon hearing his father's voice, the boy contemplated whether or not he should enter the room, but he eventually came to the conclusion that if he didn't go in, his outburst down in the dungeons would've been for nothing.

So, gathering as much courage as he could muster, he moved forward, knocked twice, and let himself in the room as per usual. The gazes of the two adults in the room fell upon him as he entered to which Charlie simply smiled softly.

"Charles, my boy," Fenwick beamed, "congratulations! You should be incredibly proud!"

"Yeah?" Charlie raised a brow, "And for what? For being chosen to participate in a tournament where there is a good chance I don't make it out alive?"

"Nonsense!" Fenwick dismissed, "It is a great honour to have been chosen for such a tournament! An exception, you are! Your skill was clearly unmatched as the Goblet favoured your name, you truly are my son!"

"Funny how you only see me as your son when it happens to paint you in a good light in the media," Charlie muttered, "I reckon the Daily Prophet is dying to hear what the Minister thinks about his dear son being chosen, am I right?"

Fenwick's beaming expression had now been replaced with his infamous glare.

"Now, you listen to me, Charles," he scolded, "you being chosen for this tournament is a gift! A perfectly executed plan was fulfilled when your name was chosen" - he trailed off for a moment - "Nonetheless, it would be foolish of you not to see this as an opportunity!"

"An opportunity for what? Fame? Money? Any other things I don't need? Regardless, I don't want to win the tournament," Charlie said firmly, "Hell, I don't even want to participate. All this tournament has done is made my life a living hell!"

"How stupid you are, Charles," spat Fenwick harshly, "You don't see it now, but great things are coming! You and Harry Potter were chosen for a reason -"

"That's enough, Fenwick," Albus finally chimed in, "if Charlie wishes to having opposing thoughts on the tournament than you do, so be it. Our main focus should be figuring out who put Harry and Charlie's name in the Goblet in the first place -"

"Waste of time!" Fenwick was quick to dismiss, "What's done is done. Both, Charlie and Harry will compete. What we should be focusing on is what is to come next -"

"Charlie," Dumbledore called, ignoring the Minister completely, "shouldn't you be in class? Why are you here? Did something happen?"

The brown eyed boy sighed, not answering just yet. Instead, he walked towards Fawkes' cage which was illuminated by the incoming sunlight from the window. The bird stood soundly on a perch, his big eyes glittering down upon Charlie as though seeing him different than ever before. Charlie got an indescribable feeling all of a sudden as he approached the cage; it was like he was drawn to it, to Fawkes, in a way that he had never been before.

Charlie smiled at the scarlet bird, before reaching his hand in the cage, and caressing Fawkes's beak gently. The Phoenix immediately melted into the boy's touch as though they were two parts of one soul; connecting. He hadn't seen Fawkes much since his encounter with the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, maybe that's why he hadn't felt this sudden surge of energy before -

"Charlie," Albus called again causing the boy to tear his gaze away from the Phoenix and back to his family members who were staring at him curiously. "Why are you out of class?"

"Malfoy and I got into a bit of a scrap, and Professor Snape thought it was in my best interest to reprimand me for it - only me, I might add." Charlie said simply, still petting Fawkes.

Fenwick suddenly became furious, "Another fight? With Lucius's boy?! How many times must I tell you -"

"Enough, Fenwick," Dumbledore said calmly, "I'm sure it was nothing more than a disagreement. I think it would be safe to assume that Charlie carries mixed emotions of anger and confusion at this point in time. Clearly, the young boy is trying to process, and while doing so, he lost his temper. I'm sure, Severus, has already dealt with the matter. No reason for further repercussions."

As Fenwick went to speak, a timid knock on the door had put a halt on the conversation. It was Colin Creevey; he edged into the room, beaming at Charlie, and walked up to Dumbledore's desk at the front of the room.

"Mr. Creevey," Albus said sweetly, "how can I help you?"

"Sorry to interrupt, sir," Collin breathed out, "but I'm supposed to take Charlie upstairs. Mr. Bagman wants him. All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs..."

Fenwick's twisted smiled had reappeared on his face, "It seems as though, Rita has arrived. Brilliant! You tell her that I've said hello, Charles."

"Very well," Dumbledore said before turning to Charlie, "Off you go, Charles. We shall continue this conversation at a later time."

Charlie gave Fawkes one last pat on the head before he moved towards the door, said his goodbyes, and walked out behind Collin.

"It's amazing, isn't it, Charlie?" said Collin, starting to speak the moment Charlie had closed the office door behind him. "Isn't it, though? You being champion?"

"Yeah, really amazing," said Charlie heavily as they set off toward the steps into the entrance hall. "What do they want photos for, Collin?"

"The Daily Prophet, I think!"

"Of course," Charlie muttered, already annoyed with the situation. "Exactly what I need. More publicity."

"Good luck!" said Collin when they had reached the right room. Charlie knocked on the door and entered.

He was in a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; three of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a familiar witch, who was wearing magenta robes, that Charlie assumed, to be Rita Skeeter.

Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual and not talking to anybody. Harry and Fleur were in conversation. Fleur looked a good deal happier than Charlie had seen her so far; she kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.

Bagman suddenly spotted Charlie, got up quickly, and bounded forward.

"Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Charlie, in you come... nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, and maybe a couple of pictures -"

"Wand weighing?" Charlie repeated curiously.

"We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead," said Bagman. "The expert's upstairs now, and then there's going to be a little photo shoot. 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..."

"Not that small, Ludo," said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Charlie specifically.

Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jeweled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson.

"I wonder if I could have a little word with Charlie before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Charlie. "The Minister's son, you know... to add a bit of color?"

"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is - if Charlie has no objection?"

"Actually, I -"

"Lovely," said Rita Skeeter, and in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had Charlie's upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip, and she was steering him out of the room again and opening 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, and Charlie couldn't help but stare at her like she was crazy.

"Come along, dear - that's right - lovely," said Rita Skeeter again, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing Charlie down onto a cardboard box, and closing the door, "You won't mind, Charlie, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally..."

Charlie shrugged, "Sure, I guess?"

Rita Skeeter's smile widened. She reached into her crocodile bag and drew out a long acid-green quill and a roll of parchment, which she stretched out between them on a crate. She put the tip of the green quill into her mouth, sucked it for a moment with apparent relish, then placed it upright on the parchment, where it stood balanced on its point, quivering slightly.

"Testing... my name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter."

Charlie looked down quickly at the quill. The moment Rita Skeeter had spoken, the green quill had started to scribble, skidding across the parchment:

Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, who's savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations -

"Lovely," said Rita, and she ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her handbag. She leaned toward the boy and said, "So, Charlie... what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Uh -" Charlie said softly, but he was distracted by the quill. Even though he wasn't speaking, it was dashing across the parchment, and in its wake he could make out a fresh sentence:

Sad brown eyes, a reminder of his mother's tragic death, is the only thing that disfigures Charlie Hawthorne's otherwise charming face -

"Ignore the quill, Charlie," said Rita Skeeter firmly. Reluctantly, the boy looked up at her instead. "Now - why did you decide to enter the tournament?"

"I didn't," Charlie said, calmly. "I don't know how my name got into the Goblet of Fire. I didn't put it in there."

Rita Skeeter raised one heavily penciled eyebrow.

"Come now, Charlie, there's no need to be scared of getting into trouble. We all know you shouldn't really have entered at all, but don't worry about that! Our readers love a rebel."

"But I didn't enter," Charlie repeated. "I don't know who -"

"How do you feel about the tasks ahead?" said Rita Skeeter, cutting him off. "Excited? Nervous?"

"I haven't thought much of it... yeah, nervous, I suppose," Charlie said softly, his insides squirmed uncomfortably as he spoke.

"Champions have died in the past, haven't they?" said Rita Skeeter briskly. "Have you thought about that at all?"

Charlie coughed, taken aback by the bluntness of the question, "Well... they say it's going to be a lot safer this year, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't worry me slightly."

The quill whizzed across the parchment between them, back and forward as though it were skating.

"Of course, you've looked death in the face before, haven't you? After your encounter with the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets?" said Rita Skeeter, watching him closely. "How would you say that's affected you?"

"Uh," said Charlie, yet again; what did that have to do with anything? How did she even know about the Chamber of Secrets?

"Do you think that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? That way you can live up to the name of your father? Or honour your dead mother? Do you think that perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because -"

"I didn't enter," Charlie said again, starting to feel irritated.

"Can you remember your mother at all?" said Rita Skeeter, talking over him.

Charlie gulped, "N-no - but what's that got to do with anything?"

"How do you think she'd feel if she knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?"

Charlie was feeling really annoyed now. How on earth was he to know how his mother would feel if she were alive? He could feel Rita Skeeter watching him very intently. Frowning, he avoided her gaze and hooked down at words the quill had just written:

Tears fill those deep brown eyes as our conversation turns to the mother that he can barely remember -

"I do NOT have tears in my eyes!" Charlie spoke loudly, "and I'll be damned if I'm going to sit here, and allow you to throw my mother's death in my face, or even worse, exploit it for your own personal gain!"

Before Rita Skeeter could say another word, Charlie got up and pulled the door of the broom cupboard open. The faces of the other champions and Ludo Bagman fell upon him as he exited.

To which, he simply huffed, and said, "Who would like to go next?"

After what felt like hours of interviews, photos, and the wand-weighing, Charlie was relieved and remarkably pleased with himself that he had gotten through the day without breaking something out of frustration.

----------------

A few days had passed, and Charlie sat lake-side with Harry and Neville, trying to forget the commotion that was building from the first task approaching.

Charlie was skipping rocks to clear his head. He took a rock into his hand, swished it back, and flicked it onto the lake, watching closely as it skipped across the water. Then, he did it again.

Harry had perched himself up by nearby tree, reading a book that Neville had given him, while Neville stood in the shallow of the lake, his pants rolled as he scooped out different types of coral and plants from the lakebed.

"Amazing," Neville gasped as he thoroughly examined a random plant he had picked up.

"Neville," Charlie scolded, as he threw another rock, "you're doing it again, mate."

"Oh," Neville frowned slightly; this had been the fifth time he had got lost in fascination. "Right, sorry."

Charlie laughed slightly as Harry spoke from the behind him, holding the book up to Neville, "Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean?"

"Yeah," Neville beamed, "Moody gave it to me. We had tea after class a couple of days ago."

"You had tea," Charlie raised a brow, stifling a laugh, "with Professor Moody? The same Professor Moody that teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

"Yeah," Neville laughed, "Can you believe that?"

"No, absolutely not -"

"Charlie," Harry called, causing the brown eyed boy to turn around to follow his friend's gaze.

To Charlie's surprise, Ginny and Hermione were walking towards them with a rather sullen-looking Ron. Locking eyes briefly, Ron, Charlie and Harry registered the presence of one another before Ron whispered something to Hermione.

Exasperated, Hermione moved even closer towards them causing Charlie to jump at the opportunity, and move over next to Harry; he thought she might actually be willing to talk with him.

"Ronald would like me to tell you," she began, causing Charlie to frown slightly; she wasn't there to talk to him, "that Seamus told him that Dean was told by Parvati that Hagrid's looking for the two of you."

"Is that right?" Harry said coldly, peering over Hermione's shoulder at Ron before processing the information, "Wait, what?"

Harry looked at Charlie for help, but the brown eyed boy was just as confused as his friend was.

Hermione sighed, "Parvati told Dean to tell Ronald" - she gave up half way through and shook her head - "please don't ask me to say it again. Hagrid's looking for the two of you."

As Hermione turned away, Harry spoke up once again, "Well, you can tell Ron -"

The bushy haired girl whipped back around, angrily, "I'm not an owl!"

Charlie was fascinated at Hermione's outburst as she returned back to Ginny and Ron, and walked back the way they came without saying another word.

Harry was taken aback; he hadn't expected her to react like that, but Charlie simply laughed at his reaction.

"She's not an owl," he mimicked before he turned back to Neville who was still gawking at plants in the lake.

"Look at this! It's amazing!"

---------------

At half past eleven that evening, Harry and Charlie, pulled the Invisibility Cloak over themselves and crept back downstairs through the common room. They crept past a few students, went out through the Fat Lady portrait, and set off through the castle.

The grounds were very dark. Harry and Charlie walked down the lawn toward the lights shining in Hagrid's cabin. The inside of the enormous Beauxbatons carriage was also lit up; Harry and Charlie could hear Madame Maxime talking inside it as they knocked on Hagrid's front door.

"You there, Harry? Char?" Hagrid whispered, opening the door and looking around.

"Yeah, we're here," said Harry, as they slipped inside the cabin and pulled the cloak down off of their heads. "What's up?"

"Got summthin' ter show yeh," said Hagrid.

There was an air of enormous excitement about Hagrid. He was wearing a flower that resembled an oversized artichoke on his jacket. It looked as though he had abandoned the use of axle grease, attempting to comb his hair.

"What're you showing us?" Charlie said warily, wondering if the skrewts had laid eggs, or Hagrid had managed to buy another giant three-headed dog off a stranger in a pub.

"Come with me, keep quiet, an' keep yerselves covered with that cloak," said Hagrid. "We won' take Fang, he won' like it..."

"Listen, Hagrid, we can't stay long... we've got to be back up at the castle -"

But Hagrid wasn't listening; he was opening the cabin door and striding off into the night. Harry and Charlie hurried to follow and found, to their great surprise, that Hagrid was leading them to the Beauxbatons carriage.

"Hagrid, what - ?"

"Shhh!" said Hagrid, and he knocked three times on the carriage door.

Madame Maxime opened it, smiling when she saw Hagrid, "Ah, 'Agrid... it is time?"

"Bong-sewer," said Hagrid, beaming at her, and holding out a hand to help her down the golden steps.

"What?" Harry whispered to Charlie, "What the bloody hell is bong-sewer?"

Charlie had to stifle a laugh as he whispered, "I think he meant 'bonjour'."

Madame Maxime closed the door behind her, Hagrid offered her his arm, and they set off around the edge of the paddock containing Madame Maxime's giant winged horses, with Harry and Charlie, totally bewildered, running to keep up with them.

It seemed that Madame Maxime was in for the same treat as the young Gryffindors, because after a while she said playfully, "Wair is it you are taking me, 'Agrid?"

"Yeh'll enjoy this," said Hagrid gruffly, "worth seein', trust me. On'y - don' go tellin' anyone I showed yeh, right? Yeh're not s'posed ter know."

"Of course not," said Madame Maxime, fluttering her long black eyelashes.

And still they walked, Harry and Charlie getting more and more irritated as they jogged along in their wake.

But then - when they had walked so far around the perimeter of the forest that the castle and the lake were out of sight - Charlie heard something.

Men were shouting up ahead... then came a deafening, earsplitting roar...

Hagrid led Madame Maxime around a clump of trees and came to a halt. Harry and Charlie hurried up alongside them - for a split second, they both thought they were seeing bonfires - and then both of their mouths fell open simultaneously.

Dragons.

Four fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing onto their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting - torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks. There was a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground; a smooth-scaled green one, which was writhing and stamping with all its might; a red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, which was shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the air; and a gigantic black one, more lizard-like than the others, which was nearest to them.

At least thirty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, were attempting to control them, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs. Mesmerized, Charlie looked up, high above him, and saw the eyes of the black dragon, with vertical pupils like a cat's, bulging with either fear or rage, he couldn't tell which... It was making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching scream...

"Is'n' it beautiful?" said Hagrid softly.

"This is a Hungarian Horntail," whispered Charlie. "There's a Common Welsh Green over there, the smaller one - a Swedish Short-Snout, that blue-gray - and a Chinese Fireball, that's the red."

"How do you know that?" Harry whispered, slightly astonished.

"After spending a summer with Jack Weasley," Charlie laughed softly, "I'm surprised you don't know that."

Charlie looked around; Madame Maxime was strolling away around the edge of the enclosure, gazing at the stunned dragons. That was when Harry had removed the cloak from both of their heads.

"Dragons?!" he whispered towards Hagrid, "That's the first task?"

"What's up with you and Madame Maxime?" Charlie raised a playful brow, ignoring Harry's exasperated state.

"Jus' thought she'd like ter see 'em," shrugged Hagrid, still gazing, enraptured, at the dragons.

"Really romantic date, Hagrid," said Charlie, shaking his head, with a slight laugh.

"No' a date," Hagrid defended, "thought it'd be nice fer her to see 'em, Karkaroff has 'ready, the sneaky bugger!"

"Karkaroff's seen them?" Charlie furrowed his brows, "Is that even allowed?"

"That's why Hagrid's showing us," Harry explained, "we all know now... we're on an even footing."

"There's four..." said Hagrid, referring to the dragons, "one fer each o' the champions. Bes' be learnin' how to figh' one of the damn things off, I reckon."

"Great," muttered Charlie, "so much for things being safer this year..."

---------------

As Charlie and Harry reached the castle, slipped in through the front doors, and began to climb the marble stairs; they were very out of breath. When they got into the common room, Harry pulled off the invisibility cloak, and Charlie looked around to see the entire room deserted, much to his surprise.

A chill breeze was coming in from the open window, and the only sound heard throughout the room was the cackling of the fireplace which -

Sssssss!

Charlie and Harry shared a confused glance as they moved over to the fireplace, which was spewing out sparks and sizzling hastily. Then, slowly the flames began to mutate, moulding themselves into the face of none other than Sirius Black.

"Sirius!" Harry gasped, completely astonished, "What - how - ?"

"We're wizards, Harry," Sirius joked, causing his face to crumble like ash, only to then reform, "We do this kind of thing."

Sirius surveyed the room, looking from Harry to Charlie, "So, Triwizard Champions. Congratulations."

Charlie grimaced, "Thanks, I guess."

"How are you two doing?" Sirius asked curiously.

"We're..." Harry trailed off, he was going to say, we're fine, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words.

Instead, he told his godfather everything. From him and Charlie's names being pulled from the Goblet, to Ron not believing them, to the badges, to the wand-weighing; everything.

"...and now Hagrid's just shown Charlie and I what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons, Sirius, and I'm a goner," he finished desperately.

Sirius looked at him, eyes full of concern, eyes that had not yet lost the look that Azkaban had given them - that deadened, haunted look, "Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we'll get to that in a minute - I haven't got long here... I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you two about."

"What?" said Harry, feeling his spirits slip a further few notches... Surely there could be nothing worse than dragons coming?

"Karkaroff," Sirius said simply. "He was a Death Eater - you know what Death Eaters are, don't you?"

"Yes, of course," Charlie said, puzzled, "but what? Karkaroff's a Death Eater?"

Sirius nodded bitterly, "He was released from Azkaban. He made a deal with the Ministry, he said he'd seen the error of his ways, and then he named names... he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place... He's not very popular in there, I can tell you, and since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well."

"Okay," said Harry slowly. "But... are you saying Karkaroff put our names in the Goblet? Because if he did, he's a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop us from competing."

"Wait, wait," Charlie furrowed his brows, "If Karkaroff is a Death Eater, and he put our names in the Goblet of Fire... does that mean You-Know-Who knows about the tournament? Is that what you're insinuating? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?"

"I don't know," said Sirius slowly, "I just don't know... Karkaroff doesn't strike me as the type who'd go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your names in that Goblet did it for a reason, and I can't help thinking that the tournament would be a very good way to attack, only to then, make it look like an accident. You two must be careful -"

Then suddenly, both Harry and Charlie held up a hand to silence him, their hearts pounding as though they would burst. They could hear footsteps coming down the spiral staircase behind them.

"Go!" Harry hissed at Sirius. "Go! There's someone coming!"

There was a tiny popping sound from the fire, and Sirius had gone instantly. Charlie turned and watched the bottom of the spiral staircase.

It was Ron.

Dressed in his maroon paisley pajamas, Ron stopped dead facing Harry and Charlie across the room, and looked around.

"Who were you talking to?" he said, looking slightly annoyed.

Charlie was quick to say, "Who says we were talking to anyone?"

"What's that got to do with you, anyways?" Harry snarled. "What are you doing down here at this time of night?"

"I just wondered where you -" Ron broke off, shrugging. "Nothing. I'm going back to bed."

With that, he turned back around, walked up the stairs, and didn't say another word.

"Right foul git," Harry muttered, "thanks to him, Sirius never told us how to get passed the dragons."

Charlie sighed, thinking for a moment, until suddenly, an idea formed in his head.

"Harry," he said, causing his friend to look at him, "you always said that flying was your favourite thing to do, right?"

"Well, yeah? What's that got to do with -"

"What if you had your broom in the arena?" Charlie said excitedly, cutting his friend off.

"We're not allowed anything but our wands -"

"Exactly!" Charlie said a little too loudly, "use your wand then! Summon a broom!"

Harry's eyes lit up as he seemed to understand. The Summoning Spell; that was the game plan.

"That's brilliant!" he said, beaming, "but - what about you? We can't use the same strategy."

"Oh, I won't be need a broom," Charlie smiled, "after our little chat with the big, friendly dog," - he said, referring to Sirius, causing Harry to laugh - "I have a strategy that I think could work."

Without further questioning, Harry nodded. The two young Gryffindor champions seemed to be ready to conquer the First Task in the Triwizard Tournament.

---------------

The day of the First Task, Charlie had gotten dressed in his black and scarlet clothes that displayed his last name on the back. With his wand, holstered on his belt, he was as ready as he was ever going to be.

He made his way to the meeting pointing where Professor McGonagall was standing, waiting for him. She lead him towards the place where the dragons were, around the edge of the forest, but when they approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, Charlie saw that a tent had been erected, its entrance facing them, screening the dragons from view.

On the outskirts of the enclosure, were hundreds and hundreds of chairs; ready for the show. Majority of his friends were in the crowd; Dean, Neville, Seamus, and Ron stood together looking down on him, Ron was the only one without a smile; Romilda Vane and her group of Charlie Hawthorne fangirls had gone as far as to make banners and signs; and then, there was Elaina Dumont, who stared at him upon his arrival.

They hadn't talked much, as Charlie was too preoccupied with the First Task, but nonetheless, she winked at him, and mouthed, "Good Luck."

He smiled slightly as he set off towards the tent. In front of it, however, stood many news reporters waiting to get quick minute interview with any of the champions. Charlie, who was planning on walking right past all of them, was stopped when his father had emerged from the tent, pulled him close, and addressed the crowd with a wide smile.

"My son," Fenwick bellowed, "shall be making history today as he competes in his First Task - there is no fear in my mind, that he'll do fantastic as he is, my son, after all!"

Charlie rolled his eyes before slipping out of his father's embrace, refusing to partake in his 'perfect' image facade.

As he entered the tent, Charlie glanced around. 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, which Charlie guessed was his way of showing nerves. Harry was pacing up and down, but when he noticed his friend, he gave him a small smile, which Charlie returned.

Each of them had a designated corner of the tent. Charlie took his corner, pacing back and forth slightly, his nerves kicking in, but that's when he heard it -

"Pssst, Charlie!"

The boy looked around, slightly confused, before witnessing the back flap of the ten move slightly. As he approached it, the voice spoke again, and he immediately recognized it.

"Charlie," Hermione Granger said nervously, as they stood next to one another, separated by a single sheet of cloth, "How are you feeling? Are you okay?"

Charlie sighed contently; her voice was exactly what he needed to hear in order to calm his nerves - god, how he missed her voice in the days they weren't talking.

"Yeah..." he said slowly, "I'm okay."

Hermione nodded as if to convince herself that he was telling the truth, "The key is to concentrate, after that you just need to -"

Charlie laughed slightly, trying to remove the worry from her voice, "Battle a dragon."

Then, overcome with emotion, Hermione couldn't help herself. She pushed back the cloth that was separating them, and threw her arms around him in a tight hug; she wanted him to know, that in this moment, she couldn't care less about their arguments - she just wanted to hold him and tell him everything was going to be okay.

But before she could even get the words out -

FLASH!

Rita Skeeter had entered the tent, followed by a photographer, who was grinning widely at the shot he had just captured of Charlie and Hermione.

"Ah, young love," Rita said with a smirk, "how stirring! If things go unfortunately tonight, you two might even make the front page!"

Charlie and Hermione pulled away at her words, and simply sent Rita a glare for ruining the moment.

"You haff no business 'ere!" said a strong accent, "Dis is for de champions! And deir... friends!"

Everyone turned slightly, and were shocked to see that Viktor Krum could actually speak. Rita Skeeter surveyed Krum, before looking between him, Charlie, and Hermione with a slight smirk.

"No matter," she smiled devilishly, "we got exactly what we needed anyway."

Then, as she went to exit the tent, Dumbledore, Igor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Barty Crouch, and Ludo Bagman switched places with her.

"Good evening champions!" Dumbledore addressed as Charlie, Harry, Fleur, and Viktor assembled in a semi-circle before him.

Without drawing too much attention to it, Hermione had slipped her hand into Charlie's as he joined the other champions; just to let him know that she was still with him.

"You've waited," Dumbledore continued, "you've wondered, and now, the moment has come. A moment only you four can appreciate. Which begs the question," - he turned to Hermione with a slight smirk as he glanced down to his grandson's hand interlocked with hers - "what're you doing here, Miss Granger?"

"Oh," Hermione said slightly taken aback after being singled out, "Sorry, I'll - just go, I guess."

She gave Charlie's hand one last squeeze and released his hand before stepping out of the tent, heading towards the audience.

"Well, now its time to fill you in!" chimed Bagman brightly. "The audience has assembled, and now, 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 then - it seemed like about a second later to Charlie - Bagman was opening the neck of the purple silk sack.

"Ladies first," he said, offering 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 and Charlie knew, by the fact that Fleur showed no sign of surprise, but rather a determined resignation, that Madame Maxime had told her what was coming.

The same held true for Krum. He pulled out the blueish-gray Swedish Short-Snout. It had a number three around its neck. He didn't even blink, just sat back down and stared at the ground.

Charlie put his hand into the bag, and out came the scarlet Chinese Fireball, the number one tied around its neck - oh Merlin, why did he have to be first?

Knowing what was left, Harry put his hand into the silk bag and pulled out the Hungarian Horntail, and the number four. It stretched its wings as he looked down at it, and bared its minuscule fangs.

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

Charlie nodded reluctantly, and the small crowd dispersed. His grandfather had given him a few words of encouragement before he left and Harry had sent his friend a reassuring glance before he went back to his corner of the tent. The brown eyed boy took his position at the entrance to the arena, awaiting the beginning of the task.

Then, as if on cue, the whistle had blown.

Charlie walked out through the entrance of the tent, the panic rising into a crescendo inside him. Looking back into the tent once more, he gulped as he stepped out into the enclosure.

He saw everything in front of him as though it was a very highly colored dream. There were hundreds and hundreds of faces staring down at him, awaiting his next move.

And there it was; the Fireball, at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her evil, yellow eyes upon him, a monstrous, scaly, red lizard, thrashing her tail. The crowd was making a great deal of noise, but whether friendly or not, Charlie didn't know or care. It was time to do what he had to do... to focus his mind, entirely and absolutely, upon the thing that was his only chance.

Without making any noise to alert the beast of his whereabouts, Charlie slowly moved down among the rocks below him. He unholstered his wand and pointed it at a nearby rock, yelling, "Canis Ad Petram!"

(A/N: there is no incantation for this spell, so this is just Latin for 'rock to dog' lmfao)

Charlie waited, every fiber of him hoping, praying... He seemed to be looking at everything around him through some sort of shimmering, transparent barrier, like a heat haze, which made the enclosure and the hundreds of faces around him swim strangely...

That's when he heard it, running around behind him; the loud barking of an adorable Labrador acting hysterical. The crowd was making even more noise... Bagman was shouting something... but Charlie's ears were not working properly anymore... the crowd wasn't as important as the loud, bone-chilling, footsteps of the Fireball coming towards him.

Knowing it was coming, Charlie slowly moved back around the rock that he jumped down on, awaiting the perfect opportunity; he knew that the dog wasn't going to distract the dragon for long, so he had to think of something quickly.

Looking around, he spotted the clutch of eggs perched on top of a rock in the centre of the arena, unguarded. Smiling slightly, Charlie looked around for the Fireball before he saw it trampling after the Labrador - this was the perfect moment, but his idea was absolutely barking mad.

Carefully, Charlie climbed on top of the rock that was right above where the dragon and dog were running amuck. Just like with the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, Charlie moved back slightly to give himself a running start before he leapt off the rock, landing directly on the back of the Chinese Fireball as it chased after the dog below him.

The crowd roared with applause as the boy situated himself on the back of the dragon. Then, as if on cue, the Labrador stopped and transformed itself back into the rock it once was. It was worse than Charlie could ever have imagined, sitting there and listening. The crowd screamed... yelled... gasped like a single many-headed entity, as the boy did whatever he was doing to get past the dragon.

Nonetheless, he set his sights on the Golden Egg once again. He soared upward on the back of the dragon, wind rushing through his face, the crowd's faces became mere flesh-colored blobs below, and the Fireball didn't seem so bad as he now took control of it. He realized that he had not only left the ground behind, but also his fear...

He knew he didn't have long before the Fireball started to get irritated with him on her back, so he made the most of the time he had left. Charlie dived, the Fireball moving at his command. He steered the dragon around the arena, but the difficulty derived from the dragon's sudden resistance; she had now come to realize what was happening.

The Chinese Fireball was thrashing back and forth, trying to throw Charlie off of its back, but the boy held on for dear life. The spikes located on the top of the Fireball's head were digging deep into the boy's hands and face as he was thrown around. He could practically hear the squeals and gasps of Hermione from the stands.

"Come on," Charlie hissed, holding on tightly; disregarding the immense pain he was in, "come on, just a little closer you great brute!"

Then, as Charlie reached as close to the eggs as possible, he removed one hand slowly, trying to reach out, but it was no use; he couldn't grab it from that distance. Thinking quickly, Charlie grabbed hold of his wand once again, gripping it firmly in his right hand, as his left held himself steady on the dragon.

He had to act quickly, so in the next instance, he rose to his feet slightly, crouching on the beast's back, trying not to lose his balance.

Then, he let go -

In a record speed, he stood up, ran down the back of the dragon, leapt off towards the eggs, and grabbed the Golden Egg while he was suspended in mid-air. With the egg in hand, Charlie was heading for the ground fast, so he quickly pointed his wand at himself and shouted, "Levioso!"

Right as he was about to splatter himself onto the hard rock, his body levitated bout two inches off of the ground, holding him safely in place before he was able to land on his feet. Then, for one final show-off trick, he barrel-rolled out of the way of the irritated dragon blowing a mushroom-shaped fire cloud in his direction. Despite the fire hitting the side of his leg slightly, he landed back on the mark in which he had started.

Charlie raised the egg in the air victoriously, after patting the flames off of his leg, and it was as though somebody had just turned the volume back up - for the first time, he became properly aware of the noise of the crowd, which was screaming and applauding as loudly as the Irish supporters at the World Cup -

(A/N: supportive girlfriend goals, honestly)

"Look at that!" Bagman was yelling. "Will you look at that! Charlie Hawthorne gets his egg in a record-breaking ten minutes! He's done it! What a spectacle! That'll be incredibly hard to beat!"

Charlie saw the dragon keepers rushing forward to subdue the Fireball, and, over at the entrance to the enclosure, Professor McGonagall, Professor Moody, and Hagrid hurrying to meet him, all of them waving him toward them, their smiles evident even from this distance. He ran back over the stands, the noise of the crowd pounding his eardrums, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks... he had got through the first task - he had survived!

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Author's Note:
*this chapter was not proof read*

Phew! That chapter took longer than expected! But I hope you enjoyed nonetheless!

First task is done! I'd get excited... because we all know what comes in between task one and task two... 👀

More chapters coming tomorrow! Hope to see you then!

Much love to you all, until next time ❤️

xo, Selena