A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Chapter 397: The Hungarian Horntail

Felix Harp made his way through the pillars of the stands, and Bagman's booming voice cut through the restless crowd: "Welcome... the first task is the Hungarian Horntail! The champions must retrieve a golden egg while evading the dragon... Please have the eggs placed, you see, the dragons are still asleep, which is the perfect time to observe them."

Six dragons of various colors lay on the ground, appearing to be in a state of slumber, yet their immense size still instilled fear, even from the referee's box, situated about five hundred feet away.

"Next, let me introduce the panel of judges: the five Heads of School, myself, and Minister Fudge, who is standing in for my dear friend, Barty Crouch. Unfortunately, he's taken a leave..."

Felix located the busy Professor McGonagall. She was pacing at the edge of the arena, lost in thought. As he approached, she nearly collided with him.

"Watch out, Mr. Harp—"

"Oh, it's you, Felix," McGonagall exclaimed sharply, her tone more elevated than usual. "Charlie is looking for you. Charlie!" She called out to a small group of people, and a stout young wizard turned around and trotted over.

"Hey, Felix," Charlie said, looking quite nervous, fidgeting with his hands. "We'll be watching from the sidelines, carrying whistles with us. If danger arises, we'll intervene—of course, we'll need your support as well."

"No problem," Felix replied.

A roar echoed from the distance, and a black Hungarian Horntail lazily raised its head. The nearby staff quickly placed the dragon eggs and hurried away.

The Hungarian Horntail found itself in an unfamiliar environment, surrounded by a swarm of buzzing insects that irritated its senses. It also caught the scent of its own kind, and its two yellow eyes scanned around, soon spotting, not far away, a platform where five other dragons lay.

Its mood soured abruptly. It managed to stand up, its nest made of shimmering golden straw beneath it. In that nest rested an egg, and it felt an intense connection to it. This was its child, a viewpoint it swiftly accepted. Its movements became cautious, and a clinking sound resonated as it eyed the thick chain around its left foot, letting out a deep roar towards the sky.

A blast of scorching flames shot upward, creating a gust of wind, rapidly heating the air.

With its agitation, the other five dragons also awakened. They lifted their heads, flapping their wings restlessly and stomping their feet, causing a dull sound against the dark stone ground.

The Hungarian Horntail surveyed its surroundings, clearly disliking the situation. It would be best to leave with its dragon egg. It tugged at the iron chain tentatively, finding it not entirely secure. Just as it was about to exert more force, it caught sight of a familiar figure.

"Roar~"

It let out a resounding cry—it was that dreadful barbecue chef!

Felix glanced at it and asked Charlie, "Do dragons have good memories?"

"Absolutely," Charlie answered. "Norbert remembers Hagrid even now. Whenever he misbehaves, I show him a picture of Hagrid, but I'm not sure how long we can keep fooling it... it's getting smarter, and it doesn't let us inspect it anymore..."

Bagman's voice guided the audience's emotions as he continued, truly a master in his field.

"Look, the dragons have awakened, but they need some time to adjust... and at least find their eggs. In the meantime, let me explain the rules of the match..."

Felix retrieved a broomstick from his ring, mounted it with a flip, and shot straight into the sky. He circled the area twice, taking in the view from above.

"This is quite the vantage point," he murmured with a smile.

From this height, the layout of the arena became clear—a silver tent for the champions' temporary rest stood a few hundred feet away, and beyond that was the viewing stands. In the midst of the somewhat crooked, almost oval-shaped stands, six segments were marked out, resembling a daffodil.

On each petal, closer to the center, a dragon was situated—of varying sizes, they had all raised their heads, surveying their surroundings with unease. They were restive, swaying their wings and stomping their feet. The stone ground resonated with a dull sound.

Near the stands and close to the silver tent, a large gate had been opened for the champions' entrance. On the opposite side of the gate, a platform jutted out—the judges' podium.

Bagman, who had been energetically explaining the rules, cheered, "Very well, our safety measures are in place, and they will act as the final line of defense. As for Felix, I need not say much; you must have read about him in the papers—"

His voice trailed off, for Fudge's dark gaze had shifted towards him.

Bagman stammered for a moment, finally realizing what he needed to do. He stood up and called out, "Well then, let the champions enter!"

The cheers were deafening, accompanied by piercing whistles that echoed through the air. The dragons raised their heads, cautiously looking around. Soon, a wooden gate swung open, and the champions stepped forward.

"Hiss~"

Harry saw a person ahead stumble and fall backward. He quickly reached out to steady him—it was the Beauxbatons champion. Harry couldn't recall the boy's name, but his condition was evident: he was in a sorry state, with his tears and runny nose covering the ground.

"Fran?ois..." Fleur muttered softly. "For Nicolas Flamel's sake, be a bit braver!" She tilted her head to the side and instructed, "Jacqueline!"

Another girl, trembling, helped Fran?ois up. From Harry's perspective, she seemed equally terrified.

He felt a twinge of resentment towards Fleur, until he caught a glimmer of mistiness in her eyes. He paused for a moment, perhaps his expression had been too direct, and Fleur shot him a fierce glare.

The leading staff member guided them to an open area, where the air was much cooler than outside. Harry observed that the stone in front of the blue Swedish Short-Snout dragon seemed to melt like liquid, lying limp.

He couldn't hear any sound, but he could see the scorching liquid, like molten rock, dripping incessantly—it felt like it was dripping onto his heart. Yet, that wasn't his concern; he heard Ron swallowing nervously. Following his gaze, they beheld their target: an immensely large black mountain.

Only, this mountain was alive, and covered in spikes.

Harry regretted not looking more closely at night; this Hungarian Horntail was taller than ten of him stacked together, its body covered in black scales, resembling a lizard. It had yellow eyes and bronze-colored horns, with similarly colored spikes on its tail.

He heard Hermione's hoarse voice reciting information about this type of dragon, "… the Hungarian Horntail is considered one of the most venomous and aggressive species. It's one of the dragons that can breathe fire the farthest, up to fifty feet. Its aggressiveness increases when protecting its eggs... Female dragons are generally larger than males..."

"I'm just glad Mum isn't here," Ron said with a touch of humor, as he spotted Sirius waving frantically from the stands.

At that moment, Charlie approached. His steady voice brought a hint of calm to Harry and his friends. They were quickly led to their designated spots by the ever-present staff. As they passed Charlie, he patted their shoulders, attempted to say something a few times, and finally managed a muffled "Good luck."

Ahead of Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood the Hungarian Horntail. It was utterly different from the model Bagman had pulled from his bag—its terror could only be felt up close. Compared to this dragon, they were like three mice.

They had to tilt their heads to see its massive, spiky head.

"This is Classroom Seven, Classroom Seven..." Ron kept chanting to himself.

Hermione's face was as pale as paper, and she strained to keep her voice steady, "There are dragon tamers around, Ministry personnel too. Even if we don't trust them, we should trust Professor Harp... he's right above us!"

They all looked up at the sky. Against the light, a blurred figure stood, granting them tremendous courage.

Bagman's enthusiastic voice resounded again, "Our champions are in position, and they're seventy feet from their opponents—a relatively safe distance, as the dragons are tethered."

"After the whistle blows, you can take action. Timing, strategy, effect, and the displayed courage will all be considered in your score. Good luck! Ready—three—two—one! Let the match begin!"

The cacophony around them seemed to be muted, and Harry barely saw others. He had to focus on his own task—for safety, he had to start with reconnaissance. He shouted with conviction, "Firebolt, let's fly!"

Waiting quietly for a moment, he accurately identified a familiar sound amidst the sea-like noise. A blurry figure soared from the direction of the castle. Harry flipped and ascended into the air, the familiar rush of speed calming his heart.

The sky is my domain!

Harry told himself, ascending rapidly until he overtook a figure—that was Professor Harp. He caught a glimpse of the professor rolling his eyes in his direction.

Harry adjusted his broom, surveying below. At a height of seven to eight hundred feet, the dragons looked like the fire lizards Hagrid had spoken of in class. He also noted that the entire arena resembled a daffodil: each petal near the center held a dragon, while the champions stood on the opposite side of the petals.

From above, he could see that only Viktor Krum's and Cedric Diggory's teams had made a move. That inconspicuous wizard—Harry couldn't recall his name, but he knew he had a sharp, eagle-like hairstyle—suddenly rolled on the ground and transformed into a swift hawk. Flapping its wings, he soared into the sky, courageously heading towards the magnificent Swedish Short-Snout.

Gasps echoed from the stands; the actions of Beauxbatons' students had astonished everyone. "Animagus!" someone exclaimed.

"Not an Animagus!" Bagman's voice reached everyone's ears. "That's a unique human Transfiguration from Durmstrang. As far as I know, all three champions can perform this feat!"

"Caw~"

The bronze feathers of the giant hawk glinted in the sunlight. The Swedish Short-Snout sensed the threat, its glittering, multicolored eyes without pupils fixed on him. It spat out a fan-shaped burst of vibrant red flames.

The hawk dodged nimbly, responding with provoking calls.

On the other side, Cedric raised his wand. Hazy mist gathered in clusters, expanding and deepening in color until a dark, towering rain cloud formed, rising hundreds of feet high.

The rain fell gently, extinguishing the sparks emerging from the Swedish Short-Snout's nose. Annoyed, it lifted its head and spewed out blue flames. Its fire was scorching enough to melt rocks, yet its size was only about twenty-three to twenty-four feet tall. With the flames, it couldn't reach the rain cloud above its head.

The rain was minor, but it grew heavier, making it uncomfortable. The Swedish Short-Snout impatiently attempted to move along with its egg, its iron chain producing a grinding sound.

Colin Creevey had vanished from sight somehow, and Harry grinned. He had figured out that Cedric's team had chosen the most appropriate strategy.

Harry dove downward abruptly, catching sight of Fleur's team seeming to face difficulties. Other than Fleur, the other two champions hesitated.

Bagman's commentary sounded timely, "It seems there's a conflict in Beauxbatons' team—this really shouldn't happen... Look at Durmstrang; they're using dark magic from a distance, but apart from making the dragon more irritable, it's not much use... oh, wait, look at Krum! What kind of magic did he cast on himself? Diminishing his presence, he's stealthily approaching—could he be planning to snatch the egg with his fast legs? He should be on a broomstick; Durmstrang's strategy hasn't fully exploited his advantage!"

In the judges' box, Karkaroff's expression appeared displeased. "What's he doing? He's disturbing Krum."

Beside him, the headmistress of Durmstrang—a lean witch—smirked, and Karkaroff glared at her. "What's so amusing? Your other two students are just standing there!"

>

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