Harry's Bravery
Harry returns to the Gryffindor common room with a perplexed look on his face.
“Did Dumbledore tell you what the first task is?” Ron asks eagerly.
“Not exactly,” Harry admits.
“What do you mean?” Hermione asks.
“He stood me in front of this weird mirror that showed no reflection while Padma and Justin watched. Trelawney pulled some tarot cards and then cast some kind of charm, I think, on the mirror.”
“What cards did she pull?” Hermione asks.
“Er-,” Harry pulls the cards from out of his pocket and hands them over.
“The 3 of Swords, The Wheel and The 2 of Cups...” Hermione says.
“Do you know what they mean?” Ron asks.
“I stopped taking divination after third year… but I think they are heartbreak, change and romance, in that order. The wheel can also mean something like the good and the bad together, especially with two opposing cards on either side. I can look further into it.”
“Unless it helps me fight a dragon, I don’t think it will be much help,” Harry says.
“What?!” Hermione gives him an incredulous look.
“Well, I, er don’t think that’s exactly what we’re doing but there’s a dragon involved,” Harry says.
“Go on,” Ron urges, seeming more excited than shocked.
“Well after Trelawney pulled her cards, she said it was necessary to ‘look into my heart’ and then she cast a charm on the mirror and it showed a dragon.”
“What kind of Dragon?” Hermione asks.
Harry shrugs, “I’m not sure. It was silver and looked kinda pretty? I guess, for a Dragon, if that makes sense. But you know, not very friendly. Because it’s a dragon.”
Two weeks later, Harry finds himself, alongside Padma and Justin, in a large enclosure. Each wix had mounted their broom and was waiting for Hagrid to sound a large horn that would signal the Ukrainian Ironbelly’s release.
Surrounding the enclosure are four stands: one for Gryffindor, one for Ravenclaw, one for Hufflepuff and a judges’ stand for staff. The Slytherins are dispersed between the other houses, specs of green among red, blue and yellow.
Hagrid sounds the horn and the divider between the students and the Ironbelly falls.
The dragon is large and intimidating as he flies through the air, breathing fire and screeching. His scales glisten a brilliant silver in the midday sun. Harry swallows a lump in his throat as he readies himself to compete.
Their objective: make it across the enclosure and through the exit, alive. The first to leave wins. Simple.
Of course, the dragon seems to have a task of his own: stop the young wix from escaping. As champions, they’ve made few preparations but they are only allowed to bring their brooms anyway. Besides, how would one prepare to face a dragon?
Harry is the first move. He attempts to make a direct beeline for the exit. Padma attempts to fly about erratically, making her path harder to predict. Justin remains frozen in fear at first but then quickly copies Padma’s efforts.
None of these strategies are working very well. When any of them get close the exit, they are forced to retreat as the dragon grows more aggressive.
As the minutes stretch out, it becomes clear that neither Padma nor Justin are athletes. They start to grow tired and clumsy in their movements and each escape from the beast is narrower than the last. Somebody is going to get caught before any of them make it out.
“Padma!” Justin yells. Mercifully, a swipe from the dragon’s claw misses her.
The crowd’s cheers turn to gasps as things start to go south.
“That’s it!” Harry yells, “I don’t care about winning. I’m going to distract him and you two make a break for it!” Harry shouts.
“What about you?” Padma yells back.
“I’m the fastest flier. Stop wasting time and go so I have have a chance of making it out too!”
Harry flies past the dragon’s face and loops between his swinging claws and then behind his back, circling around him, executing Padma’s strategy with more dexterity. The dragon turns and turns to follow Harry, completely ignoring the other two.
Padma and Justin fly toward the exit, pressing on as quickly as they can. Everyone watches silently now, with baited breath. They are no longer four houses but one school, hearts racing in sync.
Padma reaches the exit first, disappearing behind a mysterious barrier that shimmers when the light catches it. Justin is milliseconds behind, so close that onlookers worry they might crash. Harry notices right away and zeros in on his escape.
However, instead of chasing after Harry, the Ironbelly cries out loudly in pain. The high pitched wail pierces through the air and something about it throws Harry off for a second. He turns back and looks at the dragon flapping its wings. They lock eyes.
“What is he waiting for?” Hermione whispers at Ron.
“It’s like he’s been stupefied,” Ron mutters.
They watch in terror for a moment feeling helpless for their friend.
“HARRY!” Both Ron and Hermione yell finally.
The sound of his friends’ voices seem to break the spell and Harry moves again, pursued by piercing gray eyes and sharp teeth.
The dragon lurches toward Harry who attempts to dodge the attack. The claw makes contact with Harry’s broom, snapping part of it off and knocking him off balance.
Padma and Justin call out to him from behind the barrier as Harry’s damaged broom carries him rapidly to the ground.
He abandons it and begins sprinting toward the exit.
“HARRY! HARRY RUN!” Ron yells as loud as he can from the stands.
“RUN HARRY!” Hermione shouts.
Harry feels the Ironbelly’s claw across his back as he stumbles through the magical barrier where the dragon cannot follow.
Padma is announced the winner with Justin in second place and Harry last. But Harry does not care because they all made it out. His act of bravery has also brought him adulation from all four houses, even Slytherin. Though the Slytherins are far more restrained in their praises. And then, just like that, things fall into a normal pattern while the school waits for the second task to be revealed.
Talk of the tournament seems to settle into a popular but not all consuming topic as it had been those first few weeks. Harry just hopes the next two tasks will be less dangerous but he’s not too hopeful. Nobody seems to be able to tell him what they will be.
Neville tells him stories of past tournaments indicate that the tasks are decided when they are revealed and that legend says they are custom tailored, one designed after each champion. This makes Harry feel a little better because he’s sure that Padma and Justin might inspire somewhat safer tasks.
Speculation surrounding the roses runs rampant when the white rose vanishes after the first task, leaving only the red. A fourth champion will soon be announced they say. Classes continue on as they always have.
A full month later, Harry’s wounds have still not fully healed. Something about the scratch is cursed and the medicine will take longer than it otherwise should. It’s also still pretty painful, so Harry decides to leave lunch before Ron and Hermione start fussing over him.
On his way out after lunch, Harry’s not paying attention to where he’s going and does not notice Malfoy approaching. Their paths too closely aligned, Harry’s right shoulder collides straight into Malfoy's left. Malfoy yelps loudly in pain and Harry is not in the mood to entertain his theatrics.
“Really Malfoy?” Harry says, turning to Malfoy and rolling his eyes.
At this, Malfoy huffs. “Well an uncoordinated oath did just barrel into me.”
They’ve gained the attention of the students sitting nearby. Harry and Malfoy have avoided interacting much at all this year, including their usual public fights. The rumor mill hungers.
Of course, this is how it could have always been, had Malfoy stayed out of his way. Though Harry supposes that nearly two full months of civility is the most he could have hoped for from Malfoy, ancient magic or not. An argument between them is overdue.
“Oh Merlin, what was I thinking? I’ll be sure to watch we’re I’m going. Wouldn’t want to damage such a delicate flower.” Harry’s words drip with sarcasm as he fake begs.
Malfoy looks like he’s about to insult him back. He opens his mouth to do so but a cough escapes. Harry thinks this is ridiculous because there is no way he shoved him hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs. But Malfoy doesn’t stop coughing. And then, taking a good look at him, Harry realizes that Malfoy does look a little bit sickly even if he’s exaggerating.
He is a bit more gaunt than usual, Harry thinks and there’s dark circles beneath his glassy eyes. There’s also that incessant cough which is just now subsiding.
Malfoy opens his mouth as though to speak again. However, instead of saying anything, his hands snap up over his mouth, fear written all of his face and tears falling down his cheeks. At the same time a strange tone plays from somewhere and, with a red shimmer, a crown materializes around Draco’s head. It’s a flower crown, red roses contrasting against his blond hair.
Harry’s about to ask Malfoy if he made the crown appear even though he can’t imagine why he’d do that. Before he even gets the chance, Malfoy turns and runs out of the hall, stumbling over his feet as he dashes out. Pansy Parkinson runs after him.
All Harry can think of as Malfoy flees is that he had not planned to call him a ‘delicate flower.’ That’s not even how Harry talks and he has no idea what’s come over him because he had entered the exchange planning to be well on his way after his first comment.
Harry is surprised to learn that this odd phrasing was apparently the magic words he should have said when trying to get everyone on his side in fourth year. Because within just one day, it’s spread across the entire school. People who did not bother to congratulate him for killing Voldemort are telling him how funny it was.
The teachers do not find it funny at all and while they scold students for talking about it, they do not punish anyone. They don’t even take away house points. Not even Snape. They just seem worried.
By the second day, almost everybody is referring to Draco Malfoy as a delicate flower and nothing else. They do not care if he overhears. In fact they talk about him, talk around him but they do not talk to him.
Harry tries to replace thoughts of Malfoy with more important things but he still can’t shake the wording. No matter who is speaking ill of Malfoy, regardless of house, blood status or age they all call him the same thing: ‘A delicate flower.’ Harry can’t go anywhere without hearing it.
Malfoy’s not immune even from his fellow Slytherins. Only Malfoy’s closest friends refuse to participate. It’s all one-sided too: nobody is saying this to Malfoy’s face but even though there is no way Malfoy doesn’t know, he does nothing about it.
They also do not stop talking about the rose crown because he’s still wearing it everywhere he goes. And judging by how completely mortified and absolutely defeated Malfoy looks whenever Harry catches anybody mention it in his vicinity, he’s not able to take it off.
The goblet remains on its decorated alter on full display at every meal. But now, it’s empty.