The Headmaster's office at Hogwarts was dark and gloomy on this lovely evening. Dumbledore stood by the window, gazing at the starry sky.
"You called?" Snape's quiet voice rang out.
"Yes, Severus," Dumbledore replied without turning, stroking his beard. "What news of Voldemort?"
"None," Snape replied dryly.
The Potions Master's figure was barely distinguishable in the gloom of the office; only his face seemed to float in the air.
"Strange. Recent events seem to hint that hard times will begin soon. The incident at the World Cup Final, the costumes fake down to the last stitch, the planted Death Eaters... The old families have begun cunningly moving resources out of the country. It seems Voldemort does not have as much support as society generally assumes."
The Headmaster turned to the Potions Master, a reflection of the moon flashing for an instant in his half-moon spectacles.
"The Mark?"
"It is filling with strength, Headmaster. Everyone feels it. That is surely the reason the financial movements began. Karkaroff is literally shaking with fear."
"Unsurprising," the Headmaster nodded. "His actions are not forgiven in polite society, nor even in impolite society."
"Especially in 'impolite' society."
"How are things with the Tournament's security?"
"Moody and the Aurors are providing all possible measures. Which, by the way, have already allowed all the champions to learn the specifics of the First Task."
"That is good," the Headmaster walked to his desk and sat in his chair, relaxing. "In my opinion, dragons are not an opponent a wizard of any age can afford to face unprepared. Well, I dare not detain you further, Severus."
Dumbledore waved his hand in the air, and several lamps lit up on his desk, revealing a mountain of papers yet to be sorted. This was exactly what the Headmaster decided to do at night, and the Potions Master, without saying goodbye, quietly and unnoticed left the office.
. . .
The wonderful morning of October 18th began for me, as always, with physical training and other procedures. However, that was the only thing that went according to schedule.
Wasting time was simply not an option—I came to this conclusion, as did Cedric and a couple of his comrades, along with our entire Quidditch team. These were the people we decided to let in on the secret of the First Task, and this resulted in an urgent operation to gather information from all possible sources. Some rushed to write letters home, hurrying to find out what methods of countering, or at least effectively influencing dragons, were known in their families, while others promised to scour the entire library. I, obviously, belonged to the latter group.
The library became the place where I, Cedric, Herbert, and Tamsin spent the maximum amount of our time.
"Transfiguration," Cedric suggested as we sat at one of the farthest tables in the most secluded corner of the library, surrounded by books and tomes.
"Stupidity," Tamsin, who seemed intent on keeping her nearly boyish short haircut, dismissed the Prefect's option.
"Yes," Herbert was reading the pages of a thick book, almost biting his lip. "Dragons will spot that in a heartbeat."
"But I am very good at Transfiguration. Isn't it better to focus on what you are strong at, even if it's not very effective?"
"Depends on the task," I entered the conversation.
I wasn't picking books entirely at random—I was using my "needle in a haystack" search method. As a result, I knew for sure that somewhere within the pages of the seven books I brought, there were charms or spells that could suppress a dragon, distract it, or neutralize it. So I flipped, read, and searched.
"It's unlikely you'll have to literally defeat it," Tamsin mused. "That's beyond not only the school curriculum but also the training in the reserves themselves. Deceive it somehow, most likely, or put it to sleep... Or something else..."
"By the way," I looked up at the girl, the only historian in our company. "What type are the First Tasks of the Tournament usually?"
"Oh, I didn't even think to recall that. It was said that often you need to retrieve something. Doesn't matter what."
We all glanced at each other.
"Dragons will be guarding something, obviously," Cedric summarized. "But dragons aren't Cerberuses. You can't put them in a doghouse and command: 'Guard'."
"And what do dragons guard best? What can they guard at all?" I wondered aloud.
"Eggs," everyone answered as if it were self-evident.
"They don't care about anything except eggs," Herbert nodded, immersing himself in reading again, but immediately looking up at us. "Hmm. If the dragon really is guarding something, then it will definitely be something similar in shape to an egg."
"Right, ladies and gentlemen," I looked around at everyone, attracting attention. "Let's develop two plans. If our theory is correct, then something needs to be filched from the dragon. Naturally, it is not at all necessary to fight the dragon itself. First plan—how to steal something from a dragon? If we are mistaken and one has to somehow withstand a huge fire-breathing and flying reptile possessing increased resistance to magic..."
"You are not inspiring at all," Cedric smiled meagerly. "But you're right. So far we have two variants of the task for the First Round—steal or defeat. A plan for both. Any ideas?"
Silence.
"Excellent. We continue reading."
And we read. All our free time. And only on Saturday, October 22nd, two days before the first task, did we more or less sort through the found material, systematize it, and put forward two whole plans for the two situations.
In case of confronting the dragon, it was decided to prepare well: brew a couple of potions and learn a couple of spells. The essence of the idea was simple. Since nothing but a wand can be taken to the task, the vials with potions would need to be packed into a utility belt, enchanted against damage and for the preservation of the vials. Cedric would summon it using Accio. The potions themselves were varied, but their essence was the same—paralyzing and sleeping effects. One potion was very volatile and very potent, easily absorbed. The vial containing it would be delivered to the dragon either by a transfigured bird or some other way, depending on the situation. Even though the dragon is quite impervious to magic, every book mentioned that indirect effects work on them just like on everything else—without problems. The bird gets to the dragon's head, breaks the flask, and Cedric casts the Bubble-Head Charm in an isolating modification on the dragon's head. Well, that's all in an ideal scenario.
To implement this plan, we brazenly drove Cedric hard, forcing him to practice control, accuracy, and speed of spell execution. I personally demonstrated the flight speed of transfigured metal birds—during transfiguration, you simply need to visualize a simple runic chain on the birds for weight reduction and speed increase. Cedric handled the latter with a bang—he is generally a talent in Transfiguration and grasped the idea immediately. I, by the way, offered to make him some kind of amulet, but he refused. Well, his funeral, of course, but it's a pity.
The second option, if something needs to be stolen and one needs to scram, lay in Transfiguration after all—well, Cedric is really good at it; he just needs a little more imagination. And that—imagination—is where I can help him. I suggested transfiguring something capable of moving extremely fast, and with a runic chain for speed and "Spider Legs," everything becomes extremely simple.
"And what would be that fast?" Cedric asked when the same team that stormed the library was helping our champion train in one of the classrooms.
"Obviously, a dragonfly."
"What?"
"Well, a big one, with runic chains along the body, everything proper," I explained. "Speed, weight reduction, and Spider Legs—the best choice to filch something extremely quickly and leave."
"Why a dragonfly, anyway?"
"They reach speeds of about sixty miles per hour. Well, the object can be large, of course..."
Estimating everything to the max, I waved my wand and, not without difficulty, transfigured a piece of parchment into a large dragonfly.
"Eww..." Tamsin grimaced. "It's the size of a cat... And those wings..."
The dragonfly took off with a powerful hum and darted from one corner of the room to the other. Extremely fast. Extremely.
"Whoa. Even a Snitch would be slower," Cedric smiled. "Let's practice this and the runes..."
During evening Potions classes, Snape, and Daphne too, complained that I was hovering somewhere in the clouds and needed to concentrate on the task—I had to pull myself together, and I even felt a tiny bit ashamed. Just a little.
Sunday passed again in training with Cedric, where I generated some ideas in Transfiguration, and Cedric marveled at the richness of my imagination. Still, considering our Prefect's classical approach to Transfiguration, he is extremely good at this discipline. I am better than him only due to control and the fact that I "understood Transfiguration in principle," as I expressed once last year. Cedric is fundamentally ahead of me in knowledge, but that is unsurprising.
In the end, all Sunday, we—me, Cedric, his comrades, and our Quidditch team—devoted the entire day to training the Prefect. We modeled all sorts of situations and layouts, checked the brewed potions, and verified the reliability of the charms on the utility belt for said potions. In general, unless the task is completely absurd, Cedric will definitely handle it, and most likely, better than anyone. We believed in this, Cedric believed in this, and that is the main thing.
All that remained was to wait for tomorrow, October 24th, and everything would become clear.
But it was still nerve-wracking.
Would you like me to translate the First Task scene next, or focus on a specific character's perspective during the event?
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