for the dancing and the dreaming

spitting fire

When Draco sat down next to Harold, he felt his cheeks a bit sore from the unusual amount of smiling. With a small cough he quickly composed himself returning his expression to his usual cool indifference.

Ron and Hermione obliviously returned to their conversation with Krum, leaving Harold and Draco to talk to each other. Harold looked down at his breakfast for a second, clearly struggling to come up with a topic of conversation. "Do you think you'll be picked as the champion?" Harold asked him after a couple of moments of silence, playing with his food.

"Krum will probably be picked. He's strong, handsome..." Draco trailed off as he realized two things: one, that Harry was staring at him, confused, and two, that Krum was just a couple of seats away, definitely within earshot. "He's definitely Karkaroff's favorite, too. Thank goodness he isn't the one picking the champions, if he was I wouldn't even stand a chance," he tried to not let on his irritation.

"Oh," Harry stated. Draco quickly realized that he had practically poured his heart out to this person who he had known for approximately a day, and sighed out loud, causing Harry's puzzled look to deepen. In his defense, Harold seemed like a decent lad who could keep a secret.

Ron, who hadn't been paying as much attention to Hermione and Krum's conversation as Draco had thought, chimed in. "You can't relate," he said to Harold, then for Draco's sake he added, "He's been Dumbledore's favorite since year one."

"I guess you and Krum have something in common." Draco told Harold with a stretch of the lips.

To his surprise, instead of being happy with the comparison to the famous quidditch star, Harold half-frowned. "Yeah, we are quite alike. Nobody knew that at all." He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Before he could figure out why Harold was annoyed, Hermione tapped Harry on the shoulder, and they both turned to hear what she was saying.

"D'you want to head over to Hagrid's?" She asked. "I was talking to Viktor and he's interested in meeting the person who can tame Madame Maxime's giant horses."

"Hagrid?" Draco said before he could stop himself. "The groundskeeper?"

"Yes." Hermione crossed her arms. "I don't see what's such a big problem with that."

"No, I didn't mean it in that way-" Draco gave up when Hermione simply stood up, brushed off her skirt, and walked towards the door, Krum following her.

"I suppose we're going to see Hagrid then," muttered Draco underneath his breath, following the lot.

...

By the time they left Hagrid's hut, the sky was beginning to dim. The sun sunk below the horizon, painting the sky with thick strokes of orange and pink.

Despite Draco's initial concern, Hagrid seemed to be a pleasant enough fellow. He was quite odd, and kept trying to offer him scones that tasted more like rocks than pastries, but he was kinder than all of the teachers at Durmstrang combined. A rock hard pastry was a walk on the beach next to unforgivable curses.

Once they reached the Great Hall, nearly all the tables were full, the chatter among the students from all schools creating a warm atmosphere. The walls were lined with candles, casting a soft glow on the magnificent feast laid out, but most importantly, the wooden cup spitting flames at the front of the room.

When they sat down, they were greeted with all sorts of halloween treats. Candy-filled pumpkins, carrot cake, and sweet apple juice were Draco's favorites, and he gobbled them down faster than they could reappear again. Harold seemed amused by his temporary lack of poise, but since his smile wasn't that bad to look at, Draco didn't bother defending his image.

The feast seemed too long, or perhaps that was just Draco's patience being stretched thin. When Dumbledore finally stood up and the quiet fell over the hall, it seemed like Draco had lost a quarter of his life.

"We have minutes, maybe less, until the goblet makes its decisions." Dumbledore addressed the students who were hanging on to his every word. "Champions, when they are chosen, will enter this chamber," He gestured behind him, to a small door. "Where they will wait for more directions."

Dumbledore, being the melodramatic wizard he was, swished his wand and the candles dimmed, setting a dark climate. Everyone's eyes were now glued to the goblet, who's flames grew rowdier by the minute.

The goblet's flames roared red, and a gasp rushed throughout the students. The cup spit out a slip of paper, only slightly charred, and Dumbledore squinted at it for a second before announcing, "The champion for Durmstrang will be-" Draco held his breath, daring to hope-

"Viktor Krum!" Draco deflated as Krum rose to thunderous applause and strode down the aisle, ascending the stairs and closing the door to the chamber behind him.

He could see Harold giving him a look of pity out of the corner of his eye. He hated it. Draco steeled and applauded poliety, just as the rest of the school was quieting down.

Before he could collect himself further, another name flew out of the goblet. "The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore's voice boomed throughout the room, "Is Fleur Delacour!"

A pretty girl with long silvery hair stood up from the Ravenclaw table, smiling. She entered the same room as Krum, and Draco wondered what they would talk about in the chamber, thought about how different it would have been if his name had come out of the cup.

Complete and utter silence fell over the great hall. Draco knew the question that was on everyone's mind. Who would the final champion be?

"The Hogwarts champion," Dumbledore caught the slip of paper that came out of the cup, "Is Cedric Diggory!"

There was a roar from the table dressed in yellow, and a handsome, brown haired boy stood up, grinning the entire way to the chamber.

"Very good!" Dumbledore smiled as the hall quieted down and the door to the chamber closed behind Cedric. "Now, we have our champions. I expect each of you to cheer on your school's champion, but remember, no harassing other school's champ-" Dumbledore stopped suddenly, and Draco realized what had distracted him.

The goblet's fire was blood red. A piece of parchment shot out of it and Dumbledore caught it automatically.

His smile slipped off his face as he read the slip of paper in his hand.

In the dead silence of the hall, his voice rang out loud and clear.

"Harry Potter."