"The highest-scoring purple egg!"
Pickett crept closer to the dragon's nest deep inside the dim cave.
Just ahead, a sharp-horned Romanian Longhorn lay sprawled on the ground. Its orange-yellow eyes were locked on the cave entrance, watching for intruders, but it completely ignored the five Ilvermorny champions inching toward it.
Even when it sniffed the air and pressed an ear to the rock wall, all it caught was a faint, strange scent and the tiny rustle of what might have been invisible rodents digging.
The other four stayed glued to Pickett's sides, moving in tiny, careful steps. They avoided every dry twig and loose pebble.
Twenty feet felt like it took five whole minutes, but this was the result of hundreds of practice runs.
Three teammates kept up Disillusionment Charms, Silencing Charms, and Muffliato spells to hide their shapes, heartbeats, and footsteps. Nancy wrapped them all in a modified Bubble-Head Charm to contain their scent—an improved version Professor Levent had created. Headmaster Fontaine had asked him for the spell specifically.
The five of them stared at the six eggs beneath the Longhorn.
"One purple, one blue, two green, two yellow…" Nancy frowned. "No golden egg?"
A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, quickly replaced by relief.
No golden egg meant these were just ordinary toys. Even if they took them right in front of the dragon, it probably wouldn't get angry. Low risk.
"Pickett, you take the purple one and go for the win," Dawn Rodriguez from Pukwudgie whispered. "The rest of us just need to finish the task."
Everyone here was a top seventh-year and a House prefect. Pickett and Nancy, as Head Boy and Head Girl, worked with them all the time on student-council stuff. They all knew only Pickett and Nancy had a real shot at the whole tournament. Better to give Pickett a clear path and earn some goodwill.
Pickett frowned. "We'll sort it outside."
The others didn't understand why he turned down the easy boost, but they didn't argue. This wasn't the place to divide loot.
Under his teammates' cover, Pickett moved right up to the dragon and reached for the eggs without making a sound.
Every eye was on the Longhorn—sleek black-green scales gleaming like metal, foul breath rolling out of its open jaws. Warm air stirred through the cave with each exhale. The dragon lowered its head until its eyes were level with Pickett's outstretched hand.
The pressure from that stare was crushing, like an invisible hand squeezing your heart.
Pickett desperately wanted to believe the dragon couldn't see them and that he could just grab an egg, but his instincts screamed danger.
The Longhorn looked away, opened its mouth in a huge yawn, and acted like it hadn't noticed a thing—like it was full and simply couldn't be bothered.
Pickett reached out… but not for an egg. His fingers closed around the jagged bone splinter stuck between the dragon's teeth.
It was more like a femur than a splinter. One end had been chewed to a ball and shattered; the jagged pieces were jammed into the gum. Definitely a bone splinter.
The Longhorn stayed perfectly still, but its eyes slid downward. It looked at the champions… and smiled.
The terrifying beast's smile was strangely gentle. Every Ilvermorny heart skipped a beat; their concealment spells nearly collapsed.
The dragon's open mouth faced them directly. Dragon fire churned in its throat, lighting the dark cave like a torch. One casual breath would roast them all to charcoal.
"I'll pull that splinter out for you," Pickett said, voice shaking. "In exchange, you let us take the colored eggs. Deal?"
They had no idea whether the Longhorn understood human speech, but it kept its jaws open and didn't turn them into an after-dinner snack.
Pickett worked quickly—Aquamenti combined with a gentle Scouring Charm. A full, professional tooth-cleaning service: comfortable and thorough.
The Longhorn licked its newly cleaned teeth with obvious pleasure and gave a happy, low rumble. It let the champions take every egg beneath it, then proudly showed off its sparkling fangs as they walked away.
"These dragons really have been specially trained," Dawn said on the way back, still amazed. "They can actually communicate."
"No magical creature is completely wild," Nancy explained with a smile. "They can all understand to some degree. Dragons are just too proud—there aren't many records of them being tamed before."
"Looks like Lady Luck is on our side."
The team chatted and laughed. Even Pickett's expression softened. They'd finished the task safely, no one hurt—definitely worth celebrating.
The cave mouth was already visible ahead, less than thirty feet away, when Pickett suddenly stopped. One hand gripped his wand; the other rose in a silent warning.
The others had no idea why, but they froze instantly.
Had the dragon changed its mind?
Even if the Longhorn came after them, they should be running for the exit, not stopping right at the mouth. A couple of them hesitated, unsure whether to point their wands forward or back.
Footsteps broke the silence.
A tall, thin figure stepped into the cave—dark hair, thick eyebrows, signature hooked nose, and a slightly awkward, pigeon-toed walk.
Every Ilvermorny student stared in shock. They recognized him instantly: Viktor Krum, the same cold expression from every Quidditch poster.
In the wild, the rule was to stun a stranger first and ask questions later. Here, though, they hesitated—especially since Krum had no teammates with him.
"Mr. Krum," Pickett said coolly, "I think you're in the wrong cave. This one is ours."
The figure at the entrance stopped a safe distance away. He spotted the eggs in their arms, shook his head, and turned to leave. "A purple egg is valuable, but it's not the golden egg or the black-and-white ones I'm after."
Pickett and Nancy exchanged a quick glance and immediately understood his plan.
If they had been carrying a golden egg or a black-and-white one, they'd still be locked in a standoff with the dragon. Krum could have rushed in, stolen the eggs, and run while they were busy fighting the beast.
They didn't know the full truth: Krum had heard what happened to the Beauxbatons team and knew exactly how the glass orbs worked. His real plan had been to steal an egg, then deliberately enrage the dragon so its fire would trigger the orbs and force the Ilvermorny students out of the task immediately.
"You—Bulgaria's star Seeker, pulling something this dirty!" Nancy snapped, raising her wand in fury.
Krum didn't even look back. He simply walked out of the cave.
Once outside, the Ilvermorny team saw the stands: some people applauding, others booing. Romanian keepers were escorting the Beauxbatons champions—trapped inside transparent bubbles—out of the enclosure. Only then did they fully understand what the glass orbs did… and exactly what Krum had been trying to do.
Nancy clenched her jaw. "I hate people like that. Too scared to face the dragon himself, so he tries to screw everyone else over!"
Pickett patted her shoulder. "At least he failed. We made it out clean."
All six eggs were safe. One per person plus an extra, and the lowest was still a yellow egg. Their run had been a complete success.
Now came the sharing part. There was no awkward back-and-forth. Pickett picked up the purple egg. "You guys guard the eggs out here. I need to go warn Harry and the others. Watch out for that guy."
The rest of the team traded looks. Krum was already heading toward another cave—the one Harry's group had chosen.
The Ilvermorny students had been eating at the Gryffindor table all term. They were friendly with the lions. Helping out with a small warning was only right.
…
The first three teams had already picked three caves, leaving nine still open.
Harry was ready to pick one at random. Cedric didn't argue.
"Pick one at random? Are you insane?"
Hermione's voice rang out behind them, full of disbelief. "If any of them got the black-and-white eggs, we only get one shot. You're going to leave something this important up to luck?"
Harry and Cedric turned around. Hermione stood there glaring at them exactly like Professor McGonagall in class.
"We don't have a better plan, do we?" Harry blinked. "Nine caves all look the same from the outside. How else are we supposed to choose?"
"Use your brains!" Hermione looked ready to explode. "This is the Triwizard Tournament. Professor Levent and the committee spent months designing every detail. There's no way they left it all to pure chance!"
"But we still have to go inside to test our skills, right?"
"Figuring out the dragon type from the clues at each entrance is part of the test." Hermione gave up trying to explain to the reckless Gryffindor. Their House reputation had been ruined by people like him.
She marched to the nearest cave mouth and studied it carefully. A faint, fishy smell drifted out.
Durmstrang had gone in here not long ago, so no one else had paid much attention. Harry stepped closer and finally noticed the faint marks on the rock—long, flowing lines like willow branches.
"Those are from a Chinese Fireball's lion-like snout and frilled spikes," Hermione said. "Very mild-tempered dragon."
"They got lucky."
"Maybe not." Hermione shot him a look and moved to the next cave.
The Beauxbatons team's cave had no obvious marks, but the smaller, higher entrance matched the size and habits of a Welsh Green—sharp-spined, four-legged, quick, with powerful flames. Medium danger.
"Welsh Greens don't like trouble. As long as you don't bother them, they usually leave you alone." Hermione sounded like a walking dragon encyclopedia.
"The Ilvermorny team's cave has holes at the top from horn strikes—definitely a Longhorn. Smartest and most human-friendly dragon, but they've been heavily hunted lately and their numbers are dropping fast."
"Look at this one—the biggest entrance of the twelve. Means the biggest dragon inside: a Hebridean Black. More aggressive than the Green, but its fire isn't as deadly."
They had left last, so the hill was empty except for the three of them. Hermione walked from cave to cave, analyzing every entrance, identifying each dragon breed, and giving precise details.
Cedric and Harry trailed behind her. The little witch's eyes were wide, head tilting left and right as she hunted for clues, face dead serious. The stands fell quiet. Even Bagman's commentary dropped to a hush.
"Australian Opaleye—extremely dangerous."
"Swedish Short-Snout—extremely dangerous."
"…"
After fifteen minutes of circling the hill, Hermione finally stopped. She met their awed stares, lifted her chin just a fraction, and tried (and failed) to hide how pleased she was.
"You memorized the traits for all twelve breeds," Harry said, eyes wide with respect for the ultimate nerd.
"Charlie's notes were really helpful. You should have read them."
"I had you—that was enough."
Harry recovered quickly and dropped the slacker act. "So… which one do we pick? The safest, most docile dragon?"
"We also have to think about what kind of eggs are inside."
Cedric stepped up. "Like Hermione said, the committee designed everything. The eggs were placed deliberately. The more dangerous the dragon, the better the possible reward—golden eggs or black-and-white ones."
"The most dangerous are the Peruvian Vipertooth, Swedish Short-Snout, Norwegian Ridgeback, and Hungarian Horntail. They're the most likely to have the top prizes." Hermione paused. "But there are only three of us."
"…"
Harry frowned. Something about this felt off.
The two of them were finishing each other's sentences like they'd planned it, and he was the only one who looked like an idiot.
He shook his head fast. "So what do we choose?"
Cedric thought for a moment. "I'd go with a second-tier dragon—the Hebridean Black, Ukrainian Ironbelly, or Portuguese Long-Snout. Decent reward, manageable risk. We're only three people."
Hermione nodded. "The other three teams didn't pick the most dangerous dragons either. Their prizes are probably just rainbow eggs, maybe a golden one at best. A second-tier dragon gives us a solid shot at a good placing."
"A good placing…" Harry hesitated.
He knew Hermione and Cedric were both excellent at Arithmancy. They could solve Professor Vector's hardest problems. Their calculations were almost certainly right.
But Harry didn't want "a good placing."
He wanted to win.