They're Alright, Dragons
Harry
Harry went up to the Owlery that evening to find Hedwig, so that he could send Regulus letter telling him that he had managed to get past his dragon unscathed, even though he probably would have gotten the news.
He had to admit he was extremely relieved to finally be alone. Since the first task had ended, Harry hadn't been able to have a single quiet moment to himself. He was always surrounded by the Prowlers, or his fellow Gryffindor mates, or crazy fans. Celeste had given him a very enthusiastic congratulations earlier, but she'd seen him after that, busy dealing with her own Beaubaton friends.
As he was coming down from the owlery, a hand grasped his from behind him. He stopped immediately and a shiver ran down his spine as he heard Celeste's voice, sounding slightly breathy. “Harry.”
“Celeste!” Harry turned around. “What's up? Your friends finally let you breath?”
Celeste grinned. “Oh yeah... Actually...”
And then Celeste was snogging him, or maybe he was snogging her, and she was leading him towards the nearest cupboard.
Oh, was it a long night.
Charles
The Gryffindor common room exploded with cheers and yells when Charles entered with Ron and Hermione at his side. There were mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer on every surface; Lee had let off some Filibuster’s Fireworks, so that the air was thick with stars and sparks; and Dean and Bianca, who were both very good at drawing, had put up some impressive new banners, most of which either depicted Charles zooming around the Horntail’s head on his Firebolt, or Harry battling with the dragon.
Charles helped himself to food; he had almost forgotten what it was like to feel properly hungry, and sat down with Ron and Hermione. He couldn’t believe how happy he felt; he had Ron back on his side, he’d gotten through the first task, and he wouldn’t have to face the second one for three months.
He wanted Bianca to sit with him too - after all that she'd done for him, he considered her one of his best friends as well. But she seemed to be a bit too busy partying with others to bother sitting with them.
“Where's Harry?” Charles suddenly asked, noticing that his brother wasn't anywhere to be seen.
Fred shrugged. “Not here yet. Probably celebrating with his mates and girlfriend.”
“Blimey, this is heavy,” Lee observed, picking up the golden egg which Charles had left on a table, and weighing it in his hands.
“Open it, Charles, go on! Let’s just see what’s inside it!”
“He’s supposed to work out the clue on his own,” Hermione said swiftly. “It’s in the tournament rules...”
“I was supposed to work out how to get past the dragon on my own too,” Charles muttered, so only Hermione could hear him, and she grinned rather guiltily.
“Yeah, go on, Charles, open it!” several people echoed.
Lee passed Charles the egg, who dug his fingernails into the groove that ran all the way around it and prised it open.
It was hollow and completely empty — but the moment Charles opened it, the most horrible noise, a loud and screechy wailing, filled the room. The nearest thing to it Charles had ever heard was the ghost orchestra at Nearly Headless Nick’s deathday party, who had all been playing the musical saw.
“Shut it!” Fred bellowed, his hands over his ears.
“What was that?” Bianca stared at the egg as Charles slammed it shut again. “Sounded like a banshee... Maybe you’ve got to get past one of those next!”
“It was someone being tortured!” said Neville, who had gone very white and spilled sausage rolls all over the floor. “You’re going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!”
“Don’t be a prat, Neville, that’s illegal,” said George. “They wouldn’t use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions. I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing... maybe you’ve got to attack him while he’s in the shower, Charles.”
“Want a jam tart, Hermione?” said Fred.
Hermione looked doubtfully at the plate he was offering her.
Fred grinned. “It’s all right. I haven’t done anything to them. It’s the custard creams you’ve got to watch —”
Neville, who had just bitten into a custard cream, choked and spat it out. Fred laughed. “Just my little joke, Neville...”
Hermione took a jam tart. Then she said, “Did you get all this from the kitchens, Fred?”
“Yep,” said Fred, grinning at her. He put on a high-pitched squeak and imitated a house-elf. “‘Anything we can get you, sir, anything at all!’ They’re dead helpful... get me a roast ox if I said I was peckish.”
“How do you get in there?” Hermione said in an innocently casual sort of voice.
“Easy,” said Fred, “concealed door behind a painting of a bowl of fruit. Just tickle the pear, and it giggles and —” He stopped and looked suspiciously at her. “Why?”
“Nothing,” Hermione said quickly.
“Going to try and lead the house-elves out on strike now, are you?” said George. “Going to give up all the leaflet stuff and try and stir them up into rebellion?”
Several people chortled. Hermione didn’t answer.
“Don’t you go upsetting them and telling them they’ve got to take clothes and salaries!” said Fred warningly “You’ll put them off their cooking!”
Just then, Neville caused a slight diversion by turning into a large canary.
“Oh — sorry, Neville!” Fred shouted over all the laughter. “I forgot — it was the custard creams we hexed —”
Within a minute, however, Neville had molted, and once his feathers had fallen off, he reappeared looking entirely normal. He even joined in the laughing.
“Canary Creams!” Fred shouted to the excitable crowd. “George and I invented them — seven Sickles each, a bargain!”
It was nearly one in the morning when Charles finally went up to the dormitory with Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean. Before he pulled the curtains of his four-poster shut, Charles set his tiny model of the Hungarian Horntail on the table next to his bed, where it yawned, curled up, and closed its eyes. Really, Hagrid had a point... they were all right, really, dragons...