0556 Strategies

Ever since that Halloween night when Hermione’s name had emerged from the Goblet of Fire, declaring her as Hogwarts’ unprecedented second Triwizard Champion, a suffocating sense of panic, unease, and anxiety had been steadily building within her like a toxic miasma.

Now, crouched behind a tangle of bushes deep in the heart of the Forbidden Forest and face to face with the terrifying reality of her daunting First Task, those dark emotions finally reached a crescendo, crashing over Hermione like a tidal wave as she stared in horror at the restless “behemoths.” If it weren’t for Madame Maxime crouching just a few steps away, she might have screamed until she fainted.

After Professor Watson left, Hermione quickly departed as well. With Harry anxiously awaiting her return in the Gryffindor common room and the possibility of an awkward encounter with Professor Watson in the Entrance Hall urging her on, Hermione bolted through the path Hagrid had led her at a frantic pace.

In this mad dash, Hermione was immensely grateful for the countless grueling hours she’d spent training in Professor Watson’s physical education classes as they allowed her to overcome the vines and potholes along the way.

As she emerged from the Forbidden Forest at the edge of the school grounds, Hermione donned the invisibility cloak once more. It was then that she realized her robes had been drenched by the dew during her trek through the forest. Outside the woods, the wind felt more real, and Hermione felt as if countless small knives were slicing through her body, cold and painful.

It would have been the simplest thing for her to cast a quick Hot-Air Charm and dry herself off, a feat she could have accomplished with ease as early as her second year. However, Hermione chose to keep her clothes damp, allowing herself to suffer a little. She didn’t know why she did this; perhaps the pain made her feel real.

With every step that brought her closer to the welcoming torchlight spilling from the castle’s many windows, the fog of terror and adrenaline that had enveloped Hermione’s mind began to dissipate.

The world came into sharper focus, no longer the hazy, unreal dreamscape it had been when she first laid eyes on the nightmarish dragons and subsequently fled through the forest. It was only then, as she climbed the staircases leading up from the Entrance Hall, that Hermione’s thoughts drifted back to Hagrid for some reason.

After her close encounter with fully grown, nesting dragons, Hermione found herself marveling again at Hagrid’s seemingly insane desire to raise one of those deadly creatures as a pet. But even as she inwardly questioned his sanity and survival instincts, Hermione couldn’t help the swell of gratitude she felt toward Hagrid for the immense personal risk he’d taken in smuggling her and Madame Maxime out to the enclosure.

She shuddered to think what might have happened if she’d been forced to confront the dragons for the first time on the day of the First Task, with no prior warning or mind makeup. Hermione was almost certain she would have fainted on the spot.

Heart still pounding from her dash through the forest and subsequent crisis of emotion, Hermione found herself standing before the portrait of the Fat Lady far sooner than she’d anticipated. Taking a steadying breath, she tugged the invisibility cloak from her head and whispered the password.

“Balderdash!”

Even to her own ears, Hermione’s voice sounded choked, tight with barely suppressed nerves and exhaustion.

For her part, the Fat Lady didn’t even bother to open her eyes, plainly used to being woken up at odd hours by unruly Gryffindors.

“If you say so…” she mumbled drowsily. With those words, the portrait swung open, revealing the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione climbed in, looking around, and then—

“Over here—” Harry leaped up from the sofa in front of the fireplace, waving at her.

The saying that pain makes one feel real was quite accurate. As she neared the fireplace with its small flames, Hermione realized just how frozen she had been. She touched her face, feeling as though she could no longer control her expressions, and her long lashes were covered in frost.

Upon reaching the fireside and seeing the worrying state of Hermione, Harry wasted no time in grabbing the nearest bit of firewood – a bundle of dry pine branches stacked against the stone hearth – and tossing it into the flames. The wood immediately sent a riot of orange sparks gushing up the chimney, but the sudden influx of fuel also assisted to temporarily oppress the pre-existing fire.

Clearly impatient for the blaze to build back up to a proper heat, Harry drew his wand and conjured a dancing ball of blue-bell flames. These he directed into the fireplace with a flick of his wrist. By the time the fireplace was burning vigorously, Harry turned around to find that Hermione had already used her wand to dry herself.

“Hermione,” Harry began, fighting to keep the nervous tremor from his voice. “Tell me, what did you see out there? What are they going to make you face?”

Harry barely restrained himself from physically grabbing Hermione’s shoulders and giving her a shake. After all, Hagrid had come to them only yesterday, secretly informing them that he would be taking them to see ‘something’ tonight, and asked them to bring the invisibility cloak. However, considering that it would be more convenient for one person to move around while wearing the cloak, Harry had voluntarily given up the chance.

Judging from Hermione’s expression, he could guess that what they would face in the first task definitely wouldn’t be something simply disgusting like Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewts. He asked urgently.

So, Hermione recounted everything she had seen tonight. She told Harry that Hagrid had not only taken her but also brought Madame Maxime. They had traversed the Forbidden Forest together, reaching a place far from the castle. There, she saw Professor Watson, Charlie, and—

“Dragons.” Hermione shivered slightly. Even though the fireplace was releasing waves of warmth, her fingertips remained pale and trembling.

“There were four of them: A Welsh Green, a Swedish Short-Snout, a Chinese Fireball, and a Hungarian Horntail. I heard Charlie say their names when Hagrid asked.”

Harry was stunned as a suffocating silence suddenly descended.

Ever since Krum had reminded them in the library that they could find inspiration from the tasks of past Triwizard Tournaments, Harry had accompanied Hermione in sifting through numerous materials in the library. Privately, they had also discussed the possible dangerous magical creatures and dark creatures that might appear.

Hermione, in particular, had suspended all her advanced studies during this period, focusing all her energy on searching for information.

Harry particularly recalled Hermione mentioning dragons in passing several times over the course of their long hours of research. As she had pointed out, Dragons were far from the most mysterious of magical creatures, frequently cropping up in texts on everything from dragonhide gloves to the founding of Gringotts.

At the time, Harry had mentally dismissed the possibility of dragons appearing in the tournament, unable to consider that any responsible adult would willingly put schoolchildren against these notoriously deadly creatures.

But now, Harry and Hermione sat on the sofa by the fireplace, staring at each other in a heavy atmosphere.

“They…” Harry’s throat tightened, and he felt his head buzzing. Thus, it wasn’t difficult for him to imagine Hermione’s current state of mind.

“What do they expect you to do?” He spitted out. “What do they plan to make the champions do? Fight the dragons and then either dismember the dragons or be dismembered by them?”

Harry wanted to make a joke to help Hermione relax, but his joke was undoubtedly terrible because Hermione was one of the few people about to be dismembered.

“Hagrid…he asked Charlie the same thing,” Hermione wasn’t sure if she had caught a cold from being so chilled, but her head was starting to throb painfully, making her mind less sharp than usual.

“Charlie doesn’t know either. The Ministry of Magic might not announce it until the start of the competition. But Charlie said all the dragons brought in are nesting mothers—”

Harry pressed his lips tightly together, his face flushed and looking as if he were suffocating.

‘Was there even a need to guess? Stealing the dragon eggs from these mother dragons was most likely what the champions would have to do!’

Harry had never seen what a nesting dragon would be like, but dragons themselves were already enough to make one feel despair.

For a moment, Harry was forcibly reminded of the summer before his first year at Hogwarts. He had been present when his cousin Dudley’s best friend Piers brought over his new pet dog, a yappy little terrier that had recently given birth to a litter of pups.

Dudley, in his typical pigheaded fashion, had ignored all warnings opposing and tried to take one of the puppies from its mother, resulting in him being bitten hard by the usually docile dog. Dudley had to get several stitches because of it.

If that was how a thoroughly domesticated dog reacted to a seeming threat to its child, Harry shuddered to imagine the sheer murderous rage of a provoked mother dragon.

Harry pulled his spiraling thoughts back to the present. Wallowing in dread would do nothing to help Hermione, he told himself firmly. The only way out was through, and the best thing he could do was buckle down and support her in any way he could.

And so, over the next several days, Harry and Hermione practically took up residence in the library, leaving it only to attend classes and snatch a few precious hours of restless sleep. They dragged stacks of obscure tomes and books back to the common room, working by the light of the fire long into the night as they searched for any scrap of information that might give Hermione an edge against the dragon she would soon face.

Late Wednesday evening found them once again fixed in their favorite overstuffed armchairs by the hearth, a disorganized pile of discarded books littering the rug at their feet.

“How to Clip a Dragon’s Claws,” Harry read the discarded book’s title with a sarcastic snort. “Yeah, because clearly your biggest problem is going to be overgrown toenails. Merlin’s pants, who writes this stuff?”

“Listen to this,” He said frustrated, exhaustion tinging his tone as he read another from the chipped leather cover. “‘Dragon Keeping: A Guide for the Dedicated Enthusiast.’ It’s got loads of details also on trimming their claws, treating scale rot, all sorts of mad rubbish. Brilliant if you’re Hagrid and trying to keep your pet dragon fit and healthy enough to bite your head off, but not exactly useful for staying alive against one.”

Harry tossed aside the book “‘Dragon Keeping” he was holding, stuck his fingers under his eyes, and rubbed hard. Then, he picked up another book from the sofa, “One Hundred Spells for Facing Crises.”

“I’ve read that one. It’s useless, Harry—” Hermione flipped through the pages with a rustling sound. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the book Harry was picking up and commented. Then, she muttered anxiously, “Right, there’s also the Switching Spell… But what use is switching? Unless you can turn its fangs into wine gums or something to make it less dangerous… The problem is, as the book says, few things can penetrate a dragon’s hide… Or should we transfigure it?

But you definitely won’t succeed in transfiguring such a huge creature. I doubt even Professor McGonagall could… Of course, if we had Professor Watson or Professor Dumbledore’s magical power… Oh, don’t dream about it, Hermione. You can’t do it!”

Tonight, was even more exhausting than the previous nights, not only because of the accumulated fatigue but also because Professor Watson had put them through the training as usual during tonight’s physical education class.

Moreover, perhaps because they had made progress recently, Professor Watson’s methods had become increasingly brutal. He was simply merciless. Tonight, Harry had been impaled through the shoulder blade by a stone spear conjured by Professor Watson. Perhaps he had developed a greater tolerance for pain, so he didn’t pass out from it, but Professor Watson immediately followed up with a Stunning Spell.

Harry wondered if Professor Watson’s spear could pierce a dragon’s hide. He sat on the floor, looking up at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and this absurd thought popped into his mind. Then—

“Ah!” Harry leaped up from the floor, panting heavily, his green eyes flashing with excitement as he stared intently at Hermione, who was stunned by his bizarre behavior.

“Remember, Hermione, what Professor Watson told us!” Harry said, trying to contain his excitement.

“What?” Hermione was still confused.

“Dragons!” Harry grinned. “Professor Watson taught us how to deal with dragons in physical education class. What did he say back then? I can’t remember clearly, but you definitely remember, right?”

Gradually, the bewildered and resigned look in Hermione’s eyes brightened.

‘Dealing with dragons.’

The boy hiding behind the wall on the boys’ spiral staircase heard these words, and the gloomy face in the shadows finally showed a hint of terror.

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