Harry Potter's Twin

Nerves, Rasperry Tarts, and Dragons

  It was one thirty in the morning. I could not sleep. Tomorrow, well I suppose today, is the first challenge of the TriWizard Tournament. Was it circled around brawn, which I somewhat lack? Or brains, in which I'm too impulsive to ponder things? My only hope was that it was magic centered, and I could use my wand. But even then I don't know how lucky I'll be. I wasn't even supposed to do this. I dread failure and disappointing people.

I stared at the maroon canopy above my bed, worry driving my sleep away. Suddenly it was seven in the morning and my dread still dwelled deep in my stomach. As the competitors had to be at the arena at half past nine, I reluctantly shuffled out of my bed, shrugged on my Gryffindor robes, tamed my hair, and left my room. The dormitory was bustling with excitement, having the opposite reaction I did to the tournament. "Victoria!" Harry called, and I spotted him near the fireplace with Hermione and Ron. I descended the steps and made my way through my classmates to reach my friends.

"Are you ready?" Hermione asked. "I don't believe so." I responded. "Well what do you need?" She questioned. "Food." I stated, grabbing Harry's hand and heading for the dining hall as our two friends followed.

"I'm starved," I claimed, digging into my breakfast, observing how Hermione and Harry both ate lightly. Harry must be nervous. That makes us different I suppose. I'm an emotional eater and he is not. "Ronald don't be a pig." Hermione snapped, shaking her head in a disapproving manner. I glanced across from my plate to see Ron stuffing his face with raspberry tarts, crumble situating themselves around his mouth. "I'm hungry, Hermione." He attempted to justify, a mouth full of food marring his words.

I glanced around at the other students, from all schools. Most had buttons from their supporting schools, some had face paint, and very few, it seemed, were in support of Harry and I. There were a select couple, mostly from the Gryffindor house and mostly our friends, were adorned with Harry or Victoria buttons. I pretended not to mind nor notice as I turned my attention back to my tarts.

"Victoria we must get to the tournament grounds." Harry demanded, getting up from his seat at the table. I slid my plate to Ron so he could finish my breakfast and I followed Harry outside.

...
We entered a large, cream tent where all the headmasters were gathered. We were instructed to pick out of a bag. As each contestant pulled their hand out, a miniature dragon became animated in their palms. Mine was an Angel, which I hope meant that it was good. Not violent. It was rather large, with horns that curled around its head, almost like a ram. With sharp talons and teeth, and a skin white like snow, my hopes were not too high on the non-deadly aspect of this creature.

One by one the contestants exited the tent, the cheers and chants of faculty and students echoing around us, as well as roars from the dragons and the scathing sound of fire being blown. It was now Harry's turn, and I gave him a brisk hug as he exited the tent. As I sat in my chair, awaiting this anxious activity, Dumbledore seated himself next to me. "Are you frightened?" He pondered. "Petrified," I let out with a sigh, only to be met with silence. "But my dragon is called an Angel, so that must be in some regard to it's temperament? Angelic? Peaceful?" I questioned.

"Oh Victoria," Dumbledore sighed. "The Angel is not an angelic creature, it is only born to destroy, to kill, to wound terminally." He breathed heavily, like his words would be too thick to speak. "The Angel is more so named for the Angel of Death."