The Tenth Weasley - CH - 130

Harry left the Champion’s tent with Hermione at his side. The golden egg felt heavy under his arm, not because of its weight, but because of what it represented. He was alive, unburnt, unbroken, and victorious.

Hermione squeezed his hand tightly as they walked. Her eyes never left him, her expression still mixed between pride and lingering fear.
“You didn’t have to use anything from… you know…” she said softly.

Harry glanced sideways at her, catching the flicker of worry in her eyes. He knew what she meant. Grindelwald’s books — the dark tome he had hidden away, the one whose magic people already suspected was influencing him.

“No,” Harry said firmly, his voice low but certain. “I didn’t need it. I’m glad too. People are already whispering, already judging me. If I’d used anything from that book, they’d have screamed that I was the next Dark Lord.”

Hermione’s grip on his hand tightened.
“You’re not. And anyone who thinks otherwise is blind.”

He gave her a small, tired smile. “I know. But it’s easier to prove it by what I don’t do.”

Together they walked out into the stadium stands. The crowd was buzzing, the air electric with excitement and fear.


As they climbed toward the family sections, Harry’s heart clenched. The entire Weasley family sat together in a row, waving and clapping when they spotted him. Molly all but leapt from her seat, tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Harry, you were brilliant!” she cried, pulling him into a fierce hug the moment he reached them. “Not a scratch on you! I thought I’d faint when that dragon breathed fire—oh, my poor boy!”

Arthur Weasley patted his back warmly.
“Calm under pressure, Harry. That was remarkable. You’ve made us proud.”

Fred and George leaned over the railing, grinning ear to ear.
“Not bad for a twin, eh?” Fred teased.
“Almost made it look easy. You could’ve at least pretended to break a sweat!” George added.

Harry smirked faintly. “I’ll try to look more dramatic next time.”

Even Percy, normally stiff and formal, gave a small approving nod. Ron beamed at him, while Ginny’s eyes shone with pride.

Among them sat Charlie Weasley — the real dragon handler, his hair windblown and his expression weary. He clapped Harry on the shoulder with a crooked grin.
“Not bad, brother. You didn’t shame the family name. Though I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to come out without even a blister.”

“Neither did I,” Harry said honestly, and they shared a brief, meaningful look.

Then Harry turned — and froze.

Just beyond the Weasleys sat another cluster of familiar faces. Lily and James Potter. Rose Potter, her hands clasped nervously in her lap. Sirius Black, leaning forward with his usual reckless grin. Remus Lupin, calm but watchful.

For a moment, Harry’s breath caught. His two families, side by side, waiting for the same thing.

Lily stood and kissed his cheek. Her eyes were wet, but her smile was radiant.
“You were incredible, Harry. Just incredible.”

James clasped his shoulder tightly.
“Smart and brave — that’s the way it should be done. I couldn’t have asked for better.”

Rose gave him a small, proud smile, though her eyes kept darting toward the arena, filled with unease.
“Now it’s Charlie’s turn,” she murmured.


Harry and Hermione took their seats among them. The noise of the crowd ebbed and surged around them, but in their section, tension hummed. Every eye turned toward the gates at the far end of the arena.

The Hungarian Horntail waited there — one of the most fearsome of all the dragons. Even from a distance, it looked menacing, its scales gleaming like black armor, its spiked tail lashing with enough force to crush stone.

Lily clasped Rose’s hand tightly.
“It’s that one, isn’t it?” she whispered, her voice strained. “The Horntail?”

Rose nodded, her face pale.
“Yes. The worst of them all.”

Molly made a sound halfway between a sob and a prayer.
“That poor boy… oh, why did he have to draw that one?”

Arthur placed an arm around her shoulders, though his own face was pale.
“He’ll manage.”

James frowned, gaze fixed on the arena.
“The Horntail is no ordinary dragon. Its fire alone is enough to melt iron. He’ll have to be cleverer than clever to get through this.”

Sirius snorted, though his tone carried a forced bravado.
“Well, Charlie’s a Potter. Clever runs in the blood. And stubbornness. Let’s hope that’s enough.”

Remus’s voice was calm, though his eyes were sharp.
“He’ll need more than stubbornness. He’ll need focus. If he panics, he’s finished.”

Hermione leaned closer to Harry, whispering,
“Do you think he’ll remember what you told him?”

Harry’s jaw tightened. He stared at the iron gates, where his twin would soon emerge.
“He has to.”

The roar of the crowd swelled again as Bagman’s magically magnified voice boomed across the arena.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our next Champion — Charlie Potter!”

The iron doors began to grind open.

The entire section held its breath.



From the stands, Harry felt his chest tighten. His twin’s face was pale, his hands trembling slightly at his sides, but to the roaring crowd, Charlie forced a brave smile, raising his wand high.

He’s terrified, Harry thought, his gut twisting, but he’s trying to hide it. Just like I told him.

The Hungarian Horntail towered in the center of the field, its wings stretching wide, spiked tail lashing against the ground. Its nest of eggs lay beneath its shadow: three stone-like dragon eggs and the gleaming golden prize. The dragon hissed, a furnace’s glow building in its throat.

Charlie darted forward, diving behind the first of the massive boulders. The crowd erupted with cheers and applause at his courage.

“Go on, Charlie!” Fred and George yelled from the stands, cupping their hands around their mouths.

Molly Weasley clutched Arthur’s arm with white knuckles. Lily Potter pressed her hands to her lips, eyes wide with fear.

Harry’s jaw clenched. “Don’t rush it. Think, Charlie. Think.”


Charlie crouched low, his wand steady. He inhaled deeply, then shouted,
“Feraverto!”

The ground rumbled. From scattered rocks and debris, shapes began to shift and grow fur. One by one, wolves emerged — dozens of them, snarling, hackles raised. The transfigured pack circled together, their eyes glowing with magical life.

With a command from Charlie, the wolves sprang forward as one.

The Horntail roared in fury and unleashed a torrent of fire. Several wolves were incinerated instantly, their forms collapsing into smoke and ash. But others leapt onto the dragon’s legs, snapping and biting, clawing at its scales.

The crowd gasped and cheered at the sight.

“Look at that! A full pack of conjured wolves!” Bagman’s booming voice rang through the stadium. “Clever transfiguration work from young Charlie Potter!”

Harry allowed himself the smallest nod. Good. He remembered the second plan.


While the Horntail whipped its head toward the wolves, Charlie summoned a shimmering cloak from Neville Longbottom who was sitting in the front. He pulled it over himself, vanishing from sight.

The audience gasped, murmurs rippling through the stands.

“He’s gone invisible!” Sirius barked a laugh, though his eyes were sharp with tension.
“Just like James used to.”

Rose Potter leaned forward, wringing her hands. “But dragons— they’re not blind. They can smell.”

Harry’s stomach dropped. She was right.

Down in the arena, Charlie crept carefully across the scorched ground, step by step, circling behind the Horntail. His eyes never left the nest. The golden egg shimmered, so close now he could almost reach for it.

The Horntail thrashed against the wolves, snapping its jaws, flames spilling from its throat. The wolves fought fiercely, but one by one they were destroyed. Charlie edged closer, invisible, hope rising in his chest.

Then it happened.

The Horntail froze. Its nostrils flared. Its massive head turned slightly.

It had caught his scent.

The spiked tail lashed out like lightning.

There was no time to react. The mace-like tip smashed into Charlie’s side with a sickening crack. His body was thrown like a ragdoll, tumbling across the arena before crashing hard against the ground.

Gasps and screams filled the stadium. Lily shrieked, “CHARLIE!” while Rose buried her face against James’s shoulder. Remus clutched Sirius’s arm, hard.

Harry surged to his feet, his wand clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. His heart thundered in his chest. Get up, Charlie. Please get up.

For a terrible moment, Charlie didn’t move. The invisibility cloak lay shredded around him, smoke curling off the torn fabric.

Then, slowly, painfully, he stirred.

Charlie pushed himself onto his hands and knees, coughing, groaning, but alive. His jacket, torn and scorched, but the basilisk armor inside stayed intact. The spikes hadn’t pierced it.

Harry exhaled shakily, relief crashing over him.
“Thank Merlin… the jacket held.”

Hermione clutched Harry’s hand, whispering,
“That could have killed him.”

Charlie staggered upright, clutching his ribs. He winced, but his grip on his wand never loosened. His invisibility cloak was ruined, burned and torn beyond use. But he was still standing.

The crowd, seeing him rise again, erupted into thunderous cheers.

Bagman’s voice rang out, excited and breathless:
“He’s ALIVE! What resilience! Charlie Potter has survived the Horntail’s tail strike — thanks, it seems, to some very fine protective gear!”

The dragon hissed, furious that its strike had failed. The golden egg still gleamed in the nest behind it, untouched.

Charlie lifted his wand again, grimacing in pain but eyes blazing with determination.

The fight wasn’t over yet.


Charlie wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, breathing heavily. His invisibility cloak lay in tatters on the scorched ground, but his eyes burned with new determination.

He raised his wand, his voice cracking but firm.
“Accio Firebolt!”

A sharp whistle cut the air. A heartbeat later, his Firebolt streaked across the stadium like a lightning bolt, soaring into his hand. The crowd erupted into cheers, the noise deafening.

Harry leaned forward in his seat, his chest tightening. “Good move. He’s finally thinking like himself.”

Charlie swung onto the broom in one smooth motion. His fear seemed to vanish the moment his feet left the ground. He rose quickly, circling high above the Horntail’s reach. The dragon roared, furious, its spiked tail smashing against the boulders.

“Come on, you overgrown lizard!” Charlie shouted from the air, his voice carrying across the arena. He darted left, then right, weaving through plumes of smoke and fire. “Is that all you’ve got?”

The crowd gasped at his daring insults — and then roared with applause. Rose jumped up and down, bellowing,
“THAT’S MY BROTHER!”

The Horntail hissed, flames exploding from its throat as it hurled jets of fire upward. Charlie twisted and dove, his Firebolt a blur of speed. Each burst of fire missed him by inches, the heat scorching the tail of his broom but never quite catching him.

“He’s taunting it,” Remus muttered under his breath, though there was admiration in his eyes.
“More like enraging it,” James said, a proud grin flickering despite his wife’s worried glare.

The Horntail’s wings spread wide, and with a furious bellow, it heaved itself into the air. But the massive chain clamped around its leg snapped taut, yanking it back down. The dragon snarled, hovering awkwardly, its flight stunted, its leg straining against the glowing links.

Charlie saw his chance.

He soared low, swooping past the dragon’s head. Its jaws snapped at him, teeth like swords, but he twisted away at the last second, shooting upward in a daring spiral. The crowd screamed.

Then, with a sudden feint, Charlie dropped. He dove sharply, broom angled straight for the nest.

“The Wronski Feint!” cried Bagman’s booming voice. “Merlin’s beard, he’s pulling a Wronski Feint!”

The Horntail roared in fury, snapping after him — too late. Charlie leveled out just above the ground, shot past the dragon’s spiked tail, and swept his arm low. His fingers closed around the gleaming golden egg.

He pulled up hard, the Firebolt streaking skyward in a blur. The crowd exploded into cheers, clapping and stamping their feet in thunderous applause.

Charlie rose high, grinning wildly, the egg held aloft in triumph. “I DID IT!” he roared, his voice echoing across the stadium.

The stands shook with the frenzy of the crowd. Lily wept openly, James beamed, Sirius and Remus whooped and hugged each other, and even Molly, pale with nerves, clapped her hands in relief.

But Harry’s sharp eyes caught movement below. His stomach dropped.

“Wait—” he breathed.

A terrible sound cracked across the arena. CRRRRUNCH.

The Horntail had stopped flapping. Its body heaved. The chain binding its leg strained, runes sparking desperately—then shattered.

The ground quaked as the iron spike was ripped free.

The Hungarian Horntail roared, louder and wilder than ever, free at last.

The crowd’s cheers turned instantly into screams.

“THE CHAIN—IT BROKE!”

“IT’S LOOSE!”

“CHARLIE, GET AWAY!”

Bagman’s voice cracked with panic. “Merlin save us, the dragon’s broken free!”

Harry shot to his feet, wand in hand, heart hammering against his ribs.
“Charlie—fly away, NOW!”

The Horntail’s wings snapped open, the full span blotting out the sun, and it surged upward into the sky, eyes locked on the boy with the golden egg.