firecracker ???

By the time the First Task arrived, Hogwarts was brimming with anticipation and spectacle. The air carried tension like perfume—thrilling, inescapable, thick. Everywhere Lyra turned, someone was talking about the dragons. Theories flew in hushed, feverish tones: about fire-breath, wingspans, strategies. Every corridor echoed with excitement and fear.

Harry Potter had become the centre of it all.

And Draco was furious.

"The tournament's about testing courage," Draco declared at breakfast, slicing his eggs with unnecessary force. "You wait. They'll throw something massive at him. Maybe this is the moment Potter finally gets scorched into humility."

There were laughs around the Slytherin table. But not from Lyra.

She didn't say a word.

She just glanced sideways, watching the way Draco's hands curled when he gripped his fork, the way Theo's eyes flitted between them like he was waiting for the punchline.

She didn't give it to him.

—

The morning of the task dawned crisp and cloudless. Students were herded from the castle in a parade of House colours, bundled in scarves and excitement, jostling for seats with too much noise and not enough manners.

The arena rose like a monument. Carved stands, heavily warded. Professors lined the perimeter. The champions gathered in the tent. Ludo Bagman welcomed them in his usual booming voice, drawing nervous smiles from Cedric, Krum, and Fleur. Harry looked pale.

And then the dragons were brought out.

The collective gasp was immediate. One by one, monstrous and majestic, they were shackled into position. Students shrieked. Some cheered. Even the professors tensed.

Theo leaned toward her. "This isn't a task. It's a public execution."

Draco, voice thin, tried to scoff. "Let's hope it humbles him."

But his hand trembled slightly on the rail, and Lyra noticed it.

Lyra said nothing.

Daphne tugged her sleeve. "You alright?"

Lyra nodded once, too quickly.

Cheers rose from the stands as Bagman announced the first champion.

"Ladies and gentlemen—our first contestant! Cedric Diggory!"

He stepped out onto the field with quiet confidence, wand raised. The Swedish Short-Snout hissed in its nest, smoke curling from its nostrils.

The crowd held their breath.

Cedric went left, dodging a jet of blue flame, transfiguring rocks into decoys, clever and efficient. He snatched the golden egg just as the dragon roared and twisted above him. A few burns, but he grinned as he walked back into the tent.

The applause was deafening.

Fleur was next. The Welsh Green. She enchanted the dragon, made it dozy with a string of murmured spells, then lost focus and barely avoided a blast of fire. Still, she recovered fast and earned her egg.

Krum's turn followed. The Chinese Fireball. He didn't fly. He didn't dazzle. He blinded the dragon, a risky spell, and limped back with the egg and a slightly charred shoulder.

Then the stadium fell into quiet.

Ludo's voice rang out.

"And now—our final champion. Mr. Harry Potter!"