Dragons
Excited cheers from the crowd below echoed across the courtyard as students, faculty, and invited guests meandered towards the transformed quidditch pitch. Streaks of Beauxbatons blue, Durmstrang maroon, and Gryffindor red and gold quickly emerged throughout the river of people as hats, scarves, capes, and face paint were dispersed. The vibrations of their voices and stomping feet slithered up the outer walls of Hogwarts and wrapped around the Ravenclaw tower searching for entry. Sliding through an open window, the chaos descended upon the still student, rousing her from yet another restless sleep.
Hermione rolled over with a groan, lifting her pillow over her ears to block out the offending sounds. Her body ached with the movement. Trying to find peace in her new position between her pillow and mattress, Hermione was quite surprised when her cheek fell upon a rough, uneven surface. She blinked twice.
Agitated, she sat up angrily. A fierce wind whipped out behind her, throwing the remainder of the room into chaos as drawers burst open and carefully folded clothes tumbled out.
Hermione groaned again, taking two deep breaths to settle herself before casting a glance a the offending object that had disturbed her rest.
There, sat upon her mattress exactly where her pillow would have fallen, was the cream-colored envelope with her name scrawled upon it. Beneath the envelope sat the offending book and beside them, the black feather. All the objects she had returned, conjured again before her.
Hermione dropped her head into her hands. It was pointless. She couldn’t escape it, she realized. The last week had been awful, worse than the one before. Her magic was out of control, she wasn’t sleeping, and her heart ached as though she had lost something she never knew she had.
Hermione breathed deeply, trying to accept that, no matter how much she craved normalcy, no matter how much she had and would still fight for it, something had undeniably changed.
She reached forward slightly and brushed her hand over the feather. As if sensing her presence, it began to glow faintly. She wrapped her hand around it and brought the strange object closer to her face.
It really was a perfect feather, silky black and smooth with proportional edges. As she held it, a soothing warmth encompassed her, the same indecipherable images skipping across her mind. She glanced at the book and the letter, wondering what to do with them.
Reaching forward, she lifted them and quickly pushed them into her bag, casting a quick wordless notice me not charm around them. She would deal with the objects later, when she could actually sit down and figure out what the hell was going on.
Slowly, the voices returned to her consciousness. She felt an inexplicable pull to go to her window and look out upon the crowd. It was the first task of the Triwizard tournament. She had forgotten, too absorbed in her own plight, but she had heard the whispers.
The Ravenclaw students had been talking about it non-stop, apparently something to do with magical creatures.
Hermione looked on as the crowd slowly filtered into the stadium, still early for the task but hoping to get good seats.
Her eyes flicked over to the champion’s tent. A flare of guilt surged into her chest as she thought of Fleur and Isabelle. She had been cruel, especially to Fleur. But could she be blamed? They had manipulated her, Fleur had filled her head with impossible fantasies. Her throat tightened the more she thought about it. But she truly didn’t wish to see anyone hurt. Perhaps she would attend, just to know what happened.
As she watched the champions tent, three figures approaching it caught Hermione’s attention. She was too far away to see them clearly, but even from afar, she could tell how everyone who passed them stopped frozen in their tracks to watch the women. One appeared to have black, curly hair, falling to her shoulders. Standing next to her was a tall woman with perfectly straight blonde hair. But it was the woman on the end who had caught Hermione’s attention. Her bronze hair glowed in the sunlight and she appeared to glide as she crossed the field.
Despite her distance, Hermione could feel the waves of power billowing off of the three women. They rolled across the distance and slammed into the Ravenclaw tower, hitting her in waves and forcing her to her knees as she was overcome by the force of them. It collided with her forcefully at first, relentlessly, painfully even before pausing almost imperceptibly. Hermione watched as the third woman missed a step, barely noticeable in her glide. Her head whipped to the side with enough force to snap someone’s neck. While it was impossible, Hermione felt like the woman was staring right at her, straight through the stone walls and windows and hundreds of yards separating. In what must have been less than a second but to Hermione felt much longer, the woman slowly turned her head back and continued on her journey. While none of the students had noticed, she had drawn the attention of, and curious looks from, her friends.
As the three women continued on, their backs now towards Hermione, she felt the magic begin to coil around her, suffocating her in its tightness. Her own magic surged outward uncontrollably to meet it, bursting the light bulb strung above her head into a million pieces. The moment the two magics touched, Hermione’s instantly calmed, as if it by a tranquilizer. Her body filled with an unmistakable warmth. Something she had felt just once before, the night she fainted on the library floor.
Hermione staggered, falling back further onto her knees, before the surge of magic suddenly left her. In its absence, Hermione felt drastically empty, as if something powerful and indescribable that had fit effortlessly into her had been forcibly ripped away.
She felt moisture on her cheeks. Reaching her hands up towards, her face, she realized it was her own tears, streaming down uncontrollably.
Looking out the window again, blinking through her blurry gaze, Hermione noticed that the women had disappeared, likely into the champion’s tent.
Hermione was stumped. For a girl who knew everything, suddenly she seemed to know absolutely nothing. She didn’t even know herself.
With a glance back at her bag which carefully housed the letter and book and then another down to the feather in her hand Hermione steeled herself for the decision she was about to make.
She dug quickly through the drawer by the side of her bed, reaching into it for her blue string—the same blue string she had found and used at her orphanage.
Pulling it from its hiding place, she carefully wrapped the end around the feather, tying them tightly together with magic, then completing the loop with a second knot.
Slipping the makeshift necklace over her head, Hermione felt the feather settle down her breastbone and against her heart. She tucked it under her robes before quickly grabbing her cloak and rushing out the door.
By the time she made it to the transformed arena, the ground shook from the roaring cheers of the crowd.
She stumbled her way up the stands and finally managed to find a seat far behind the Slytherins. Hermione must have been the last to arrive, the stadium was completely full.
She quickly realized that while the crowd did roar, the trembling of the ground was due to the magnificent beast prowling before her.
Dragons.
Victor Krum stood in the middle of the arena, casting spell after spell at the Welsh Green. The crowd roared with each flick of his wand.
Hermione tried to take in the setting in an attempt to deduce the challenge. The quidditch pitch had been completely transformed. Rocky terrain emerged from the once smooth pitch forming a landscape of cliffs, pitches, and valleys. An expansion spell must have been cast to accommodate the changes. The dragon stood off to the right, not chained down but likely contained by the wards Hermione could see flickering between the stands and the arena. She caught sight of something gold flickering beneath the dragon. An egg. She quickly determined that capturing the egg must be the objective.
She watched as Krum flipped through the air, landing quickly on the dragon’s back. However, as the crowd cheered, Hermione felt a deep anger rise within her. Victor had transfigured his wand into a sword. He appeared burned and scratched, but nothing to warrant the act she knew instinctively he was about to commit.
He reached out and plunged his sword into the dragon’s side, the crowd gasping as it howled with pain, sending a burst of flame directly upwards.
To Hermione’s horror, Victor leaped off the dragon’s back before lifting his sword as if to deliver the final blow. She felt surge within her. She would save the dragon. Before she could take two steps forward, Krum’s sword bounced harmlessly away. Her eyes snapped to the Professor’s stand. Professor Black stood amongst the crowd, her back rigid and her eyes blazing. If Hermione didn’t know any better, she would say they were flickering bronze in the light of the dragon’s flame. Dumbledore was staring at her. He stood and moved towards her, whispering harshly into her ear. Professor Black’s shoulders seemed to sag as she bowed her head, moving to sit down.
In the time that Hermione had observed the strange interaction, the crowd had burst into cheers once more. Krum had claimed the egg and now was shaking it in victory, his foot proudly upon the injured dragon’s snout.
“Victor Krum has successfully completed the task,” Dumbledore’s voice rang across the stadium. “We will determine scores once all the contestants have completed the challenge.”
Krum was hastily pulled away as the dragon’s keepers rushed forward to treat the injured beast, apparating it away from the stadium. Dumbledore’s voice continued.
“As a reminder, champions must only steal the egg from the beast. These are dragon breeding stock, they mustn’t be killed.”
Hermione began to vibrate as she realized that Krum had not only struck a dragon, but a likely pregnant dragon. She didn’t notice as her magic whipped away from her and a icy breeze swirled across the stadium.
As Dumbledore spoke, a second dragon appeared. This time, a Norwegian Ridgeback.
Hermione was not surprised as a cannon sounded and Harry Potter emerged from the back of the champion’s tent and made his way into the stadium.
Harry had an advantage here. He had helped Hagrid care for a baby Ridgeback in his first year. Hermione watched as a small grin crossed his face and he quickly ran to the cover of a stone cliff face. The dragon hadn’t even noticed him.
Like a blur, Hermione watched as a Firebolt ripped through the stadium (and the wards) straight into Harry’s hand. He mounted his broom and took off quickly towards the sky. When he was immediately over the dragon, he began firing spells which fell down upon the Ridgeback like the sparks from a firework.
The crowd was deafening.
The dragon reared its head and looked up before starting to jump after Harry. He quickly spelled a ‘bombarda’ at a pillar of rock to the dragon’s left. As the rock shattered, shards pierced through the thin membrane of the dragon’s wing. It roared out, the pain in its throaty voice evident. To ensure the already hurt dragon wouldn’t pursue him, to Hermione’s disgust, with a flick and swish, Harry levitated a rock into the air and dropped it directly upon the dragon’s head, knocking it out cold.
With his competition immobilized, Harry easily drifted down and snatched the golden egg from the nest. He swooped upwards through the air, performing a backflip to the joy of the crowd in the stands. Everyone but Hermione was on their feet, stomping shoes and clapping hands as cheers filled the air. Hermione’s eyes hardened in response to the cruelty shown. Dragons were majestic, kind creatures. She had read about them, had even cared for Hagrid’s Ridgeback briefly before it was taken away. She was utterly appalled by the lack of respect shown to them. Belittled to nothing more than a savage beast in the eyes of the wizards around her.
Harry landed on the ground, not a scratch on him.
“Harry Potter has successfully completed the task.” Dumbledore’s voice boomed across the stadium. The smugness on his face was apparent as he turned to regard the other headmasters seated beside him.
As the crowd settled and Harry made his way out of the arena, the trainers once again emerged and disappeared with the injured dragon.
The stage was reset, and another dragon appeared.
Hermione had never seen a dragon as beautiful. Her scales shimmered as they caught in the sunlight, her mulicolored opalescent eyes taking in the new surroundings. As Hermione watched, a short scarlet flame burst from her nose, licking the ground and painting it in crystal.
An Antipodean Opaleye.
Hermione was so absorbed by the image before her that boom of the cannon startled her.
She tore her eyes from the beautiful creature, eyes frantically searching for something. Or rather someone.
Hermione found herself entrapped by the image of another beautiful creature. Fleur Delacour strode from the champion’s tent and into the arena with her head held high.
She paused for a moment, taking in the surroundings around her. As her eyes caught sight of the Opaleye, a smirk began to emerge on her lips. Hermione watched as a burst of magic exploded outwards from her, bouncing harmlessly against the wards, but pulling the attention of the dragon directly towards her.
The dragon’s eyes whipped around and zeroed in on Fleur’s approaching figure.
Hermione’s heart leaped into her throat her grip painfully tight on the creaky wooden bench beneath her. She gripped so hard that the wood crackled, and small pieces began to splinter off into her hands. She only gripped the wood harder.
Hermione watched as the dragon quickly turned to face Fleur, anticipating Fleur’s first spell. She was not the only one in the audience surprised when Fleur simply tilted her head for a moment and smiled. Slowly the girl lowered herself to the ground and closed her eyes. Sitting still, she placed her hands directly on the ground.
The stadium was deathly silent. A glance at the Professor’s box showed the headmasters on their feet, ready to step in at a moment’s notice.
Hermione felt something painful grip around her heart. She realized later that it was fear. The feeling spread through her, getting trapped in her throat, but exploding outwards through her fingertips—her magic reacting to the sensation.
Suddenly, Fleur’s eyes flashed open. Despite being in the back of the crowd, Hermione felt as if the golden filled orbs were staring directly into hers, as if Fleur could sense her there, could sense her fear.
Fleur winked in her direction.
Closing her eyes again, Fleur slowly reached her hands down to the ground. The crowd watched on in awe as wave after wave of magic rippled across the arena. Hermione was stunned by the rainbow of colors.
The dragon too was stunned into silence. The moment the first wave touched her, she froze in her gentle prowl towards the seated girl. She flicked her head up rapidly, huffing a burst of scarlet flame into the air. Slowly she lowered her head and sniffed at the ground. As she did, the waves of magic became focused, angled only towards the Opaleye. The dragon shook for a moment before a deep rumbling filled the deathly quiet stadium.
Hermione watched with wide eyes as she quickly realized the Opaleye was purring. The dragon was purring, for Fleur. The Opaleye approached Fleur slowly, bowing its head towards her. Fleur reached up on instinct, her eyes still closed. As the warm breath of the dragon brushed her face, Fleur’s hand met the dragons’ snout. The purring grew louder.
Fleur appeared to be mumbling something, but Hermione couldn’t hear it. Slowly, the dragon lowered itself to the ground, its eyes lowering as it drifted into what appeared to be a peaceful sleep.
Slowly Fleur, opened her eyes and stood. With a quick ‘accio’ the egg was in her hand. She looked up and met Hermione’s eyes again and smirked, her golden eyes filled with mirth. Without waiting for Dumbledore’s announcement, Fleur strode out of the stadium, her back to the wild cheers of the crowd.
After a moment of surprised silence, Dumbledore’s voice rang out across the crowd.
“Fleur Delacour has successfully completed the task. Though, her unorthodox method of taming the dragon will be considered in the review of points.”
Some boos emerged from the crowd. Hermione easily pinpointed the uproar to the Beauxbatons delegation. She smiled.
Reflecting upon what she had just witnessed, Hermione recalled an entry in Hidden History of the Veela: Culture, tradition, magic, and the five noble families.
Veela had an innate connection with other magical creatures, particularly winged beasts. Hermione laughed quietly to herself as suddenly Fleur’s actions made sense. She had connected with the dragon, calmed it even. Hermione knew how difficult these dragons had it in Romania, kept in captivity, poked by sticks, their eggs stolen. A newfound respect for the Veela found its way into Hermione’s heart. Fleur had offered the dragon comfort and respect when all it had known was pain.
The dragon trainers skeptically entered the arena and observed the slumbering beast. They appeared dreadfully confused.
As with the prior dragons, the beast disappeared, and the stage was once again reset.
Isabelle was the only one left.
As Hermione took in the final dragon, a sense of dread seeped into her stomach. The dragon was the largest Hermione had ever seen. A Ukrainian Ironbelly.
It wasn’t the dragon’s sheer size that worried Hermione though, it was its demeanor. Whereas the other dragons had been calm, curious even, until the champion arrived, the Ironbelly roared the second it was released, flinging its trainers to the side. A jet of bright orange flame burst forward, flattened by the wards guarding the audience. Even though it was directed two stands away, Hermione could feel the heat from her seat. This dragon seemed restless, agitated even, like it was in a deep pain. Its red eyes were unmistakably cloudy.
Hermione was so absorbed in the dragon before her, that she did not see the three women wander in and take the seats a few rows to her right or notice as the cannon went off in the distance.
Hermione did notice when the dragon’s attention snapped towards the entrance to the arena.
Isabelle Dubois stood proudly in the entryway. Strong despite how frail she appeared in the presence of the Ironbelly. Much like Fleur, she appeared calm as she slowly took a seat on the ground, quickly attaching her hands into the dirt.
Hermione took a breath, trying to calm her racing heart. Isabelle knew what she was doing.
Just like before, colorful waves of power rippled outward from the girl, searching the stadium until they gently lapped against the legs of the powerful dragon. However, the moment the waves touched the Ironbelly, it roared, shaking the entire stadium. Hermione felt unbridled fear grip her soul as bright orange flames streaming forward and backward across the arena.
Isabelle’s eyes snapped open, and she managed to jump out of the way just as the flame came her way. She did not escape unharmed. A scream burst from her lips as the flame caught her leg, searing her robes directly into her skin. Hermione watched on helplessly as Isabelle scurried away, taking cover behind a fallen rock tower. The girl was breathing heavily and her face was ghostly pale. Hermione saw Isabelle’s own fear written plainly on her face. The girl braced herself, clearing her face and steading her breath.
She whipped out from behind the rock, a burst of magic surging forward and slamming the dragon back. She waved her wand, uttering spell after spell to try to push the beast away.
They bounced off uselessly.
Isabelle bounded for a path around the dragon, carefully jumping from rock to rock. She cast her Patronus, it ran the other way temporarily pulling the dragon’s attention.
As she ran, a loud cheer rang out from the stands behind her. The Ironbelly’s head snapped around and caught sight of Isabelle. It burst forward, leaping into the air before swiping out at her. Its long talons caught her shoulder, ripping her from the rock and sending her tumbling below. Isabelle bounced against the ground and lay deathly still.
The dragon stalked towards Isabelle’s prone form. As it approached, a deep growl vibrated in its chest. Slowly its head lowered down and it sniffed, twice.
As the dragon looked up towards the sky and roared before gathering a fireball in its throat, something in Hermione snapped. Fear and anger blended together, and she burst forward out of her seat. The sky darkened drastically. Rain began to plummet towards the ground as the wind rose, whipping dangerously around the stadium.
The dragon struck down at Isabelle, the world crying in defeat.
An uncontrollable burst of power raged within Hermione, burning her from the inside and more painful than anything she had ever experienced. She fell to the ground screaming out in pain. A pair of strong, gentle arms captured her as she fell.
No one noticed Hermione, however, as a burst of bright light surged out of Isabelle as the dragon angled to deliver its final blow. The blinding light stunned the dragon back. The pure power poured out of Isabelle as she stood and progressed forward. With unnatural skills, she pushed the dragon back and back until it stood between two rock pillars. As if calling the Earth itself, black stone rose slowly from the ground around the dragon, filling in the spaces between the rock pillars. In moments, the dragon was surrounded, trapped in a cave of stone. The roar that shook the stadium rattled even Hogwarts which sat quietly many yards away. The crowd watched memorized as bright orange fire lit up the stone from the inside, producing ghastly shadows as the flame hit the rock again and again. Eventually, the stone cleared to a blue diamond. The dragon trapped in a cage of its own making.
Keeping her eyes on the dragon, Isabelle slowly inched towards the golden egg. Picking it up quickly and limping out of the stadium. She collapsed the instant she passed the wards, in too much pain from her burns and blood loss.
As the crowd screamed and the trainers went to try to retrieve the dragon—quite a feat given its magical snare—Dumbledore’s voice boomed out once more. His voice rattled as if plagued with rage.
“Isabelle Dubois has successfully completed the task. We will return to you in a moment with the final scores.”
Conversations quickly rose in volume as friends, collogues, and fans debated the outcomes.
While the noise continued throughout the stadium, Hermione was gently carried away, safe within a pair of strong warm arms. Protective magic surged outwards from the woman holding her, creating a bubble around them. Even her two closest friends couldn’t get within five yards of them. One of the women, the one with curly black hair, hurried off towards the professor stand, her sights set on one Narcissa Black. The other woman stayed by their side as the woman carried Hermione towards a small grove near the Black Lake.
Hermione stirred slightly as the woman sat them both down, careful to keep Hermione in her embrace. The woman’s magic wrapped gently around Hermione, encompassing her entirely, tightening gently as if refusing to let the girl go.
The woman leaned her head down and began to mummer gently into Hermione’s ear. Rocking them gently back and forth as her magic worked to calm the girl down and settle the storm raging within her.
The woman felt a tear fall from her eye and carve a path down her perfectly controlled face before landing in Hermione’s hair. She held the girl even closer.
She felt as her magic gently moved through Hermione. She was saddened but not surprised by the extreme surges raging through the girl. The magic was raw and unpredictable. It rubbed against Hermione, tearing her apart from the inside. As the woman’s magic touched it, she felt it resist before slowly, ever so slowly, calming and gentling, like the ocean transitioning from a hurricane to a calm day.
She breathed deeply, her brow perspiring with the effort. Methodically, the woman worked through Hermione gentling and calming her magic as she went. Hermione breathed a little easier with each calming stroke.
The woman felt the others approaching before she saw them. Apolline Delacour stopped the sisters before they got too close.
The woman was grateful. Her magic was still fiercely protective, and she didn’t want to inadvertently hurt her friends.
Finally, she reached Hermione’s heart, her magical core. When she did, she gasped in shock and let out a deep sob. Pulling the girl close, desperately trying to fix what she found but knowing she would be unable to. She couldn’t fix it on her own.
She cried into the girl’s hair as Hermione slept peacefully in her arms. Feeling the wards retract, the three women looking on rushed towards their friend, embracing both her and the girl in her arms.
They sat there for a while as the woman slowly calmed down, slowing her breathing, and carefully replacing her mask of pride and indifference.
Just as she settled, Fleur appeared behind them. Apolline moved to embrace her daughter.
Catching site of Hermione, Fleur moved towards her without thought before pausing once she saw who was holding her.
“I am sorry to interrupt. Isabelle has asked for you. She is quite injured.” Fleur spoke softly, her eyes diverted.
Four pairs of eyes snapped to Fleur. The woman holding Hermione's eyes flashed silver and she nodded. Carefully handing Hermione over to Narcissa's care, she stood, kissing the girl's forehead gently before moving towards Fleur. She patted the young Veela's shoulder gently before leaning forward and whispering something in her ear. Fleur's eyes hardened and she nodded resolutely. The woman smiled. With the two women she had arrived with by her side, they all moved quickly back towards the stadium.
Fleur stayed with Narcissa moving to take Hermione’s weight. Together, they moved in the opposite direction, back towards the castle.