[129] Scales of a Dragon

A blinding light flashed.

Rita Skeeter.

"What are you doing?" Krum stepped forward, blocking her path. "This is the champions' tent. You are not welcome here, Ms Skeeter."

"What a touching friendship," Rita Skeeter's lips curled into a mocking smile. "Two poor babies. Are they crying over being afraid of losing?"

Hall's face darkened. "Ms Skeeter. This is a champions' tent. You are not welcome here."

"Oh, poor thing. Don't be so serious." She completely ignored Krum's obstruction, swaying past him to stand directly in front of Hall. She bent slightly, looking at him with a condescending gaze. "If you die today, your story will be on the front page."

She waved her hand triumphantly, signalling her assistant to be ready.

"This is none of your business." Krum stepped between them again, arms crossed like a wall. "Only champions and their friends are welcome here. You, obviously, are not."

Rita Skeeter shrugged nonchalantly. "Whatever. I've already got what I wanted." She turned to Hall, a malicious smile spreading across her face. "Your funeral portrait."

With that, she turned smugly and swaggered out with her assistant.

"Hall —" Harry looked at him with concern. Hall's face was ashen, his hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. Given his personality, the fact that he had not punched her on the spot was an act of extreme restraint.

"We know your abilities," Krum said, raising his chin. His tone was arrogant, his eyes filled with confidence. "I'm curious — between you and me, who will be the champion?"

No one paid much attention. The headmasters had arrived.

Rita Skeeter, who had not even fully stepped out of the tent, quickly pulled her assistant into a corner.

"Greetings, champions —" Dumbledore lifted the tent flap with a smile. Behind him followed Igor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Ludo Bagman, and Barty Crouch.

Dumbledore's gaze swept over the crowd. "Please gather together. The moment you have anxiously awaited has finally arrived."

His voice echoed in the tent, but Hall's attention was entirely focused on Igor Karkaroff. Karkaroff remained composed, not even glancing at Hall, as if nothing had happened.

"It's true meaning can only be understood by the five of you —" Dumbledore raised his voice. "Barty, the bag."

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Dumbledore stepped aside. Barty Crouch stepped forward, holding a bag. "Champions, please stand around me."

Crouch arranged the five in positions, then opened the bag and gestured for Fleur to reach in and choose one. Hall noticed Fleur's nervous expression. That was normal — no normal bag emitted white smoke.

The other champions widened their eyes at what Fleur took out. It was a Welsh Green dragon, no bigger than a palm, its small body radiating a fierce presence. It breathed forth raging fire from its tiny mouth. This foreshadowed what Fleur was about to face.

Fleur exchanged a glance with the tall Madame Maxime behind her. Both wore expressions of worry.

Crouch remained expressionless. He gestured for the next person.

Krum drew a Chinese Fireball.

Cedric drew a Swedish Short-Snout.

Harry drew a Hungarian Horntail.

Everyone gasped. They looked at Harry with pity.

Finally, Hall opened his palm. The small dragon was significantly larger than the others. Its scales were a shimmering grey, gleaming with a metallic sheen under the light. Its eyes were deep red, like burning flames.

"Ukrainian Ironbelly," Crouch said expressionlessly.

Hall keenly noticed Dumbledore's expression shift. Ukrainian Ironbelly — the largest fire-breathing dragon in the world. Long, ferocious claws. Violent and rage-filled temperament. Extremely vengeful.

Hall raised an eyebrow. His "good" luck.

Dumbledore reached out and gently placed his hands on Hall and Harry's shoulders, his eyes filled with concern.

Crouch explained the rules. "These represent four real dragons, each guarding a golden egg. Your task is very simple —" He made sure everyone was listening. "Retrieve the golden egg. This task must be completed, because the golden egg contains a clue. Without it, you cannot proceed to the next task."

He looked around. "Any questions?"

After confirming everyone understood, Crouch stepped aside. Dumbledore stepped forward. "Very good. Good luck."

Dumbledore looked at Cedric, about to instruct him. "When the cannon fires, you —"

"Bang!"

A deafening explosion echoed throughout Hogwarts. Everyone stared in surprise at the cannonman standing in mid-air. Why had it started already?

Dumbledore shook his head helplessly and patted Cedric on the shoulder, signalling him to go outside.

Outside the tent, the arena echoed with calls for Cedric. "Diggory! Diggory! Diggory!"

Cedric took a deep breath and walked out with a serious expression.

Hall and Harry sat down in the tent, awaiting their match. Dumbledore stood by the entrance and beckoned to Hall. Hall pointed to himself, puzzled. Dumbledore nodded. Hall stood up and ran over.

"Headmaster? Is something the matter?"

Dumbledore coughed, his face etched with worry. "Hall. Are you sure Harry will be alright? The Hungarian Horntail is the most dangerous dragon."

"You can trust me, Headmaster." Hall patted his chest. "If Harry loses even a single hair, you can take it out of my Galleons."

He said this with a pained expression. Dumbledore's worry lessened slightly. For Hall to make such a vow meant he was truly confident.

"And what about you?" Dumbledore continued. "The Ukrainian Ironbelly is not so easy to deal with."

Hall shrugged. "Don't worry, Headmaster. If I can't handle a little Ukrainian Ironbelly, the Master will twist my head off and use it as a Snitch."

"Hmph! You know that too!"

A familiar voice came from Dumbledore's chest. Hall raised an eyebrow. It was a palm-sized two-way mirror, reflecting a familiar face with a hint of anticipation. "Master?"

Gellert.

Hall was surprised Dumbledore had allowed this. Dumbledore gave a helpless look. "He said it was his student's match and insisted on seeing it in person."

And you agreed? Hall thought.

"Kid. If you don't get good grades, you'll be sorry." After the threat, Dumbledore left with the mirror.