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By early November, the Whomping Willow had shed the last of its leaves, leaving its branches bare and yellowed. Winter was still a little ways off, but the chill had already set in. The past few days had been dreary and overcast. With the temperatures dropping, it wasn't uncommon for younger students to show up late for their first-period classes, too reluctant to leave the warmth of their beds.
Sitting at the High Table, Melvin glanced up at the enchanted ceiling's cloud cover. Before winter officially hit, they were in for a brief rainy season—a damp, miserable stretch that usually kicked off the annual cold and flu wave. The Durmstrang kids were built for the cold, but the students from Beauxbatons and Ilvermorny were going to suffer.
"Christine, you should tell Madame Maxime to stock up on Pepperup Potion. It works wonders for colds and fevers," Melvin advised the Beauxbatons professor, sounding a bit like a nagging parent. "Make sure you get it from J. Pippin's Potions in Hogsmeade. Drop the Hogwarts name for a discount. Don't wait until half your students are sick to buy in bulk—the owner is a total opportunist and will absolutely gouge you on the price."
He turned back to her, completely ignoring the massive eye-roll from Headmaster Fontaine sitting on his other side. "Alternatively, you could buy directly from Professor Snape. His seventh-year N.E.W.T. students brew Pepperup Potion as part of their coursework. The quality is guaranteed, and it'll cost you a fraction of the price."
Christine nodded, absorbing the advice. As headmistress, Madame Maxime handled all the administrative heavy lifting, so the Beauxbatons professors rarely had to worry about logistics. For Christine, this was entirely new territory. "Doesn't the Hogwarts hospital wing provide Pepperup Potion?"
"Madam Pomfrey keeps a stash, sure. But she charges visiting students and staff for both the consultation and the potion itself. It actually ends up being more expensive than buying it in town."
Headmaster Fontaine finally couldn't take it anymore. He huffed, his mustache twitching in annoyance. "Melvin, your own underclassmen could use some cheap, effective cold medicine too, you know! You spend half your time wandering around Hogsmeade—couldn't you grab some medical supplies for us? Who exactly do you think is handling Ilvermorny's logistics? I didn't bring a visiting professor with me this time!"
Realizing Melvin had completely assimilated into the Hogwarts staff, Fontaine felt a sudden wave of defeat. He swallowed the last bite of his sandwich, downed his milk, and walked off with a heavy sigh.
Watching the Ilvermorny headmaster walk away, Christine dropped her casual demeanor and lowered her voice. "Madame Maxime snuck out late last night for a date. She went with your Care of Magical Creatures professor to an enclosure out in the mountains. Did you know about this?"
"Yeah. The Romanian dragon keepers tipped me off first thing this morning."
Hearing "Romanian," Christine immediately put two and two together. Melvin had leaked the dragons on purpose. She smiled. "Madame Maxime didn't get back until the early hours of the morning. She looked completely sleepless and on edge. The second the students were up, she called an emergency meeting with our champions to tell them the first task involves dragons. They're in their quarters right now brainstorming strategies."
"That explains why Fleur wasn't at breakfast, and why the boys look so exhausted."
"Is it really okay to leak the contents of the task beforehand?" Christine asked, looking slightly worried.
"It's actually an unwritten part of the rules. The real test of courage is knowing you have to face a dragon and still having the nerve to calmly figure out a strategy."
"Isn't that unfair to the other schools?"
"You think the other schools haven't caught wind of it?" Melvin gestured toward the Slytherin table, where the Durmstrang students had set up camp. Their star champion, Viktor Krum, was conspicuously absent this morning, leaving his legion of fangirls heartbroken. "Hagrid and Harry are very close. Hagrid would never just stand by and let Harry walk into a dragon enclosure unprepared. As for Karkaroff, he's notoriously cunning. He's probably locked in the ship's cabin with his students right now, plotting."
Melvin smiled. "Cheating is a proud tradition of the Triwizard Tournament."
"What about Ilvermorny?" Christine blinked.
Melvin froze, momentarily speechless.
Over at the Gryffindor table, the Ilvermorny kids were having a grand old time. Unburdened by language barriers, they were happily chatting with Seamus, Dean, and the rest of the Hogwarts students about their class schedules, completely oblivious to the impending danger. They were genuinely treating this like a fun study abroad program.
While the other schools were in full crisis mode—headmasters and students scrambling to prepare for dragons—Ilvermorny was blissfully ignorant. It was Fontaine's first time participating in the tournament, and his lack of experience was showing.
Harry and Hermione slipped out of the library, their backpacks completely stuffed with dragon-related material:
Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland
From Egg to Inferno: A Dragon Keeper's Guide
Breeding Dragons for Pleasure and Profit
They were finally starting to understand the sheer panic Hagrid must have felt when he was secretly incubating Norbert. Every time they flipped through a book, they were on edge, terrified someone would notice what they were researching.
"Madam Pince is too strict," Hermione complained. "We aren't allowed anywhere near the Restricted Section, and she put a cap on how many books we could check out."
"We'd need a signed note from a professor for that."
"Ugh..."
"Stop sighing and come on. Muggle Studies is about to start."
With less than five minutes until the bell, they hauled their heavy bags up the staircases, practically sprinting toward the third-floor classroom. Despite the late autumn chill, they were breaking a light sweat.
"We were thinking about making some support badges for you, Cedric. What do you think?"
A loud commotion echoed from the landing ahead. It was Cedric Diggory and his crew of sixth-year friends, hurrying toward Professor Flitwick's Charms class. Surrounded by friends and laughing easily, Cedric looked like a natural star. Harry felt a sudden, sharp pang of envy. His own best friend was barely speaking to him right now.
An idea sparked in Harry's mind. He wanted to tip Cedric off, but out of a mix of pride and caution, he didn't want to do it in front of a massive crowd.
Harry abruptly stopped. "Hermione, go on ahead and save me a seat. I'll be right there."
Hermione glanced ahead at Cedric, nodded knowingly, and walked off without a word.
Waiting for the group to reach the next landing, Harry timed it perfectly. He whipped out his wand and fired a silent Severing Charm.
Riiiip. Cedric's bookbag suddenly split wide open. Books, quills, and parchment spilled across the stone floor, and a few ink bottles shattered into a mess, bringing Cedric to a dead halt.
"This bag has been falling apart for a while. Didn't expect it to completely give out right now," Cedric muttered. Anyone else might have cursed their terrible luck, but Cedric simply looked mildly stressed. He calmly knelt down to pick up his things, waving his friends off. "Don't wait up! Tell Professor Flitwick I'll be right there..."
The guy really did act like a proper champion.
Harry pocketed his wand. Waiting until the rest of the Hufflepuffs were out of earshot and it was just the two of them on the landing, he quietly walked over and helped gather the spilled books.
"Oh, hey, Harry. You should get to class."
"Cedric," Harry said quietly. "The first task is dragons."
"What?"
"It's dragons."