In the candle-lit halls of Hogwarts, where magic stirs with every whisper, Harry Potter begins his first year - unaware that fate has woven another soul into his journey.
Elsa Scamander, silent as snowfall and powerful as a storm, arrives cloaked in...
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☆☆☆☆☆☆
ELSA POV
Moody had granted us permission to miss classes in favour of preparing for the first task—a mercy cloaked in urgency. Dragons were not something one faced with theory and good intentions alone.
Right now, we sat tucked into the corner of Harry's dorm. The next period had just begun, which meant we had two entire hours free—two hours of supposed study.
Harry, ever the stubborn Gryffindor, was nose-deep in a thick book on Summoning Charms. Moody had drilled "Accio" into him so thoroughly, he could probably summon a broom from another country by now.
As for me? I planned to rely on what had always been there—my powers. Ice, steady and pure, dancing at my fingertips. But Harry insisted I sit and read. Read, as if ink on parchment would help me tame dragons.
But it wasn't the book that annoyed me. It was Harry's complete and utter dedication to it. His attention was wholly married to the page, not sparing a glance my way.
So, I flicked his forehead.
He blinked, annoyed.
I giggled. A moment later, I did it again. And again.
Every time he tried to focus, I interrupted—flick, flick, flick—until his sighs became a rhythm and my laughter a melody that filled the quiet room. For a moment, we weren't two champions—just two teenagers teasing each other between the chaos.
"Please circle around me," Barty Crouch said, voice clipped and brisk.
We were in the champions' tent now, waiting. The calm before fire.
I limped slightly as I walked forward, earning a smug smirk from Harry. He knew exactly why I limped. The ache in my muscles was a reminder of last night's tickling war gone too far.
"You'll each place your hand in this bag and draw a model dragon," Crouch explained. "The dragon you pick will be your opponent."
Fleur reached in first—Common Welsh Green.
Then Viktor—Hebridean Black.
Cedric—Swedish Short-Snout.
My hand brushed velvet and pulled out a miniature Chinese Fireball, its ruby scales glittering.
And then Harry—Hungarian Horntail. The most dangerous of them all.
My heart clenched.
I didn't show it.
He looked at me, lips pressed, worry written in his eyes. I squeezed his hand before we parted.
The arena roared with wind and whispers.
My name was called.
Harry kissed my forehead softly, the warmth of it lingering longer than it should have. "Be careful, I love you" he murmured.
