Adventures of Harriet Potter

The First Task

Harriet got up on Sunday morning and dressed so inattentively that it was a while before she realized she was trying to pull her hat onto her foot instead of her sock. When she'd finally got all her clothes on the right parts of her body, she hurried off to find Hermione, locating her at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, where she was eating breakfast with Ginny. Feeling too queasy to eat, Harriet waited until Hermione had swallowed her last spoonful of porridge, then dragged her out onto the grounds. There, she told her all about the dragons, and about everything Sirius had said, while they took another long walk around the lake. Alarmed as she was by Sirius's warnings about Karkaroff, Hermione still thought that the dragons were the more pressing problem.
"Let's just try and keep you alive until Tuesday evening," she said desperately, "and then we can worry about Karkaroff." They walked three times around the lake, trying all the way to think of a simple spell that would subdue a dragon. Nothing whatsoever occurred to them, so they retired to the library instead. Here, Harriet pulled down every book she could find on dragons, and both of them set to work searching through the large pile. "'Talon-clipping by charms . . . treating scale-rot . . .' This is no good, this is for nutters like Hagrid who want to keep them healthy. . . ." said Harriet with a sigh. "'Dragons are extremely difficult to slay, owing to the ancient magic that imbues their thick hides, which none but the most powerful spells can penetrate . . .' But Sirius said a simple one would do it. . . ." Hermione read from the book she was checking.
"Let's try some simple spellbooks, then," said Harriet, throwing aside Men Who Love Dragons Too Much. She returned to the table with a pile of spellbooks, set them down, and began to flick through each in turn, Hermione whispering nonstop at her elbow. "Well, there are Switching Spells . . . but what's the point of Switching it? Unless you swapped its fangs for wine-gums or something that would make it less dangerous. . . . The trouble is, like that book said, not much is going to get through a dragon's hide. . . . I'd say Transfigure it, but something that big, you really haven't got a hope, I doubt even Professor McGonagall . . . unless you're supposed to put the spell on yourself? Maybe to give yourself extra powers? But they're not simple spells, I mean, we haven't done any of those in class, I only know about them because I've been doing O.W.L. practice papers. . . ."
"Hermione," Harriet said, through gritted teeth, "will you shut up for a bit, please? I'm trying to concentrate." But all that happened, when Hermione fell silent, was that Harriet's brain filled with a sort of blank buzzing, which didn't seem to allow room for concentration. She stared hopelessly down the index of Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed. Instant scalping . . . but dragons had no hair . . . pepper breath . . . that would probably increase a dragon's firepower . . . horn tongue . . . just what she needed, to give it an extra weapon . . . "Oh no, he's back again, why can't he read on his stupid ship?" said Hermione irritably as Viktor Krum slouched in, cast a surly look over at the pair of them, and settled himself in a distant corner with a pile of books. "Come on, Harriet, we'll go back to the common room . . . his fan club'll be here in a moment, twittering away. . . ." And sure enough, as they left the library, a gang of girls tiptoed past them, one of them wearing a Bulgaria scarf tied around her waist.

Harriet barely slept that night. When she awoke on Monday morning, she seriously considered for the first time ever just running away from Hogwarts. But as she looked around the Great Hall at breakfast time, and thought about what leaving the castle would mean, she knew she couldn't do it. It was the only place she had ever been happy . . . well, she supposed she must have been happy with her parents too, but she couldn't remember that. Somehow, the knowledge that she would rather be here and facing a dragon than back on Privet Drive with Dudley was good to know; it made her feel slightly calmer. She finished her bacon with difficulty (her throat wasn't working too well), and as she and Hermione got up, she saw Cedric Diggory leaving the Hufflepuff table.
Cedric still didn't know about the dragons . . . the only champion who didn't, if Harriet was right in thinking that Maxime and Karkaroff would have told Fleur and Krum. . . . "Hermione, I'll see you in the greenhouses," Harriet said, coming to her decision as she watched Cedric leaving the Hall. "Go on, I'll catch you up."
"Harriet, you'll be late, the bell's about to ring —" said Hermione in concern. "I'll catch you up, okay?" Harriet said firmly. By the time Harriet reached the bottom of the marble staircase, Cedric was at the top. He was with a load of sixth-year friends. Harriet didn't want to talk to Cedric in front of them; they were among those who had been quoting Rita Skeeter's article at her every time she went near them. She followed Cedric at a distance and saw that he was heading toward the Charms corridor. This gave Harriet an idea. Pausing at a distance from them, she pulled out her wand, and took careful aim.
"Diffindo!" she said, casting a spell. Cedric's bag split. Parchment, quills, and books spilled out of it onto the floor. Several bottles of ink smashed. "Don't bother," said Cedric in an exasperated voice as his friends bent down to help him. "Tell Flitwick I'm coming, go on. . . ." This was exactly what Harriet had been hoping for. She slipped her wand back into her robes, waited until Cedric's friends had disappeared into their classroom, and hurried up the corridor, which was now empty of everyone but herself and Cedric. "Hi," said Cedric, picking up a copy of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration that was now splattered with ink. "My bag just split . . . brand-new and all . . ."
"Cedric," said Harriet, "the first task is dragons." Hoping he'd believe her, since he was likely to think she was taking the Mickey out of him. "What?" said Cedric, looking up. "Dragons," said Harriet, speaking quickly, in case Professor Flitwick came out to see where Cedric had got to. "They've got four, one for each of us, and we've got to get past them." Cedric stared at him. Harriet saw some of the panic she'd been feeling since Saturday night flickering in Cedric's gray eyes. "Are you sure?" Cedric said in a hushed voice. "Dead sure," said Harriet. "I've seen them."
"But how did you find out? We're not supposed to know. . . ." Cedric asked. "Never mind," said Harriet quickly — she knew Hagrid would be in trouble if she told the truth. "But I'm not the only one who knows. Fleur and Krum will know by now — Maxime and Karkaroff both saw the dragons too." Cedric straightened up, his arms full of inky quills, parchment, and books, his ripped bag dangling off one shoulder. He stared at Harriet, and there was a puzzled, almost suspicious look in his eyes.
"Why are you telling me?" he asked. Harriet looked at him in disbelief. She was sure Cedric wouldn't have asked that if he had seen the dragons himself. Harriet wouldn't have let his worst enemy face those monsters unprepared — well, perhaps Malfoy or Snape . . . "It's just . . . fair, isn't it?" she said to Cedric. "We all know now . . . we're on an even footing, aren't we?"
Cedric was still looking at her in a slightly suspicious way when Harriet heard a familiar clunking noise behind her. She turned around and saw Mad-Eye Moody emerging from a nearby classroom. "Come with me, Potter," he growled. "Diggory, off you go." Harriet stared apprehensively at Moody. Had he overheard them? "Er — Professor, I'm supposed to be in Herbology —" she said apprehensively. "Never mind that, Potter. In my office, please. . . ." Moody growled. Harriet followed him, wondering what was going to happen to her now. What if Moody wanted to know how she'd found out about the dragons? Would Moody go to Dumbledore and tell on Hagrid, or just turn Harriet into a ferret? Well, it might be easier to get past a dragon if she were a ferret, Harriet thought dully, she'd be smaller, much less easy to see from a height of fifty feet . . .
She followed Moody into his office. Moody closed the door behind them and turned to look at Harriet, his magical eye fixed upon her as well as the normal one. "That was a very decent thing you just did, Potter," Moody said quietly. Harriet didn't know what to say; this wasn't the reaction she had expected at all. "Sit down," said Moody, and Harriet sat, looking around. She had visited this office under two of its previous occupants. In Professor Lockhart's day, the walls had been plastered with beaming, winking pictures of Professor Lockhart himself. When Lupin had lived here, you were more likely to come across a specimen of some fascinating new Dark creature he had procured for them to study in class. Now, however, the office was full of a number of exceptionally odd objects that Harriet supposed Moody had used in the days when he had been an Auror.
On his desk stood what looked like a large, cracked, glass spinning top; Harriet recognized it at once as a Sneakoscope, because she owned one herself, though it was much smaller than Moody's. In the corner on a small table stood an object that looked something like an extra-squiggly, golden television aerial. It was humming slightly. What appeared to be a mirror hung opposite Harriet on the wall, but it was not reflecting the room. Shadowy figures were moving around inside it, none of them clearly in focus. "Like my Dark Detectors, do you?" said Moody, who was watching Harriet closely.
"What's that?" Harriet asked, pointing at the squiggly golden aerial. "Secrecy Sensor. Vibrates when it detects concealment and lies . . . no use here, of course, too much interference — students in every direction lying about why they haven't done their homework. Been humming ever since I got here. I had to disable my Sneakoscope because it wouldn't stop whistling. It's extra-sensitive, picks up stuff about a mile around. Of course, it could be picking up more than kid stuff," he added in a growl. "And what's the mirror for?" she asked. "Oh that's my Foe-Glass. See them out there, skulking around? I'm not really in trouble until I see the whites of their eyes. That's when I open my trunk."
He let out a short, harsh laugh, and pointed to the large trunk under the window. It had seven keyholes in a row. Harriet wondered what was in there, until Moody's next question brought her sharply back to earth. "So . . . found out about the dragons, have you?" Harriet hesitated. She'd been afraid of this — but she hadn't told Cedric, and she certainly wasn't going to tell Moody, that Hagrid had broken the rules. "It's all right," said Moody, sitting down and stretching out his wooden leg with a groan. "Cheating's a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and always has been."
"I didn't cheat," said Harriet sharply. "It was — a sort of accident that I found out." Moody grinned. "I wasn't accusing you, lassie. I've been telling Dumbledore from the start, he can be as high-minded as he likes, but you can bet old Karkaroff and Maxime won't be. They'll have told their champions everything they can. They want to win. They want to beat Dumbledore. They'd like to prove he's only human." Moody gave another harsh laugh, and his magical eye swiveled around so fast it made Harriet feel queasy to watch it. "So . . . got any ideas how you're going to get past your dragon yet?" said Moody.
"No," said Harriet. "Well, I'm not going to tell you," said Moody gruffly. "I don't show favoritism, me. I'm just going to give you some good, general advice. And the first bit is — play to your strengths." He was giving her an intense look. "I haven't got any," said Harriet, before she could stop herself. "Excuse me," growled Moody, "you've got strengths if I say you've got them. Think now. What are you best at?" Harriet tried to concentrate. What was she best at? Well, that was easy, really — "Quidditch," she said dully, "and a fat lot of help —"
"That's right," said Moody, staring at her very hard, his magical eye barely moving at all. "You're a damn good flier from what I've heard." She squirmed under his scrutiny. "Yeah, but . . ." Harriet stared at him. "I'm not allowed a broom, I've only got my wand —" Her brain was working slowly from the factors of stress and lack of restful sleep. "My second piece of general advice," said Moody loudly, interrupting him, "is to use a nice, simple spell that will enable you to get what you need." Harriet looked at him blankly. What did she need? "Come on, girl . . ." whispered Moody. "Put them together . . . it's not that difficult. . . ." And it clicked. She was best at flying. She needed to pass the dragon in the air. For that, she needed her Firebolt. And for her Firebolt, she needed —