Chapter Text
Harry paced through the Champion’s tent, growling lowly. He had donned the ugly champion’s tunics over custom-made armor. It was a gorgeous dragon-hide set commissioned for him by Ironclaw, Frerel’s father and the best goblin lawyer available for hire, and his account manager Grimtalon, who was Ironclaw’s brother. Lockjaw had been putting the ministry and Dumbledore through the ringer for the lack of real protections that would have prevented his name from being entered. Despite this reassurance, his anxiety had spiked drastically.
He could hear the cheers of the students filling the quidditch pitch’s stands. They were hyped up, wanting to see just what would happen from the comfort and safety of their seats. Assholes. Okay, so maybe he’s being too harsh, but he was on edge and one minor inconvenience away from laying on the ground and crying.
“Psst! Harry? Harry, is that you?”
“Yes?”
Hermione burst into the tent, followed closely by their other friends, and nearly knocked him onto his ass. He clutched at her shoulders just as tightly as she did his. The two only broke apart when the loud and bright flash of a camera went off. Rita Skeeter stood, looking far too smug with herself.
“Ah, young love!”
Harry had been unwillingly introduced to the roach of a woman during the weighing of the wands ceremony. Where she had tried to bodily drag him into a storage closet, not knowing about the trauma associated with small enclosed spaces, and ended up with a bite mark on her hand for her trouble.
He could feel Hermione shaking with what was no doubt a feral and righteous anger that anyone else would think was fear or embarrassment. He estimated that they had maybe a minute or two before the girl went on a warpath. One that he may just join her on.
Before either could lose their tempers, the reporter’s camera burst, parts of it being flung through the tent at high speeds. (One such piece managed to nail poor Cedric in the forehead.) Mattia stood a few feet away, eyes glowing a sinister silver with his hand outstretched slightly. The silver slowly faded back to the crystalline blue that they normally were. His normally sharp features seemed sharper somehow, almost sinister and foreign. His inheritance showing through for mere seconds before fading away until he fully gained it.
“It’s illegal to photograph minors without parental consent. Leave. Now.”
“You little brat! You can’t destroy newspaper property!”
Hermione shook herself out of her awe-filled stupor, turning to stare at Rita Skeeter and her fugly ass cameraman. A wicked grin stretched over her face causing the two adults to flinch back at the pure unhinged glee in her eyes.
“When a member of the press photographs a minor without parental consent, an acting guardian or adult may destroy the photograph as needed. It’s the law. And even though Mattia is not an adult, he is a minor, so any charges you attempt to press against him would be invalid. Not to mention he isn’t a British citizen, only a visitor. So all in all, get fucked!”
A loud cough echoed from behind the group of teenagers, startling them. Headmaster Vulpe gave them a stern look before glaring at the two adults. His red eyes gleamed with a fierce and protective light. He considered every student under his care as his own and he would go to war for each and every one of them.
“I do believe that the task is about to begin, so all of you should get to your seats.”
As the other teens and the two adults scurried out of the champion’s tent, the ministry official in charge of the event came bouncing in with the other headmasters at his side. Mr. Bagman was bouncing on the balls of his feet, smiling widely at the grim-faced contestants. He held a velvet bag in his hands that he presented with a flourish as he began to explain what they needed to do.
“Each of you will reach into this bag and draw out a miniature model of a dragon with a number attached to it. Then you will face off with the real version of your model. YOur goal is to collect the golden egg among the true dragon eggs! You will be graded and rewarded points based on your performance of this task! Now, ladies first!”
Océane reached into the bag, wincing and yanking her hand back out with a mini Chinese Fireball attached. Its jaws had locked onto the tip of her finger in a not-really-painful bite and a little placard with a 2 on it hanging from its neck. Next was Cedric, who pulled a Swedish short-snout that seemed content to curl up in his palm. Its placard had a number 1. Harry reached into the bag, a sense of both dread and excitement fluttering in his stomach. Sharp spikes pricked into the skin of his hand as he pulled the Hungarian Horntail with a 4 attached to it from the bag. Which left Viktor with the number 3, a Devilish Dervish native to the plains of Africa.
With the order decided, they were left to prepare. When the cannon sound boomed through the tent, an ashen-faced Cedric half walked and half stumbled into the arena. From there they were forced to listen to the crowd’s reactions and the commentation, none of which helped the rising tension in the tent.
Harry was curled up with Océane, who was desperately trying to keep them both calm. He tried to help by making a low growling, almost purring, sound, but all it did was cause the mini dragons to cling to him and repeat the sound. The second the cannon sounded off again and she had to leave, he curled in on himself, gently petting the minis while he thought of a plan.
With another cannon sound, he was all alone in the tent. With every growl and roar of the dragons outside, his anxiety spiked. Dragons were territorial by nature and nesting mothers more so. There was a chance, one he didn’t like thinking about, that the dragon would view him as a threat. And if that happened, there was next to no chance that the handlers would be able to prevent him from being injured. Or worse.
The final cannon shot echoed through the tent, rattling his bones and his nerves. He trudged through the flaps of the tent into the quidditch arena The grassy pitch had been transformed into a rocky wasteland and he would bet his last gold galleon that he could hear Oliver screaming in outrage. On the other side of the pitch sat the Hungarian Horntail, who was snarling and growling at the cheering crowd of students and teachers.
The angry roar of the mother dragon caused him to flinch back, a scared whimper forcing its way out. The sound, no matter how quiet, caught the other dragon’s attention. For such a large creature, she moved entirely and unfairly fast. She was towering over him in mere seconds growling lowly and spreading her wings. There were so many options for how this could go and so many ended with him at least maimed.
So he decided to do something that would either get him killed or yelled by the girls later. Flattening his wings to his back, he made a soft almost crooning sound, and shrunk in on himself slightly. His anxiety spiked dramatically as she leaned down to smell him. A massive spiked tail curled around him, lifting him up as she made a comforting cooing sound.
He was very quickly set down in the makeshift nest. Picking up the golden egg was easy since he had apparently been adopted. Again. Meh, he’d let the adults figure out how to get him out. For now? Harry was gonna take a fucking nap!