Chapter 23: The First Task
Chapter 23. The First Task
Rose Evans
She walks towards the champions' tent with her brother by her side. They both are dressed in beautiful, red battle robes with the Hogwarts insignia on their backs. And their leather bottoms are perfectly snug, accentuating their legs without hindering their movements.
Already, she's missing her baggy jeans, the 'subtle' stares directed at her bum making her feel uneasy. She even saw a foreign reporter taking a back shot of her. How lovely. It reminds her of her early teenage years when she sprouted a large chest and equally eye-catching butt. She shudders recalling how she was thrust into the spotlight. The bustiest third-year; that's what they used to call her. That was the reason why she shifted to loose clothing that didn't stick to her skin. She doesn't want her looks to overshadow everything she does. She'd rather be known as the best Seeker in the country instead of 'that hot girl with nice boobs'.
"Chin up and stop brooding," Harry mutters from beside her, giving her a side-eye.
She pouts, slinging her arm around his neck. "Protect my honour, little brother. A creep just took a photo of my butt."
"Shouldn't you be already used to it? Just ignore them." He shrugs, not understanding her problem. Yes, she should finally learn to ignore people's penetrating eyes and feel confident in her own skin, but that's easier said than done.
"Are you the same boy who tortured the stalker on my behalf?" she complains, clinging onto him as he effortlessly drags her towards the tent, unbothered by the extra weight, his arm firmly around her waist. Her lips curve up as parallel lines form on the ground, courtesy of her thick-soled boots.
"You want me to torture and kill him?" he casually asks, his tone thoughtful as he looks over his shoulder at the reporter who is now busy chatting with someone.
Ice creeps in her veins and she quickly stands upright, lightly slapping his shoulder. "I was joking. Don't even think about it."
She sighs inwardly, wondering why her siblings always leap to violent solutions. Why was their first instinct murder?
"Alright." He grabs her hand as they duck into the champions' tent.
The interior is quite spacious with a large round table in the centre. The chairs from the table have been dragged away to different corners. The Durmstrang team, consisting of Kiril Marinov and Thyra Helvig, are seated in one such corner, silent and watchful. They're donned in similar battle robes, though theirs are black instead of red.
She tries not to squirm when they fix her with a curious look. Thyra dismisses her after a single glance but doesn't even try to match Harry's gaze. Heh, the noble swordswoman is still intimidated by her cute little brother. Hilarious. Kiril, on the other hand, runs his eyes over her body, thoroughly appreciative. He gives her a charming smile which she ignores, letting Harry drag her off to another corner, far away from them.
"Do you think I can get away with drawing a dick on that oaf's face if I'm fast enough?" she grouses, crossing her arms under her chest.
"While it would be fun," he eyes their opponents, "let's not cause any disruption now."
She can't help but grin when Thyra pales under his attention, eyes snapping close, adopting a serene expression—trying to project the image of absolute confidence.
Is this bullying? If yes, then she doesn't mind being the bully. That girl tries too hard to look all cool and knightly. Forcing her to break out in cold sweat is amusing.
The tent flaps and the last team enters.
Gabrielle Delacour and Teresa Clare's battle robes are pure white. They give off the impression of divine angels. Their light hair is done in beautiful but practical dutch braids, the twin tails resting on each shoulder. And their clothing is just as fitting as hers, highlighting their rounded curves. She won't lie; they are way beyond her league. Teresa's tall, sylphlike figure is awe-inspiring and the Veela's—let's just not talk about her. The only department in which Rose could beat them is chest size… which sounds ironic after all the whining she did for being cursed with large breasts.
"'Arry. Rose." Gabrielle approaches them with a friendly smile, either oblivious to or not minding Kiril's ogling. Most probably the latter. These Veelas seem to revel in attention. Good for them, but she can never understand or relate to that.
"Come, join us," Harry says, smiling back.
They carry the chairs from the table and place them beside Harry's. Gabrielle then slides into her seat gracefully, with Teresa taking the chair next to hers.
"I 'ope you are prepared for ze dragon task." The Veela turns towards her brother, the accented voice coming off concerned.
…
She blinks at how easily the secret is revealed. Even Harry is taken aback.
Teresa gently smacks the girl on the back of her head. "That was supposed to be a secret. Now we will be disqualified for cheating. Great job."
Gabrielle's eyes widen as she snaps her head towards them, pressing her hands together. "Forget I said anything, please."
Rose snickers at the panicked girl while Harry reassures her that it's fine—that they too are cheating and are aware of the dragons in advance.
"I'll bet my arm and leg that those two are in the know, too." She points at the Durmstrang students with her chin.
"Exactly." Teresa rolls her eyes, pulling the claymore from the scabbard and placing it on her lap, polishing it. "If everyone is cheating, then no one is cheating."
Gabrielle heaves a sigh of relief and slumps against the backrest. "Merci. I don't know what I would 'ave done when I 'ad to tell my sister zat I got disqualified because I stupidly blurted out a secret."
So Gabrielle deeply cares what her older sister thinks of her. It must be nice having a kind and thoughtful sister; she cannot relate.
The quiet that follows is peaceful instead of awkward, each of them busy in their own heads, no doubt thinking about the upcoming task.
"I was meaning to ask you something, Teresa. Where are you throughout the day? I wanted to talk, but I could never find you," Harry tells the silver-eyed beauty, breaking the comfortable silence.
Teresa stops caressing her sword. "We can talk now."
"I'd prefer a more private setting."
Rose wonders what this is about. Is her pervert brother not satisfied yet and is wanting another girl? The lecher's lust has consumed Mum's every break since their relationship changed. Their poor Mum has been bent over her own desk every time their break aligns. Not to mention, the nights spent in their personal quarters being his sex toy. How much more sex does he want? Honestly, with the way he's been fucking their Mum every free moment, she fears he would get bored soon. Though maybe not. She has only recently learned that Harry has had hots for their Mum for years now. Hopefully, that means his excitement for her would evolve into something normal instead of dwindling into nothing.
Of course, she too has been roped into this scandalous affair after she joined them that one night. And Harry has been bonking her just as much. Having a private living space all to themselves is mightily convenient.
She wonders what would've happened if she hadn't tagged along for that massage session. She would still limit themselves to kisses, probably, wrestling with herself, not knowing whether to let go or keep holding onto her morals. The only reason she got over her hesitation was because of their mum. It becomes impossibly difficult to act like a responsible sister and keep denying yourself the pleasure when you see your own mother screaming wantonly while getting drilled by that same brother. That was the night where she jumped into the deep end and embraced her unnatural desires.
Teresa's answer brings her out of her ruminations. "I'm quite busy. I'll see if I can clear my schedule and make time for you. I'll find you myself if I do so."
Harry doesn't look satisfied by the vague promise but all he can do is nod in acceptance.
Just then, the headmasters of their schools march into the tent, followed by the Ministry officials and the reporter from the Daily Prophet.
She listens carefully as Bagman tells them about the first task.
Apparently, their job is to steal a fake golden egg from the dragon nest. Their breed of dragon and the order in which they will perform will be decided randomly.
"Please wear these bracelets. They are enchanted to apparate you to the medical tent if you suffer any serious wounds." Dumbledore hands them the leather straps.
She puts hers on, knowing she wouldn't need it.
"You might not know it, but the task hasn't changed much to accommodate two champions instead of one." Bagman claps like an eager child. "But that won't do. This is a team competition now. So we have an addendum. We have attached a bell to the tails of the dragons. While taking it is not necessary to advance to the next round, any team that does claim it will get extra 30 points. Keep that in mind! Now it's time to choose your dragons!"
Kiril goes first for his team, choosing the Common Welsh Green.
Then Harry volunteers to stick his hand into the sack containing the miniature models of the dragons and pulls out the Chinese Fireball.
It is so pretty. The little dragon has crimson scales covering the entirety of its body. It also has golden spikes around its head, not unlike a lion's mane. It growls, but instead of threatening it comes out cute.
While Teresa steps forward on her team's behalf, Rose busies herself in needling the miniature dragon, biting back chuckles as it tries to chomp on her finger.
She sulks when the animation charm fizzles out, leaving behind an unmoving model.
~xXxXx~
Iris Evans
The arena is constructed on the Quidditch grounds, and the number of seats have been vastly increased to accommodate more than just students and professors. Although no formal invitations have been sent out, spectators are expected.
She sits with her mum, watching curiously as the dragon is herded into the enclosed ring by the keepers. Unlike the Quidditch games, the ground is surrounded by high wooden walls, behind which stands have been constructed and expanded for the audience. She doubts it will be sufficient, given how the crowd keeps swelling.
As the commentator begins explaining the task, she feels her mum flinch beside her. "They want them to steal a bell from the dragon's tail? Are they out of their tiny minds!"
Iris isn't worried. She trusts Harry. Even the dumb cow cannot mess and get herself killed when she has time manipulation powers and 'Last Moments' ability. Rose would need to be dumber than a pebble to be that incompetent. Iris doesn't think her sister is that useless. Probably.
She frowns as her mum keeps on worrying, muttering all the ways this can go wrong. It's annoying. She'd rather be with Astoria, but the Greengrasses are here, like many others, so her friend has decided to join her family.
"It's been a while." A man plops down next to her.
He has messy dark hair, warm brown eyes, and a crooked smile. If not for the eyes, she could've sworn it was just an older version of Harry.
"Da—Mr. Potter." Iris catches herself, squashing down the surge of joy and shooting him a blank look. Even though the arena is just as noisy, a strange silence has enveloped them, forming a stifling bubble around them.
"Ouch." Mr. Potter winces dramatically, clutching his chest. "Is that how you treat your dear old dad after not seeing him for years?"
"Maybe that's the reason, Mr. Potter." Her mum butts in, placing an arm around her in a possessive manner, as if claiming her, establishing a distinct boundary, telling him that she is hers and not his. "You could've shown up more frequently."
"Good to see you too, Lils." He chuckles, ignoring her comment. "And you're just as beautiful as the last time I saw you. Why, you haven't aged a day."
"Drop it, James." Her mum's tone turns frosty. "Why are you here?"
"My children are participating in an international tournament," he replies, sinking in his chair, his hands on the armrests. "I wanted to see them in action. And I wanted to check on the kids too, of course."
Iris freezes as he pats her head, rewarding her with a soft smile. Then her Mum shoves his hand away, pulling her against her side. "They are doing splendidly without you. I'm afraid you will ruin their week by showing your ugly mug. Why don't you get up and take a walk? I wouldn't mind if you accidentally portkey home and forget we exist."
"Not this time, Lils." He drops the jovial act, sneering at her. "I plan to spend this year in the Isles. I will see my children whenever I want. They are mine too, you know. Stop being a cruel bitch."
Iris feels two walls closing on her from either side. Their arguments pierce her ears, and she feels sick to her bones. Suddenly, all the noise seems too much. It feels like every sound is amplified by a thousand, meant to burst her eardrums and melt her brain. She feels claustrophobic. She feels overwhelmed. She wants Harry. She wants to go back to her dorm. She wants silence.
Her mum must've sensed her distress, because she drops the argument and enfolds her in her arms.
She lets out a tired sigh and rests her face on her chest, glad that they aren't fighting anymore. Her father's guilty look proves that he loves her too. But is the nebulous feeling of love enough when he couldn't even bother living with them?
"There you are, James." A smooth voice shatters the tranquil moment. "Is that your family?"
Iris pulls away from her mum and looks at the newcomer.
The woman's beauty leaves her speechless. She has dark olive skin and long, flowing black hair. Her yellow dress is brazenly immodest with the amount of cleavage on display. Her large breasts strain within the flimsy fabric, and the outline of her nipples suggests she's not wearing a bra. The playful smile on her sun-kissed face makes it clear that she's aware of the image she's presenting. Not to mention, her strange purple eyes; they gleam with some emotion.
As she comes to a halt before them, she leans down and cups the side of Iris' face. "You have a beautiful daughter. Why didn't you introduce us earlier?"
The perfume—something spicy and exotic—washes over her like a tidal wave, and Iris can do nothing but blush and try not to look at the dangling breasts in front of her eyes. Just a single tug, and they'll spill out.
Wait, why is she even thinking about that? There's definitely something wrong with her.
She closes her eyes and tightly grips her mum's wrist, struggling to understand why she feels such an intense attraction to her.
If she didn't know that all Veelas are fair, with silver-blonde hair, and blue eyes, she would declare this tan-skinned and dark-haired woman one of them. There's a certain allure to her. And unlike the allure of those two French Veelas, which makes others look at them adoringly, this woman's presence is more predatory.
"Right." Her father awkwardly smiles. "That is my youngest, Iris. And the pissed redhead who is preparing to curse you is my ex-wife, Lily. You better step away."
The highly attractive woman titters and withdraws her hand.
Iris finally breathes out, realising she's been holding her breath.
"This is my girlfriend, Isabella Zabini." Her father stands up, putting an arm around the seductress.
She can't even fault him this time. If she, as someone who doesn't like girls that way, was so deeply affected, she can only imagine the sheer hold Isabella must have over him.
"Lovely to meet her," her mum hisses, rubbing her back. "But can you please take her somewhere else? She's drawing too much attention. And I'd like to watch the first task in peace."
"That's the curse of beauty, Lily. You must be familiar with it, aren't you? It's like the ripest and most tantalising fruit in existence. The aroma makes their mouths water. It turns them feral, where they would do anything just for a small bite."
She sounds dangerous. She hopes her father knows what he's gotten himself into. For all his faults, she doesn't want him to get hurt.
"Right." Her mum glowers murderously. "Maybe go somewhere else if you want to be bitten by feral animals."
Isabella Zabini merely winks and allows herself to be led away.
Iris can already feel her head getting less fuzzier.
That was… intoxicating.
~xXxXx~
Thyra Helvig
"Are you sure you want to do this, Kiril?" she asks as they walk through the tunnel leading into the arena. Her ebony hair, tied back in its usual ponytail, reaches all the way to her waist, but she feels exposed without her usual armour. Though the black battle robes feel sturdy enough, she has grown accustomed to the weight of her steel breastplate.
"Yes. You just stand near the entrance. Only interfere if I'm in danger. This is my tournament. Let me do it myself," he answers with full confidence, his glowing wand chasing off the darkness. The Lighting Charm wouldn't be needed for long. Just a little further, the sunlight breaches the shadows of the tunnel.
Thyra sighs but acquiesces. She is quick enough to save him from anywhere in the arena, so that's not an inviable option. But she had hoped he would take it easy and let her do everything in under a minute. Then again, she can understand and respect pride. So she will give him his chance to prove himself to the others.
As they step out into the open, she surveys her surroundings. A rocky floor, scattered with stone outcroppings that could serve as cover from dragonfire. High wooden walls stand behind invisible wards. On the far side of the arena, a dragon perches beside its nest. And the jubilant crowd cheers them on.
For the uninitiated, it can be overwhelming. She is not.
While many would cower in her position, she regards the beast with an unimpressed expression. Compared to other dragons she has helped slay before, this one hardly looks challenging. She moves to the side and leans back against the wooden wall, hand on the pommel of her sheathed sword. According to the rules, only wands should be allowed. But since Teresa Clare doesn't own one, they cannot exactly send her to a dragon unarmed. Hence, now even a sword is allowed. She's thankful for that. While she knows magic like everyone else, she's grown too reliant on her sword.
It's time to get to work.
With a single thought, she transforms her liquid magic into gas and releases it from her body.
In an instant, the entire arena is engulfed by her magic, creating a domain.
Now, she is the master of the arena. No one can defeat her here—not even a dragon. However, she doesn't do anything with this power, letting Kiril take charge.
She resists facepalming when he simply bolts towards the beast, as if strong enough to wrestle it. He is not; if he were, his father wouldn't have hired her as his bodyguard.
Her grip on the hilt of her sword tightens, but she doesn't have to interfere just yet. Kiril conjures a massive shield as the proud dragon takes him up on the challenge and lunges at him, rattling its chain. The translucent shield splinters like rotten wood, but he has already leapt away, hiding behind a giant boulder, making his way towards the nest.
He disappears to her eyes, using the Invisibility Charm. Good.
The dragon puffs out smoke, trying to find him, swerving its enormous head this way and that. When it cannot locate him, it locks its glare on her instead, releasing a deep, rumbling roar. It tries to advance towards her, but the shackles keep it restrained to the other side. It even attempts to burn her with fire. But the flames don't even cross halfway before sputtering out.
She shakes her head, not knowing whether to be amused or feel sorry.
Within her domain, she is acutely aware where Kiril is—where everything is. And as he grabs the golden egg and darts behind another boulder, she allows herself a smile.
He's doing great.
He moves in a roundabout way, prioritising safety over speed, always staying out of the dragon's sight. He leaps from one rock to the next, carefully avoiding detection.
Thyra decides it's time she moves towards the exit too. The task is almost complete.
An angered screech stops her in her tracks, and then comes the raging dragon's attack. It's done playing hide and seek and lashes out at the rocks with its claws and tail, deciding to crush the very arena.
Before Kiril can get hurt, Thyra finally unleashes her domain. Invisible blades form from her magic, raining down on the beast from every angle. They can't cut through its magically thick, resistant hide, but they distract the dragon and clash with every slash of its claws and tail.
She continues on her stroll, enjoying the dead quiet signifying the shock of the audience, her sword still in its sheath, while invisible blades keep the dragon busy. One such blade cuts the bell from the dragon's tail. And Kiril is close enough to grab it on his way.
Hmph. The dragon wasn't even strong enough to force her to unsheathe her sword. How boring.
Kiril grins at her once they jog into the exit tunnel together, slapping her shoulder in his enthusiasm. "You are brilliant."
"I know."
~xXxXx~
The cannon blast signals our turn.
"Good luck," Gabrielle calls out, waving as Teresa nods beside her.
We amble into the tunnel, and once we're far enough, I pin Rose against the wooden wall and snog her passionately.
Her surprised squawk dissolves into a moan as she kisses me back, her fingers tangled in my hair.
It's too dark to see, but I can feel her rolling her eyes when we finally pull apart. "You're getting horny now?"
"It was just a good luck kiss."
"Then why're you pawing my chest?"
"It was a good luck squeeze."
She snorts and slaps my hands away. "Focus."
"If I can get one more kis—"
Her lips are on mine before I can finish the sentence. I smile into the kiss as I lift her into my arms, matching the heat of her searing lips. After a moment, I reluctantly pull back and set her down. "I'll expect a longer kiss once we're done here."
"As if you haven't been running me ragged these past four days. Come on, let's finish this," she scoffs, guiding me into the arena.
I suppose that's true. Mum and Rose have become my obsessions lately. I've also begun neglecting the other girls. Hermione and Katie in particular have been giving me puppy eyes for not railing them. I'll have to change that.
I wince as the loud explosion of sounds break my train of thought. There are people screaming our name. Some are yelling 'Hogwarts', and the stupid few are actually singing the school song.
Ignoring the noise, I scan the battleground. The floor is a jagged expanse of broken earth, and crumbling boulders that might have once shielded someone from dragonfire are strewn around haphazardly. High wooden walls loom around us, keeping us trapped in this arena. And the crimson dragon writhes against its restraints on the other side.
"As we planned. I'll be the distraction while you go and get those two items."
Rose nods and crouches behind one of the few intact rock outcropping.
I unholster my wand and approach the dragon at a languid pace. The ear-splitting cheers have calmed down to soft murmurs. If I weren't trying to keep my system skills a secret, I could've given them a real show. Oh well, I can still give them a little demo.
The Chinese Fireball is a placid dragon compared to the other breeds. But that only applies if you remain away from its territory. The closer I get, the antsy it's becoming. As I stop ten metres away from it, it opens its wide maw in warning, revealing the sharp rows of dagger-like teeth.
I step forward anyway and grimace as the roar shakes me and turns my hair messier.
One more step and I can see the fire building in its throat.
Unlike the other dragons, which spew streams of fire, the Chinese Fireball shoots out a ball of fire that explodes upon contact, causing wide-area damage. Hence the name, Chinese Fireball.
With a screech, it shoots such a fireball right at me. I can hear the panicked screams of the audience, but I merely snap my wand at it.
The fireball turns blue before flickering into nothing.
…
…
The dragon cocks its head to the side before trying again.
Again, the yellow fireball turns blue in the midair before disintegrating.
It's not a spell, though I do try to make it seem so. I'm using my [Blessing of Incineration] to devour the very flames. That skill grants me blue flames that will keep on burning until the fuel runs out. And as I send a pinprick of it into the fireball, it consumes the flames and disappears once there's nothing to burn.
This back and forth happens a few more times before the dragon notices Rose creeping towards the nest. It bellows out in rage and swipes its claw at her.
I suppress my instinctive worry and watch on as she effortlessly weaves through all sorts of attacks, including exploding fireballs. Then she grabs the egg and runs towards the dragon's tail.
I crack up as the dragon abandons its futile attacks and tries to flee, fighting against the shackles.
The poor dragon. The time-manipulating witch is such a bully.
As she claims the bell too, I distract the dragon once more, shooting weak bolts of lighting at it, not wanting to cause any true harm in case there's a penalty.
The crimson dragon makes no attempt to chase us as we rush towards the exit tunnel, with thunderous applause echoing behind us.
~xXxXx~
Isabella Zabini
She smirks as James cheers the loudest for his children.
'It won't make them hate you any less.' She wants to comment but decides not to ruin his enjoyment. Harry and Rose Evans did perform admirably, after all. He can be proud of that, even if he had no hand in shaping them.
Interesting magic was used just now, and she'll give them a nod of respect because even she couldn't understand how they did what they did. The boy somehow dispelled the exploding flames, and the girl was unnaturally quick and graceful, as if she knew where the dragon would attack. It didn't matter if it was sharp claws or scorching flames, Rose Evans knew when to leap and when to twirl away. It was like a beautiful dance.
She will have to bring up their names for recruitment. Her master can use talent like these. And these children will only grow stronger as they mature.
"LET'S GIVE A ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR THE BEAUXBATONS TEAM!"
Isabella sits on the edge of her seat as Bagman introduces the last team, as Teresa Clare enters the arena with the timid Veela on her tail.
This would be powerful. Her master's favourite is going to perform at last. She's going to show why she's one of his best creations.
It all happens in the blink of an eye. One moment, Teresa is standing at the entrance; the next, she's a blur of motion.
Isabella grins broadly as the girl plummets towards the dragon, her claymore lifted high above her head.
She delivers a decisive slash. Her sword cleaves through the dragon's mighty magical hide, severing its head from its body. The force of the blow dissipates just in time, sparing the wards and preventing a massacre in the audience.
…
…
She laughs at the loud silence, drawing confused looks.
That was indeed powerful.
Teresa Clare is a goddess of one thing—cutting.
She cuts. She butchers. But not mindlessly. Her every cut is precise and perfect. It will cut anything and it will cut nothing if she desires. She's indeed her master's great creation—an anomaly.
As the spectators grumble over the slaughtered dragon, she rises from her seat and heads down towards the dragon keepers, who look on the verge of becoming an angry mob. That won't do. The girl was only following her instructions, and she won't let her be punished for it.
While the judges decide on a score, she discusses the reparations with the handlers. And just like everything, money buys their cooperation.
"What was that?" James asks, having followed her like a toddler.
"Nothing you need to worry about," she says in a sultry voice. "How about we call it a day and rest in our bedroom?"
A glimpse of her nipple is enough for him to drop the topic and forget about his family. He was going to have a heart-to-heart with his son. But now he will be busy plowing her.
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