Simone Martiane and the Goblet of Fire

Fleur had an easy air of confidence when she walked into the Great Hall for breakfast on Tuesday. I scanned the hall, looking for the other champions. Krum was surrounded, as usual, by a group of giggling fan girls...Cedric was mechanically eating his breakfast, responding to hearty good-luck wishes and votes of confidence with a barely audible grunt. Harry looked dazed, as though he wasn't entirely sure that he'd actually woken up and come into the Great Hall for breakfast. He also looked slightly panicky; I knew that he, like Fleur, knew what was coming.

The morning passed fairly quickly; I went to a couple classes, took my notes, did the tasks, got bored out of my skull in Arithmancy, and spilled half a bottle of kelly green ink in Charms class. Luckily, I didn't have to clean up the desk or the floor--it all landed on my lap. Instead of going to lunch, I changed out of my robes, put on a comfortable pair of blue jeans and an old sweatshirt that used to belong to my cousin Katya.

I swallowed as I smoothed the fabric over my front. Katya had been my favourite cousin, my closest confidant, my dearest friend; I could have told her anything, and she could have done the same for me. Actually, at one time I had no less than seven cousins, plus one sister: in order of age, that was Lenny, Elsie, Calli, Katya, me, Branwyn, Kevin, Aislin, and Logan. Full names, Yalitzaveta Agata Lenore Ligeia Rutchski, Elisabeth Marguerite Martáine, Callista Victoria Ansley, Yekaterina Alina Morella Annabel Lee Rutchski, Simóne Zoé Martáine, Branwyn Rachel Canices, Kevin Mellan O'Grady, Aislin Ciera O'Grady, and Logan Aileen O'Grady. Lenore and Katya were sisters--Lenny was only a couple days older than my sister Elsie, Katya only a few months older than I. Calli was a year younger than Lenny and Elsie, two years older than Katya and I; Branwyn was a year our junior. Kevin and Aislin were twins, three years my junior; Logan was their baby sister, two years younger. Lenny and Katya lived in Russia, Elsie and I in England (at least at first), Calli in Australia, Branwyn in America, and Kevin and Aislin and Logan in Northern Ireland, technically part of England.

Now? Well, Lenny died of cancer when she was ten. Elsie, of course, I've mentioned before--dark wizards got hold of her when she was six. Calli was killed in a train accident at her school when she was thirteen. A herd of stampeding moose (I didn't even know moose travelled in herds, not to mention that they stampeded) trampled Branwyn. Aislin wound up blind her first year at Durmstrang when a Paralysing Hex when horribly wrong; Kevin lost the lower half of his left leg in an accident during his third year. As for Logan, well, when she was two, Uncle Donald found out that he wasn't her father--and that her real father was a Muggle. (Big scandal in our family--the O'Gradys and the O'Callaighans are pretty strict purebloods.) She was put up for adoption immediately. Her name is now Logan Aileen Dai.

And Katya...it still hurts to think about her. Katya had been feeling kind of sick, but she'd shaken it off, sure she'd be "fine". Turned out she had a strain of consumption that Muggle medicine couldn't treat...and she caught it too late for magical medicine to do anything. She had died shortly before the school year started. Aunt Anja--Katya's mother--and Uncle Dawid, her stepfather (long story) were planning on throwing out all her things, but I convinced them to let me keep them. I've got stuff from all of my cousins, really--even the two that are still legitimate and living.

As a matter of fact...I glanced at my watch. I had twenty whole minutes until I had to go down for the first task, and I really wasn't hungry. I dug into my trunk and pulled out a box of fabric, needles, pins, and threads.

I was working on a quilt. I called it The Cousins Quilt. All the squares, which I'd spent most of the last summer cutting out (and a good portion of the beginning of the year), were cut from things belonging to my cousins and myself. I'd taken scraps from all of our baby blankets, from "onesies" and rompers, and sewn them into the top row. There were squares cut from all of Katya's sports teams--she loved playing softball, had been playing since she was about six, so that was ten squares right there. I had my sister's favourite dresses, Lenore's favourite shirts, squares from kilts and plaids in the O'Callaighan (a slight bastardisation of O'Callaghan) tartan--our mothers were all O'Callaighans. I even had a square from our school robes--all of the ones we'd outgrown. I had grown at an average rate, having to replace my robes every two years, so there were three squares from the pale blue Beauxbatons robes. Aislin and Kevin, fifth years, had sent me their old robes, but Aislin had barely grown at all, whereas Kevin shot up like a weed once and then slowed down, so I only got three blood red Durmstrang squares between the two of them. Calli's school in Australia, Gibraltar Academy, wore khaki coloured robes, but one set of robes had serviced her through the two short years she'd spent there; the second set I was still debating whether or not to use, as they were spattered with blood. Lenny and Elsie had never gone to a school of magic. Branwyn had gone to Salem, where they wore whatever colour robes they felt like, so I had bright purple-and-black robes from her. (Branwyn was a bit of an oddball.) From Katya I had six different robes; she grew really fast. Also, she had played Beater for her house team, in addition to softball, so she built up her muscles. In the very centre of the quilt, I was going to put the backs of Kevin and Katya's Quidditch robes; Kevin had outgrown his, Katya's had been cut large. Kevin's robes were dark green with gold writing: O'GRADY on top, SEEKER on the bottom, and 01 in the middle--his number. Katya's were red with black writing: RUTCHSKI on top, BEATER on the bottom, and 13 in the middle--it was her lucky number. Since I knew I didn't have quite enough cloth for a full quilt with just the clothing scraps, I was adding a border: all the way around was one row of white squares, on which I was stitching patches I had collected from my cousins, or patches that described us. The next ring in was a row of black squares, on which I was embroidering little symbols in white.

Work was kind of slow; I hadn't finished more than two rows, plus sewing all the patches on the white squares and embroidering most of the black squares. That morning, I carefully sewed three more squares evenly onto the back cloth, stuffing it with the thick batting, before I glanced at my watch and realised I had to get down to the grounds for the first task, post haste. I stuffed my quilt back into the box in the trunk, grabbed my notebook and a pencil, and lit out for the grounds.

Fortunately, I wasn't late; I joined a stream of students heading down to somewhere down near the Forbidden Forest. They were laughing and joking, making wild guesses as to what the first task was going to be. The rumours I'd heard bandied about before were flying about, as well as some new ones. The closest one came from a pale blonde girl who insisted that it was going to be a Quidditch match played on dragons.

"What makes you think that?" I asked, matching her stride and flipping my notebook open.

The girl gave me a smile that made me wonder if she was a few ants short of a picnic. "I heard them last night," she said seriously. "One of them came up to the window at Ravenclaw and told me she would be..." She looked around, then whispered, "She said she would be damned if she let any of those great heavy people ride on her back."

"She?" I repeated. "It was a female?"

"Oh, yes. She was sitting on a nest of eggs, but she said the night was so warm last night she thought she'd come and have a talk with me."

"What type of dragon was she?" I asked whimsically.

The girl frowned. "I'm not sure. She said her name was Hi'ana, and that she was from the Fire Clan, but she says that human names confuse her."

"Well, what's your name?"

"Luna. Luna Lovegood."

I was surprised. "Lovegood? As in Artemis Lovegood, editor of the Quibbler?"

Luna seemed delighted. "You read the Quibbler?"

"Every week." The two of us fell into a discussion about one of the latest articles before we reached the enclosure. She peeled off to sit with the other Ravenclaws, and I hesitated, wondering where my fellow Beauxbatons students were and if I really wanted to sit with them.

"Simóne! Over here!"

I turned. Ron was waving me over. I smiled and forded through the crowd to join him. He was sitting with Hermione, but he managed to make room for me on the riser. I was put strongly in mind of going to watch one of Katya's softball games.

"Nervous?" I asked Hermione.

Hermione shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. "I'm not a champion."

"Uh-huh." I jotted down a quick note, then turned to Ron. "You?"

"Nervous as hell," Ron said frankly.

Hermione leaned forward to see around Ron. "Heard any rumours?"

"Plenty," I answered, checking my watch. "Only one sounds credible to me."

"She knows what's coming," Ron told Hermione. "She won't tell me, though."

"Ron, I know what's coming."

Ron's jaw dropped. So did mine. "You do? How?"

"Harry told me. I've been helping him prepare."

Ron turned to me. "And how do you know?"

"I've been helping Fleur prepare," I answered with a half-smile.

"How do they know?" Ron muttered.

"Madame Maxime told Fleur," I told him.

"And Hagrid showed Harry," Hermione added.

"So?" Ron insisted. "What is it?"

"Ron, you're going to find out in a minute or two," I said, perhaps a touch evasively.

"No, really, what is it?" Ron insisted.

"Dragons," Hermione said before I could stop her.

"What?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!"

I had thought Ron got pale before. I was wrong. I could count individual freckles on his face. I took a couple notes on the procedure, not that I didn't know what it was anyway. He got paler and paler as the directions went on until I could see the individual blood vessels in his temples, even though the man carefully avoided mentioning the word "dragon".

"I wonder what type of dragons there are," Hermione whispered.

I flipped back in my notebook. "Chinese Fireball, Swedish Short-Snout, Welsh Green, and Hungarian Horntail."

"Who gets what?" Ron asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"I don't know. I think it's random."

The first dragon was led out, a Welsh Green. People all around the enclosure screamed in genuine alarm when it came out. A whistle blew sharply, and I saw Bagman skitter towards the judges' stand as Cedric emerged from the contestants' tent.

He gripped his wand, looking determined. The dragon noticed him and roared its challenge to the skies. The determination slipped just a little bit. He pointed his wand, not at the dragon, but at a rock nearby. I didn't hear what he yelled, but the rock sort of melted and blackened. Looking a bit green, Cedric tried again. I crossed my fingers on his behalf.

A moment later, the rock stood, cocked its head at Cedric, and wagged its tail. The crowd roared appreciatively as we realised that he had Transfigured it into a dog.

"What's he up to?" Hermione wondered.

"I bet he wants the dragon to go for the dog instead!" Ron said a little excitedly. "It's a diversion!"

The dog darted off across the enclosure, barking furiously at the dragon. The dragon wavered for a moment, then suddenly rose off her seat and headed for the dog.

"It's a she!" Hermione yelled in surprise. "That dragon is a mother!"

She was right. The dragon had risen off of a clutch of cement-grey eggs...and a single gold one.

"A golden egg?" I said incredulously. "Wait...that's the task! Collect the golden egg!"

"Bloody hell," Ron moaned.

Cedric rushed towards the clutch of eggs while the dragon was distracted. I really thought he was going to make it...but suddenly the dragon's head swivelled. It gave a bellow of rage and shot a tongue of flame at Cedric.

I screamed. (I couldn't help it.)

Ron gripped my arm tightly. "He's okay!" he roared. "Look!"

Hermione peeped out from behind her hands; I opened my eyes. Cedric had rolled away--barely--from under the dragon's flame. Not completely; his hair was slightly singed, and his face looked like it had been burnt...but he had the egg.

Hermione and Ron and I leaped to our feet, cheering, along with the rest of the Hogwarts students. Ron muttered to me, "I hope Harry gets the Swedish Short-Snout...they're a bit less dangerous. Fireballs have some pretty good flame range...and the Horntails..."

"Oh, don't," Hermione begged. "If he gets the Horntail I don't think I'm going to be able to watch."

"That wouldn't be very fair to Harry," I remonstrated severely. "He's counting on you to support him."

Hermione shook her head, tears in her eyes. "I don't want to see him get killed."

"He is not going to get killed!" I scolded. "Look, they're going to give out Cedric's scores."

Madame Maxime stood up. She raised her wand and paused a moment. A ribbon shot out of the end and twisted itself into a glittering number nine. The crowd roared its approval. I made a sort of grid--what my teacher called a graphic organiser--and scribbled his score down in the first box.

Next Mr. Crouch stood. He looked older and exhausted, but he raised his wand--an eight.

"He's doing well," I commented.

Dumbledore went next and raised his wand. I recorded another eight for Cedric.

"Are they taking off for his face?" Hermione asked me.

"I think so."

Ludo Bagman--nine.

I counted quickly on my fingers as the crowd cheered. "That's an overall score--so far--of thirty-two. Not bad."

Karkaroff raised his wand next. He hesitated, then gave Cedric his lowest marks yet: a six.

I added my figures. "Thirty-eight. He's got a good shot of winning."

Cedric ducked into a medical tent, presumably to get his face patched up. A group of wizards ran forward and grabbed the dragon and her eggs, then led them out and brought in another clutch. They led out the second dragon--the Swedish Short-Snout.

Ron held up his crossed fingers. "Here's to hoping it's Harry's turn, eh?"

"Wishful thinking," Hermione muttered. "With his luck, he probably wound up with the Hungarian Horntail."

"Hermione, have you noticed that I'm trying not to wet my trousers?"

A whistle blew sharply. Ron and Hermione and I leaned forward--and groaned collectively. Fleur was emerging shakily from the contestants' tent. I tensed slightly. Cocky and arrogant or not, Fleur was one of the closest things I had to a best friend, and despite my reassurances to Ron and Hermione I was worried.

Ron rested his hand gently on my arm. "She'll be okay," he murmured. "Charlie told me about Swedish Short-Snouts, and they're tamer than the others. Besides, Fleur is eighteen, right? She can handle herself."

I smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Ron."

Still, I watched on tenterhooks as Fleur raised her hand. She tossed her silvery hair back and began swaying back and forth, waving her wand and murmuring something. Ron leaned forward curiously. "What's she doing?"

"Hypnosis?" Hermione suggested.

"In a sense," I confirmed.

The seconds ticked by. People shouted encouragement as she continued to work. The dragon swayed drunkenly, then slowly shut its eyes and lowered down to sleep. Just as she lowered her arms, however, the dragon snorted. A thin jet of flame shot out and caught fire to Fleur's skirt.

I wasn't as worried; the jet of flame wasn't very big. Fleur calmly put the fire out with a jet of water.

Her skirt slightly sopping, she cautiously darted forward and scooped up the golden egg, then held it aloft. The Beauxbatons students leaped to their feet, clapping and cheering. Ron and Hermione cheered too; I was surprisingly touched.

Holding the egg, Fleur turned to the judges' stand to get her scores. Madame Maxime, smiling warmly at her favourite champion, stood and raised her wand into the air: a nine.

"Marks off for the skirt," I called to Ron and Hermione over the hubbub. They nodded.

Crouch gave her a nine as well. Dumbledore gave her an eight, Bagman a six, and Karkaroff a five.

"Who's ahead?" Ron asked me as we applauded.

I added the marks quickly. "Cedric. But only by one point."

The wizards dragged the sleeping dragon off the pitch and carried off the clutch of eggs. Fleur strode off the pitch and joined the other Beauxbatons students in the front row. The next dragon they brought in was a bright red Chinese Fireball, also guarding her clutch of eggs.

Ron closed his eyes, his lips moving silently. I caught his hand on one side, and Hermione caught his hand on the other. "He'll be out next," I said confidently.

"I hope so," Ron said fervently.

A whistle blew; Ron swiftly closed his eyes. "Is it Harry?"

I hesitated, then shook my head. "It's Krum."

Ron swayed dangerously. Without warning, he slumped down in his seat.

"Ron!" Hermione squeaked.

I grabbed a bottle of water I'd brought with me and splashed it on his face. He woke up after a moment, looking a little embarrassed. "Sorry. I just..."

"I understand," I assured him.

Krum was trying to hit the Chinese Fireball with some sort of spell, but it wasn't until it hit her in the eye that I got it. "Conjunctivitis Curse," Hermione and I chorused.

Ron nudged me. "What did Bagman just say?"

"Huh?" I suddenly became aware that Bagman was commentating.

Hermione shook her head. "I stopped listening."

"I never started," I admitted. "What do you need the so-called professional commentary for anyway? It's not like you can't see perfectly well what's going on."

"Yeah...what's it doing?"

The Chinese Fireball had just let out a horrible, roaring shriek. I inhaled sharply. "Conjunctivitis Curse, Ron. A dragon's weakest point is its eyes--I'd forgotten. Krum's blinded her...looks like she's hurt. Poor thing."

"Oh, no!" Hermione cried. The Fireball, which was trampling about in agony, had squashed half of her eggs. I heard a sort of moan from the front of the crowd.

I shook my head. "Those poor eggs. You know the champions aren't supposed to do any damage to the real eggs...look, he's got the golden one!"

We applauded as Krum darted to one side. Madame Maxime stood up and raised her wand, hesitated, then shot out a large seven. Crouch and Dumbledore both awarded him an eight each; Bagman gave him a seven. Karkaroff gave him a ten.

"What?" I cried, utterly confused. "But...the eggs..."

"Bias," Ron muttered. "He's biased. Wants Krum to win."

I added up my scores. "He's getting his wish so far--Krum's ahead by two points."

"Harry will beat him," Hermione said fervently.

"Just so the Horntail doesn't beat him," Ron mumbled. He was starting to go pale again.

I patted his arm. "It'll be okay. Harry's pretty tough."

Ron swallowed hard. "I hope so."

They had already led out the crippled dragon and carried out the ruined clutch of eggs, then brought in a new one. They were now leading in the next dragon. Hermione screamed in genuine alarm.

You can read about such things as much as you like, but you never get prepared for something like that. Eighty feet tall, black as midnight, covered with murderous-looking bronze spikes and set to kill. It was the first time I had ever seen a Hungarian Horntail, and I hoped to God it would be my last.

"Oh, my God," Hermione whimpered. "I didn't think it would be that big..."

Ron bit his lips hard. I squeezed his arm and reached over him for Hermione's hand. "It's going to be okay," I said, although my voice trembled a bit. I don't think either one of them believed me.

A whistle blew. It seemed louder and shriller to the three of us than ever before. Harry came out of the champions' tent. Next to the gargantuan dragon--and after the other contestants--he seemed abnormally small, even ridiculously so.

As we watched, he paused after a few steps and raised his wand. I wasn't sure what he said, but it sounded like "Accio Firebolt!"

"Summoning charm?" I asked. Hermione nodded.

Harry stood perfectly still, his wand raised. The people around us were shouting, yelling encouragement or jeering at him, but he didn't seem to notice. I held my breath.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, I heard a sort of whistling noise. "Look!" Ron yelled, pointing.

Something was streaking towards him across the sky...at first it looked like a branch of some kind, but then I realised it was a broomstick. It stopped and hovered next to Harry, who swung one leg over it, then pushed off from the ground.

I nudged Ron. "Is he as good a flyer as I've heard?"

"No. He's better," Ron said proudly.

Hermione and I exchanged a grin. "Then he'll be fine," I said, sitting back.

Harry hovered in the air above the dragon for a moment or two, then dove. The Horntail watched him dive, then let out a jet of flame. Hermione squeaked and clutched her face, but Harry had evidently anticipated it and pulled out of the dive. Bagman yelled something, but I was long past caring what he thought.

I watched Harry soar up in circles. "What's he trying to do, make it seasick?"

"Airsick?" Hermione suggested.

"He better not do that," Ron said a little worriedly. "It's going to--"

The Horntail breathed fire at him again. Harry dodged--but this time one of the bronze spikes on the dragon's tail caught him and tore along his shoulder.

Oddly enough, it was not Hermione but Ron who screamed. I gripped his arm tightly, trying to reassure him. "He's still flying--look, he hasn't fallen off. Surely he's taken worse knocks before?"

"Yeah, but..." Ron shook his head, paler than ever now. "I hope he's okay."

I frowned a little as Harry began weaving back and forth in front of the dragon; she watched him closely, suspiciously. I knew she had seen the Chinese Fireball's pain, seen the smashed eggs, and was convinced that Harry meant to do the same to her. Harry just kept going back and forth. "Now what's he doing?"

"Trying to draw her out," Hermione squeaked. She was still clutching her face as Harry rose higher, making the dragon keep up with him. "Oh, I hope, I hope, I hope he knows what he's doing..."

I held my breath as Harry flew even higher and the dragon roared with exasperation. Finally, she spread her gigantic wings--Ron got even paler--and lifted off. Harry went into a sudden dive, swerved under her, took both hands off the broomstick, and scooped up the golden egg.

Ron and Hermione and I leaped to our feet, screaming and cheering and clapping. Harry flew right over our heads, and even though we were sure he couldn't see us we waved anyway, yelling his name and screaming and hugging each other and laughing with relief and triumph.

The dragon keepers went to get the Horntail and her eggs, and three teachers were hurrying to meet Harry as he came in for a landing.

"I'm going to go see him," Hermione said as Professor McGonagall pointed Harry out of the enclosure, to the medical tent, I guessed. "I have to make sure he's okay..."

Ron looked at me. I made a little shoo motion. "I'm staying here to finish writing down the scores...I'll talk to Harry later. He needs his friends right now--his best friends," I added, giving Ron a pointed look. He sort of smiled, then followed Hermione out of the stands.

A few minutes later, but before they announced the scores, Hermione came rushing back, tears rolling down her face.

"Hey, shut off the waterworks, Tinkerbelle," I teased, handing her a handkerchief I found in my back pocket.

"I'm just so happy!"

I laughed. "I take it Ron and Harry made up, then?"

Hermione nodded, drying her eyes and handing me back the handkerchief. "It's wonderful--I've got my friends back."

I grinned, then glanced down. "Hello--here they come."

Harry had returned to the enclosure, Ron by his side. I heard a few whoops from people I suspected were Gryffindors just as tired of Ron and Harry's fight as they themselves had been.

Madame Maxime raised her wand in the air. Her ribbon shot out and twisted itself into an eight.

"Not bad," I observed. "Nice to see she's being fair, too."

Hermione nodded fervently as Crouch raised his wand. He scored Harry a nine. I noticed Ron pound Harry on the back.

Dumbledore also gave Harry a nine. "He's not showing any bias either," Hermione observed.

"He can't, he's got two champions," I pointed out.

Bagman gave Harry a ten.

"A ten?" I squeaked in surprise. "But he got hurt..."

"I know, it doesn't make sense," Hermione nodded.

I thought back to my list. If he wants Harry dead, why is he giving him such a high score?

Karkaroff was last. I knew that he, like me, was trying to add up the score so as to give Harry a lower mark than Krum. Evidently, however, Karkaroff can't add. He held up his wand--and awarded Harry a four.

"Now that's bias," Hermione snapped. "I can't believe that!"

I added the scores. "Well, he was trying to give Harry a lower score than Krum, you know it..."

"But did he manage it?"

"No. Bagman's ten might have saved him...he's tied for first with Krum."

Hermione shook her head. "Harry's performance was the best--he was magnificent!"

"Can I quote you on that?" I teased.

"By all means," Hermione said, tossing her head defiantly. I laughed.

The two of us threaded our way out of the enclosure and started across the grounds. I spotted Harry and Ron walking near the forest, and the two of us walked towards them.

I noticed Rita Skeeter leap out at them from behind a tree and accost them.

"Reporter," I muttered. Hermione grinned.

Harry shook her off and kept going. The two of us hurried to catch up with them. "Hey, Harry," Hermione said cheerfully, falling into step with them.

Harry turned and gave her a grin, which sort of faltered when he saw me. "Who're you?"

He'd stopped; I held out my hand. "Simóne Martáine. Journalist for the Beauxbatons newspaper."

"Hi," Harry said, looking a little less than happy about shaking my hand.

I fingered my pen. "Could I ask you a couple questions? Sorry I missed you for the pre-task edition. D-E-A-D-L-I-N-E--worst eight-letter word in the English language, if you ask me, especially if your editor is about as flexible as that rock there."

Harry looked at me uncertainly. "I suppose..."

"It's okay, Harry," Ron said cheerfully. "Rita Skeeter's a reporter. Simóne's a journalist. There's a big difference."

"Yeah, reporters are obnoxious, journalists are more subtle."

I clicked my heels, pressed my hands together, and bowed. "Obi-Wan has taught you well, young one."

Harry and Ron laughed. "Sure, what are your questions?"

I uncapped my pen and began. "What was your reaction when you found out about the dragons?"