30

It was a hung-over Harry who stumbled across the grounds on the morning of the first task. His eyes were bleary with sleep and his mind was still trying to process the snippets of memory he retained from the night before. Neville had been there, and Ron- he knew that much for certain. He was also fairly sure that Ginny and Hermione had been there for a while at least; there seemed to be less blurry memories of them than there were of the guys, so he had to assume they had left early to get some sleep. And from the vague memory of having someone's tongue in his mouth, he had to assume that Seamus had been there as well- that boy was a bigger slut than Harry, and if the rumours circulating the wizarding world were true, then that was saying something.

A few weeks ago, Harry managed to offend Rita Skeeter something dreadful during the Weighing of the Wands ceremony. Apparently the reporter hadn't taken too kindly to being refused an interview and subsequently being told to piss off. Who'd have thought it, eh? The next day, Harry had found himself on the front page of the Daily Prophet (looking rather dashing if he did say so himself- his clothes were ripped just the right amount, and his hair fell in waves around his shoulders perfectly) underneath the headline 'Harry Potter: heart throb or heart breaker?' The article had then gone on to outline his relationships with not only Hermione, Ginny, Cedric and Fleur, but also seven other students, two of whom he had never even heard of. According to Skeeter however, none of Harry's lovers knew of each other, as he was stringing them all along until he could secure the affections of his one true love- Blaise Zabini, who Harry could often be seen staring lovingly at across the Great Hall.

"Mr Potter! Where on earth have you been? You are late!" Professor McGonagall's voice rang across the grounds, piercing through Harry's aching head like a bag of nails. He had reached the foot of a hill, on top of which stood a large tent, with an irate Scottish woman in front of it.

"Sorry," Harry groaned, "I slept in."

"You slept in?" McGonagall screeched, "I do hope you're taking this tournament seriously. You are representing Gryffindor house after all." Although her words were harsh, Harry recognised the worry in the tremble of his teacher's voice, and he even thought he saw a tear in her eye.

"Don't worry, I'll be careful," he smiled in what he hoped was a kind manner. Unfortunately, his brain wasn't connected properly with his mouth this early in the morning, and the smile was more of a strange... well, let's just say that it definitely wasn't a smile. The professor sniffed, and ran her eyes over her student with a look of distaste. He was wearing his dragon skin boots (unlaced as he hadn't the hand-eye coordination that laces demanded when he was this hung-over) with faded, ripped jeans and a black, sleeveless tee. He had his wand holster clearly visible on his forearm and he had slung his sword through his belt in a fit of melodrama that morning- he was going dragon fighting, after all, and when one dragon fights, one needs a sword.

"And for goodness sake, Potter, tidy yourself up a bit before you go out there. Into the tent now, off you go," she shooed him in before hurrying off towards where Harry could hear a rumble of noise that he supposed meant the students.

"Ah, Harry, there you are," Ludo Bagman's cheerful voice was the next to invade Harry's fragile head, and he stifled a groan of annoyance and attempted to plaster on a smile. This attempt was no more successful than the last, but everyone in the tent mistook his hangover for nerves, and the strange expression wasn't commented on. Sniggered at slightly, but not commented on.

The explanation of the task went by in a blur for Harry, who was using all of his energy trying not to fall asleep on his feet. It seems only seconds after he had entered the tent that a bag was being thrust under his nose. He blinked at it for a second before automatically putting his hand in and withdrawing something from it. A tiny model of a black dragon sat yawning in his hand with a number '4' hung around its neck.

"Huh," Harry muttered to himself. They were kind of cute really. Maybe Hagrid was right about them, he thought. Just then, the model blew out a miniature spurt of fire from its nostrils and Harry changed his mind, nursing his burnt finger. He looked around at his fellow champions as the adults left; they all looked to be in various states of nervous breakdowns.

"Oi, stop fussing you lot," he said good naturedly, "You got picked for a reason, you know you'll be fine. It's just a puny dragon." Cedric and Krum stared at the younger boy in disbelief, but Fleur snorted delicately.

"Only you, 'Arry, would ever say zat," she said fondly.

"Yep, and that's why you're still my girlfriend even though you know I love another," Harry grinned, ignoring his hangover as he ran towards her and scooped her up in his arms. Cedric chuckled across the tent and even Krum cracked a smile as Harry spun Fleur around in circles, making himself feel about ten times more nauseous than before.

A cannon went off , disturbing their fun and Cedric stepped forward to the exit with a determined expression.

"Good luck, Ced," Harry called.

"You will be fine, Cedric," Fleur told him with a smile. Even Krum managed a grunt and a nod in the Hufflepuff's direction. And with those sentiments, Cedric strode through the door to face the first task. The remaining three champions stood for a minute, still staring at the door.

"That was kinda anticlimactic, wasn't it?" Harry said and Fleur nodded.

"Alright, pup?" A voice from behind them all asked and Harry jumped around, his wand in his hand instantly and his sword unsheathed.

"Fuck me, Pads, you've got to stop sneaking up on me!" he exclaimed and Sirius sniggered, "What are you even doing here?"

"Came to see my little boy, all grown up and off to fight dragons, of course!" Sirius said, wiping a fake tear from his eye.

"Git," Harry muttered, crossing the tent and grabbing his godfather into a hug.

"Ponce," Sirius retorted, before catching sight of Fleur, "Where are your manners, pup, aren't you going to introduce me?"

"This witty and intelligent young lady is Fleur Delacour, champion for Beauxbatons and soon-to-be dragon slayer," Harry announced pompously, "And this strapping fellow over here is Viktor Krum of Durmstrang. I think he's a quidditch player or something." Shocking them all, Krum laughed at Harry's last statement before crossing the tent to shake Sirius's hand.

"You are Sirius Black, ov course," he said in his heavily accented English, "'Arry 'as spoken ov you often."

"As he has to me," Fleur chipped in with a dazzling smile, looking at Harry's godfather with no little interest. Sirius grinned happily.

"All good, I hope!" He said cheerily. Fleur and Krum exchanged a quick glance.

"Of course it was, Pads," Harry cut in before either could speak. The roar of the crowd outside interrupted them and Fleur began to look nervous again. Harry hugged her, kissing her cheek as he drew back.

"You'll do fine love, trust me," he grinned. With a shaky smile, she nodded, stepping towards the edge of the tent. Seconds later, the cannon fired for a second time and she left the tent. Two down, two to go.

"You both got a plan, then?" Sirius asked, his demeanour suddenly as serious as his name. Krum nodded curtly, and Harry grinned.

"Oh, yeah," he said happily, lighting a cigarette only to have it snatched away a second later by Sirius.

"Cheers, pup," he said with a cheeky smile. Harry glared at his godfather, reaching for another only to find that his packet was empty.

"Oh come on, Pads, that was my last one!" he grumbled, though he knew it would do on good.

"Oh come on, pup, I don't care!" Sirius replied, blowing smoke into his godson's face and laughing. Krum stood by, watching with bemusement, almost forgetting that he had to go and battle a dragon very soon.

And sure enough, Sirius had just finished his cigarette when the cannon went off a third time and it was the quidditch star's turn.

"Good luck, mate," Harry called as he left, before resuming his sulking.

"Geez, if you're gonna get in a huff about it, here," Sirius mumbled, throwing a full pack towards Harry's head. With his Seeker's reflexes, the teen caught the pack, a happy grin on his face.

"You're a fucking ass sometimes, you know that right?" Sirius let out a great bark of laughter: he had taught his godson well.

"Anyway, I'd better get out of here, want to get a good seat, don't I?"

"Yeah, how come you're here anyway?" Harry asked, "I thought family wasn't invited to watch 'til the third task?"

"I have my ways, pup, I have my ways," Sirius grinned charmingly before changing into Padfoot and running out of the tent.

"Bloody show-off," Harry muttered as he sat in a chair to wait. His own attempts at the animagus transformation had not been going too smoothly, and Sirius knew it. It wasn't that he wasn't trying, it was just that his mind was so often distracted by other things. He had schoolwork, Occlumency lessons, drinking, smoking, Malfoy to brood over- all of which were very hard to ignore when he was trying to bloody meditate or something.

It seemed like only minutes later that the cannon sounded again and it was Harry's turn at the dragon. Sighing, he stood up and staggered towards the entrance; in his hung over state, sitting down had caused his brain to forget how his legs worked, it seemed. Stepping carefully out of the tent, he arrived in a large, rock filled stadium, surrounded by an enormous crowd. He picked out Ron and Hermione easily in the crowd, surrounded as they were by the twins and Ginny- that amount of red hair wasn't easily missed. It looked as though the twins were taking bets, although Harry couldn't be sure. Malfoy was another who caught Harry's eye, but not because of his white blonde hair. No, Malfoy was obvious in the crowd because he was the only one fighting off a large, black dog who was trying to slobber all over the Slytherin's face.

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands for a second: only Padfoot. Unfortunately, it was that second that the dragon decided to make its appearance: enormous and scaly, it had black spikes all over it and a fearsome glare.

Sighing to himself, Harry tried not to dwell on the myriad of more productive things he could be doing today, and quickly looked around for some shelter. Seeing a large rock, he made a quick dash for it. He had been going for a casual stroll that oozed cool, but the dragon decided to shoot fire at him and so he had been forced to speed up the pace. Once he was behind his rock, he found a pebble on the ground and, displaying no little skill, he transfigured it into a large, over stuffed arm chair in pink and green. Frowning slightly at the colour, Harry flopped into it, hanging his feet over one arm and his head over the other. Nicely comfortable for the first time that morning, he reached into his jeans pocket and found the pack of cigarettes that Sirius had just given him. He lit one quickly and took a drag, before leaning back and closing his eyes.

Within minutes, the boy-who-lived-to-be-a-Triwizard-champion was asleep. In a mouth wide open, snoring and drooling to his heart's content kind of a way.

In the stands, a large black dog stopped terrorising the youngest Malfoy for a second to bark an approving laugh down at his godson before carrying on getting as much dog slobber as he could in that perfect hair.