The Fairness of the Scores
Harry
Harry had been very scared indeed, not only for himself, but also for Charles. He, of course, had many strategies up his sleeve, but he wasn't sure how prepared his brother was. Charles had refused his help, saying that he already knew what to do, but he could've been saying that to get Harry off his back, or to appear as competent as the elders (not that he wasn't competent in the first place).
It was even more horrible that Charles got the Hungarian Horntail. It was like all the Potter luck in their family had been given to Charles in the highest amount. Even Harry didn't get into as much trouble as his little brother!
Harry wished he'd gotten the Horntail instead, but there was nothing he could do... besides, the Chinese Fireball was considered just as dangerous as the Horntail, if not more, so maybe it was a good thing he'd not gotten the Horntail... he'd hate to see his brother fried to a crisp.
Talks aside, he was quite proud to say he did very well indeed. Harry had already used fire-repelling charms on his clothes, and then he used water-shields whenever the Fireball spit out balls of fire. The water shielding charm was very advanced, and slightly obscure, so he was cheered on for it a lot, which was exhilarating. Then, making use of all the dodging skills he possessed, and also keeping his shield up at all times, Harry neared the nest that the poor dragon had tried to protect, and scooped up the egg.
Unfortunately, in his sense of triumph, he got reckless. Being less careful, Harry was unable to dodge the massive nail that scratched him in the hand as he was leaving, leading to much bleeding. With a jolt of immense pain, Harry was at least able to get himself away at time, to the medical tent.
Madam Pomfrey seemed very worried as she pulled Harry inside.
“Dragons!” she said, in a disgusted tone. The tent was divided into cubicles, and Harry was led behind a curtain. Madam Pomfrey examined Harry’s arm, talking furiously all the while. “Last year dementors, this year dragons, what are they going to bring into this school next? Oh my, dear, this is slightly deep, I'd say... it’ll need cleaning before I heal it up, and you'll have to take potions..."
She cleaned the cut with a dab of some purple liquid that smoked and stung something very bad. Harry squeaked a little in pain, and she poked his arm with her wand. Harry felt it heal slowly.
"Now, you can go and get your score, but then come back here and sit for awhile, lay down, in fact."
Harry nodded and bustled out of the tent. He was greeted immediately by the rest of the Prowlers.
"You were magnificent!" Jéricho howled with laughter. Adrian patted him on the back, and Cedric gave him a beaming grin. Sera hugged him, mindful of his shoulder. "You're so bloody reckless, Harry! How's the shoulder?"
"Not too deep," Harry lied. "Pompfrey wants me back after I get my score."
"Then let's have them, shall we?" Adrian said, and they walked towards the enclosure. The judges were all seated at the other end, in high seats draped in gold.
Madame Maxime for the first to raise her wand in the air, and a long silver ribbon shot out of it, twisting itself into a large figure nine.
Everyone burst into loud cheers and Harry grinned as Adrian whistled. "Arm, mate."
Mr. Crouch was next, and he shot a number nine into the air, too. “Brilliant!” Jéricho yelled, thumping Harry on the back. Next, Dumbledore put up a nine, too. The crowd cheered harder than ever as Ludo Bagman also awarded him a nine. Karkaroff went last, giving Harry a grudging seven.
"Forty-bloody-three!" Cedric cried, jumping up and down in the air.
Charles
When Charles got to the tent after enduring praises from McGonagall, Hagrid, and Moody, Madam Pompfrey fussed over his injured shoulder. Harry, who had been lying on a bed behind a curtain with Jéricho and Serafina near him, came out to beam at Charles. "Thank you, brother, for not dying. Otherwise mum would've flayed me alive."
Charles just rolled his eyes at Harry, and ignored Madam Pompfrey's command to sit down, too full of adrenaline. He got to his feet, wanting to see what was going on outside, but before he reached the mouth of the tent, four people came darting inside — their parents, followed closely by Sirius and Remus.
"Oh my god!" Lily gushed, hugging the living daylights out of Charles, and then doing the same to Harry, who grumbled in protest. "My babies! Are you both alright? Shoulder fine, Charles? And your arm, Harry?"
"We're fine, mum," Harry assured their worried mother.
"You were great out there, both of you," James grinned. "Seems like you take after your old man, Charles. I'd have used my broom in your place, too."
"It was stupid," Sirius rolled his eyes. "Outflying a dragon, Merlin, what were you thinking?!"
Remus snorted. "At least you pulled it off, Charles, though I agree with Sirius, for once. It was a hell of a risk."
"James' blood," Sirius said, his right eye twitching.
"Oh shut it, the lot of you," Lily commanded. "Don't you dare agitate the kids... they need rest!"
"I need to get my scores in a minute, mum," Charles reminded Lily.
James grinned. "Yes, well, at least Harry's free to lay down..." Harry shot his father a glare.
Sirius winked at his godson. "Congrats by the way, on getting the highest marks, mate."
"Charles could still beat him," Remus said mildly.
That was when Hermione and Ron entered the tent, and immediately Hermione exclaimed, "Oh, sorry-!"
"It's alright, dear," Lily said gently. "We were just leaving..."
And so the tent cleared off until it was just Charles, Hermione, and Ron.
“Charles, you were brilliant!” Hermione squeaked. There were fingernail marks on her face where she had been clutching it in fear. “You were amazing! You really were!”
But Charles was looking at Ron, who was very white and staring at Charles as though he were a ghost.
“Mate,” he said, very seriously, “whoever put your name in that goblet — I — I reckon they’re trying to do you in!”
It was as though the last few weeks had never happened — as though Charles were meeting Ron for the first time, right after he’d been made champion.
“Caught on, have you?” Charles said coldly. “Took you long enough.”
Hermione stood nervously between them, looking from one to the other. Ron opened his mouth uncertainly. Charles knew Ron was about to apologize and suddenly he found he didn’t need to hear it.
“It’s okay,” he said before Ron could get the words out. “Forget it.”
“No,” said Ron, “I shouldn’t’ve-”
“Forget it,” Charles insisted.
Ron grinned nervously at him, and Charles grinned back. Hermione burst into tears.
“There’s nothing to cry about!” Charles told her, bewildered.
“You two are so stupid!” she shouted, stamping her foot on the ground, tears splashing down her front. Then, before either of them could stop her, she had given both of them a hug and dashed away, now positively howling.
“Barking mad,” said Ron, shaking his head. “Charles, c’mon, they’ll be putting up your scores...”
Picking up the golden egg and his Firebolt, feeling more elated than he would have believed possible an hour ago, Charles ducked out of the tent, Ron by his side, talking fast.
“You were great, you know. Harry's the best yet, he did this cool thing where he created a water shield, but he got reckless in the end, because while he did get the egg, he got scratched in the arm. He's got forty-three points, in the lead. And that Fleur girl tried this sort of charm, I think she was trying to put it into a trance — well, that kind of worked, it went all sleepy, but then it snored, and this great jet of flame shot out, and her skirt caught fire — she put it out with a bit of water out of her wand. And Krum — you won’t believe this, but he didn’t even think of flying! In second place with forty points... Hit it with some sort of spell right in the eye. Only thing is, it went trampling around in agony and squashed half the real eggs — they took marks off for that, he wasn’t supposed to do any damage to them.”
Ron drew breath as he and Charles reached the edge of the enclosure. Now that the Horntail had been taken away, Charles could see where the five judges were sitting — right at the other end, in raised seats draped in gold.
“It’s marks out of ten from each one,” Ron said, and Charles, squinting up the field, saw the first judge — Madame Maxime — raise her wand in the air. What looked like a long silver ribbon shot out of it, which twisted itself into a large figure eight.
“Not bad!” said Ron as the crowd applauded. “I suppose she took marks off for your shoulder...”
Mr. Crouch came next. He shot a number nine into the air. “Looking good!” Ron yelled, whooping. Next, Dumbledore. He too put up a nine. The crowd was cheering harder than ever. Ludo Bagman — ten.
“Ten?” said Charles in disbelief. “But I got hurt... What’s he playing at?”
“Charles, don’t complain!” Ron yelled excitedly.
And now Karkaroff raised his wand. He paused for a moment, and then a number shot out of his wand too — four.
"What?” Ron bellowed furiously. “Four? You lousy, biased scumbag, you gave Krum ten!”
But Charles didn’t care, he wouldn’t have cared if Karkaroff had given him zero; Ron’s indignation on his behalf was worth about a hundred points to him. He didn’t tell Ron this, of course, but his heart felt lighter than air as he turned to leave the enclosure. And it wasn’t just Ron... those weren’t only Gryffindors cheering in the crowd. When it had come to it, when they had seen what he was facing, most of the school had been on his side as well as Harry’s...
“You’re tied in second place, Charles! You and Krum!” said Charlie Weasley, hurrying to meet them as they set off back toward the school. “Listen, I’ve got to run, I’ve got to go and send Mum an owl, I swore I’d tell her what happened — but that was unbelievable! Oh yeah — and they told me to tell you you’ve got to hang around for a few more minutes... Bagman wants a word, back in the champions’ tent.”
Ron said he would wait, so Charles reentered the tent, which somehow looked quite different now: friendly and welcoming. He thought back to how he’d felt while dodging the Horntail, and compared it to the long wait before he’d walked out to face it... There was no comparison; the wait had been immeasurably worse.
Harry, Fleur, and Krum all came in together.
“Well done, all of you!” said Ludo Bagman, bouncing into the tent and looking as pleased as though he personally had just got past a dragon. “Now, just a quick few words. You’ve got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth — but we’re giving you something to think about in the meantime! If you look down at those golden eggs you’re all holding, you will see that they open... see the hinges there? You need to solve the clue inside the egg — because it will tell you what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Sure? Well, off you go, then!”
Charles left the tent, rejoined Ron, and they started to walk back around the edge of the forest, talking hard; Charles wanted to hear what the other champions had done in more detail. Then, as they rounded the clump of trees behind which Charles had first heard the dragons roar, a witch leapt out from behind them.
It was Rita Skeeter. She was wearing acid-green robes today; the Quick-Quotes Quill in her hand blended perfectly against them.
“Congratulations, Charles!” she said, beaming at him. “I wonder if you could give me a quick word? How you felt facing that dragon? How you feel now, about the fairness of the scoring?”
“Yeah, you can have a word,” Charles scowled savagely. “Good-bye.”
And he set off back to the castle with Ron.