12.
Dr. Thaddeus Augustus Schivaldi;

It is with great urgency that I send this request for your services. Enclosed is my professional diagnosis on a patient of mine who has recently suffered extreme dragon burns to a great portion of his body. I have managed to heal as much of the skin as I can but the magic resonances are continuing to eat away at him. If he does not receive proper care from someone of your knowledge and expertise, I fear he may very well die within days. Considering the patient, you can understand our concern.

You are the pre-eminent expert in this field and are, more than likely, our only hope. Once the poisoning is repressed, he will also need serious attention on skin restoration. Compensation will not be an issue; you will be taken care of handsomely by both the estate of the patient and Hogwarts.

I do hope this short notice does not inconvenience you. However, when you arrive at Hogwarts, you will understand the seriousness of the matter.

With respect,
Poppy Pomfrey
School Nurse, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizadry

§

The first memory Sirius had of riding Buckbeak was a bittersweet one. Certainly, he had just been rescued from receiving "The Kiss" by Harry and Hermione, but he was also leaving with the death of two close friends unavenged and he, himself, still a wanted fugitive. But Harry was alive, healthy, and unharmed. He was growing up nicely under the watchful tutelage of Albus Dumbledore, someone Sirius believed would be able to protect him and keep him safe. That was then. Barely a few months had passed since then, and Sirius no longer felt as confident in that assertion as he once had.

Harry's owls to Sirius had grown increasingly cryptic and Sirius had grown proportionally worried. Immediately after sending an owl with a letter detailing his intent to return to Hogsmede to speak with Harry directly, Sirius received Dumbledore's letter explaining the dragon attack and his godson's condition. His own safety and well-being no longer a concern, Sirius began the journey from his hide-out at Fingal's Caveback to Hogwarts.

Buckbeak flew with fierce determination, as if fuelled by some mystic understanding of his passenger's urgency. Sirius had little experience with this sort of beast – do they bond on some level with their 'master'? Could Sirius even be considered its 'master'? These were all questions that would have to wait. There were only two things that mattered now: ensure that Harry was okay or, avenge his death, if it came to that. Whoever was responsible for this attack would pay dearly. On this, Sirius swore an oath.

§

The makeshift waiting room in Hogwarts infirmary was a sombre scene. Aside from the interest shown when Hermione and Ron first saw how the very structure of the medical wing seemed to respond to Madam Pomfrey's mental command, the air about the space was excruciatingly heavy. If she needed a separate – and private – room, columns of concrete would move and shift, rising from the floor or dropping down from the ceiling. It was much like watching the main stairwell in that regard. Were the circumstances different, Hermione would have probably attacked Madam Pompfrey with a barrage of questions. Instead, she was leaning forward in her chair, face in her hands. Ron sat deep in thought next to her, a hand gently massaging her back. Uncharacteristically, the twins stood in opposite corners from each other, refusing to look at anyone directly.

Their attention snapped up as Madam Pompfrey stepped over the threshold and into the room, her eyes dull and morose. Hermione stood, followed quickly by Ron.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked.

"How... how are they?" Ron added.

Madam Pomfrey took a deep, calming breath. "Mr. Weasley is resting. He suffered several fractures to both skull and spine. I've managed to mend the bones, but the damage to his nervous system is... beyond my capabilities."

At this, Fred and George looked as though they might cast aspersions upon the school nurse. Pomfrey took off her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose as she walked closer to them. When her eyes met Hermione's, the stress of the whole ordeal was evident; they were drained of life.

"Fortunately, there are neuro-Magi at St. Mungo's who have far more know-how and experience with these sorts of things. The strain of Apparating would be too much for him, so they are sending a chariot-convey to take him there."

Fred perked up at this. "Can we go with him?"

"I don't see why not," Madam Pomfrey answered with a small (albeit weak) smile. "The Headmaster will make sure you are excused from classes for the next few days."

"What about Harry?" Hermione asked with a hitch in her voice.

It hardly seemed possible, but Madam Pomfreys' face dropped lower. "Mr. Potter is in critical condition. He has third and fourth degree burns over the entirety of his back and most of his chest and face. His body is so damaged that his mind has shut down, refusing any attempts at contact, including magical means. I've stabilised him, certainly, but I am unable to do much for the actual burns."

"Then what the bloody hell good are you!"

Hermione, Fred, and George turned to face Ron, who stood with hands clenched into fists, glaring at the nurse with a ferocity unseen from him.

"Ron," Hermione called. "That's hardly fair—"

"Sod off, 'Mione," Ron interrupted. "She's the school nurse! She's supposed to be able to help Harry! She's grown bones, for Merlin's sake! Hell, she's even put students back together when they were splinched apart! But now she tells us that she can't fix Charlie's neuro-whatevers – or Harry's burns! That's rubbish!"

The subsequent silence confirmed for Madam Pompfrey that Ron's sentiment was shared by the others. She was, however, expecting such a response and her calm demeanour stayed firmly in place. Deep inside, however, she felt powerless and, as Ron had accused, useless.

"There is an old colleague of mine who specialises in epidermal recovery from extensive magical burns. I've already sent for him and he should be here within two days." Madame Pomfrey raised a hand to cut off Ron's objections. "Mr. Potter's condition is stable. Two days will not affect him either way. So long as he still has the will to live, he'll recover."

As if by cue, the door opened again. Professor Dumbledore, flanked by Colin Creevey, stepped over the threshold. Although far from his normal merry self, the headmaster maintained a slightly more cheerful poise. Colin, on the other hand, looked more dead than alive. Dark circles surrounded his puffy eyes. His hair hung low and heavy, flat and devoid of spring. He stood slightly slumped at the shoulder, biting his lip, with his arms folded tightly in front of him. Although the room was temperate, Colin seemed cold.

"What is he doing here?" Ron asked, pointing an accusatory finger at Colin.

"I... I..." Colin stammered.

Fortunately, Professor Dumbledore intervened with a comforting pat on his shoulder. "Young Mr. Creevey here is, as we all are, concerned with Harry's health. I assumed – given their relationship – that he should be here, amongst Harry's friends."

The tone in the headmaster's voice was gentle, yet firm. It left no room for debate. However, Ron took no notice of it. He stepped in front of Hermione, separated from Colin now only by Madame Pomfrey.

"Relationship? Rubbish! He doesn't deserve to be here! If it wasn't for him, Harry wouldn't be in this mess!"

Colin's eyes bulged, surprised by the attack, before narrowing. "I had nothing to do with this, you little slag!"

"Mr. Creevey!" Madame Pompfrey called.

"Ron, don't do this... not now." Hermione reached out to touch Ron's shoulder; he jerked it from her reach.

"No, it needs to be said. Before the attack, Harry was upset and I know it was your fault!" Ron pointed at Colin, whose eyes brimmed with guilt-laced anger. "I know it was! I don't want you here! And I'm sure Harry doesn't want you here either!"

"Ronald," Professor Dumbledore said. His voice was restrained thought not quite as calm as before. This time, Ron heard the warning embedded within. Still, he couldn't be arsed for caring.

"Harry's not a pouf! And if he were, he certainly would be bending over for pervy git like you, you ruddy ponce!"

"Ronald Weasley," Professor Dumbledore's voice rang out. "That is quite enough."

This time, however, Ron acquiesced. He stormed back to his seat, jerking his arm from Fred when he tried to reach for him. Hermione glanced Colin's way and, for a second, she wanted to hug him, console him, be consoled by him. But in a flash, that need washed away and she walked with a bowed head to sit next to a glowering Ron.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat. "The carriage to St. Mungo's will be here in moments. Professor Lupin is also on his way. I've also sent for..." he paused and looked at Hermione with a telling eye. She nodded her understanding.

George knelt beside Ron and placed a brotherly hand on his back, making small circles in an effort to comfort him. "Come on, Ron. You can go with us to St. Mungo's – just until Charlie wakes up. He'd like that... you are his favourite after all."

Whether or not the last statement was true, Ron wasn't quite sure. Nevertheless, it did little to quell his conflict. Harry was like a brother to him, and in far more critical condition than Charlie. But Charlie was his brother. Ron didn't know which decision was the right one, which choice was the most appropriate. As if she understood his inner struggle, Hermione bumped shoulders with him in a subdued yet playful manner.

"Go on, Ron. There's nothing we can do for Harry until the specialist gets here, anyway. I'll stay with him."

Ron looked up at Hermione with soft eyes that struggled to hold back tears. "Are--are you sure?"

"Go on, then," she replied, giving him a final nudge.

Ron stood and, along with the twins, followed Professor Dumbledore as he exited the waiting room. Although Colin gave him a wide berth, he met Ron's angry gaze with one of his own, refusing to back down.

"I'd best prepare Mr. Weasley for the transferral," Madam Pompfrey said and before long, Colin and Hermione were alone in a room that suddenly seemed far too empty and... alone.

Understandably, Colin was unsure what to do. He hugged himself tightly as he studied his surroundings in an effort to keep himself from looking at Hermione. When their gaze finally met, he was shocked at the tenderness of them. Her deep brown eyes were warm and comforting; and her kind smile, forced as it was, was coloured with understanding. Hermione patted the seat next to her. Colin took a deep breath before joining.

§

The Hufflepuff common room was a whirlwind of nervous excitement. Like everyone else, they had heard the thunderous roar of the dragon, yet had no means of peering out of a window to investigate what had made the noise. Rumour abounded that the school was under attack from giants who had decided to take back this land – which had rightfully been theirs, at one point. Other students believed an ogre had made its way back into the school, just as one had three years prior. Even Cedric Diggory couldn't shake the feeling of fear that was gripping the common area like a starving man clinging to his last meal.

"What do you think is going on?" a wide-eyed Ernie Macmillan asked.

Cedric sat on the edge of one of the long couches, with first year Eleanor Branstone's head in his lap. "I... I don't know," he whispered, running his shaky fingers through Eleanor's hair. She had finally cried herself to sleep after frantically begging to go home. She scarcely believed that things were "okay", and it didn't help when her head of house, Professor Sprout: came in the room, demanded that everyone remain calm and not venture into the halls, and then locked the students in the common room.

For some of the Hufflepuffs, like Cedric, it was reminiscent of the 'Ogre Crisis of 1992'. Then, however, the students had only been locked in their respective houses for a few minutes. Now, it had been a couple hours and Professor Sprout still hadn't returned. As far as they were concerned, Hogwarts could have been under attack and the professors killed. It was understandable, then, that the majority of the Hufflepuffs crowded within close proximity to Cedric, who was not only a prefect, but Hogwarts Champion. He was, in most eyes, the closest thing to 'proper authority' as they could get at the moment. To his credit, Cedric masked his own fears quite well.

The murmur of the room quieted down as sleep reclaimed many of the students. Some of the more emboldened ones – namely the older students – had even made their way back to the dormitories to sleep. Suddenly, a loud 'thud' resonated through-out the room, followed by several clicks. Slumbering students awoke, jerking up in fear, unsure as to the cause of the clatter. First-years darted behind Cedric, whose own jerked movements startled Eleanor awake. She clung to Cedric's nightshirt as the door swung open. Like a chain reaction, students began screaming, one by one, until Professor Sprout peered from around the door, her hair still tightly wound around pink, spongy rollers.

A sigh of relief washed over the entire common room, resulting in several students even laughing as their adrenaline rush simmered. Even Cedric looked visibly allayed. The laughter was soon washed away by the clamouring of students, eager to learn the cause of the night's disturbance. Cedric could barely resist joining the hordes of younger students rushing to their head of house's side, practically barrelling her over with their questions.

Professor Sprout raised her hands to quell the noise. "No worries, little flowers. Everything is fine. You can all go back to bed now. There is nothing to fear."

"But, what was that noise?" Ernie asked, obviously not placated by her assurances.

"Yeah," Justin Finch-Fletchley agreed. "It sounded like a... like a dragon."

At this, the tension level rose again as student began to contemplate the implications of a dragon lose on Hogwarts grounds.

"Oh, don't be silly," Megan Jones chastised. "What would a dragon be doing here?"

This sparked even more arguments between the students. Unable to calm the noise with words, Professor Sprout finally placed two fingers strategically between her lips, and blew. The resulting noise pierced through the clamour, shocking the hysterical students silent.

"Much better," Professor Sprout said, more to herself, now that she had everyone's undivided attention. "First thing in the morning, the Headmaster will address everyone at once and explain everything. For now, just rest assured that the situation has been handled and you are all safe. Mr. Diggory, if you would follow me, please?"

Cedric felt suddenly small as the gaze of his housemates turned to him. He stood, extricating Eleanor from his lap, and walked towards Professor Sprout. This time, as the murmur of the students grew ever louder, he could not hide the fact that he was worried.

Cedric followed Professor Sprout down a corridor into her office. Despite its vastness, it had always been a warm and inviting office, cosy even if a little crowded with vines and exotic plants. The circular room was accentuated by the moonlight that shone down from the moon roof high above them. Of course, he had been in this office during the day, when the sun would provide ample light and heat, enough to keep the vegetation alive and well-nourished, but not so much as to make a person uncomfortable. At night, most of the flowers were closed, but other white, pendulous plants and leafy, shrub-like, yellow perennials were bloomed as though the very night itself provided nourishment. With all the hanging vines and flora, it seemed more like a jungle than a professor's station. The wooden furniture did little to help squash the feeling, either.

The room smelled different, as well; pleasant and soothing. Cedric sniffed quickly, taking in the sudden fragrance, and then inhaled deeply, his eyes drooping as if readying for sleep.

"Mirabilis jalapa," Professor Sprout announced, answering some unspoken question. "Quite the fragrant flower. Partially nocturnal, but also self-seeding; they're quite the nuisance when left unchecked. The calming effect is from the jimsonweed..."

"Datura stramonium?" Cedric asked. "Devil's weed?"

An impressed expression drew on the professor's face. "My, Cedric, you do pay attention in class, don't you? I was beginning to wonder."

Professor Sprout sat behind her desk, unmoved when a flurry of feathered beasts scurried up to tree limbs high above them. She motioned for Cedric to take the seat in front of the bureau.

"Cedric, there's something that I have to tell you," she began as Cedric sat. "Well, two things, really. The first thing deals with the Triwizard Tournament."

Cedric gulped, hoping that this wouldn't be the end of the contest. Despite his doubts about his ability to perform, he was quite chuffed at being selected and anxious to prove his mettle.

"It's... not cancelled, is it?" he asked.

"Oh, no – nothing like that. No, I am here to tell you what the first task is."

Cedric stared at her, slack-jawed and unbelieving.

"Dragons," she said, simply.

Cedric's eyebrows quirked. "Dragons?"

"Yes. You'll have to face dragons. Well," she corrected herself, "one dragon, that is."

A great many things ran through Cedric's mind, none of which dealt with the actual task itself. Most of his thoughts were centred on how he could go about quitting the tournament, how he'd break the news to his father, and how easy it would be to simply run away. Certainly facing a dragon, even as a sixth-year, would be tantamount to suicide. However, those thoughts were quickly put aside when the one question that seemed far less important made its way past his lips.

"Why are you telling me this? Do the other champions know?"

Professor Sprout smiled. "Yes, they are being told by their headmasters as we speak." Slowly, her face became solemn once more. "The reason why I'm telling you this is because, by tomorrow, everyone will know what happened tonight."

Without realising it, Cedric straightened in his seat, his eyes attentive and unblinking.

"The dragons were kept on Hogwarts grounds, a ways past Hagrid's hut by some expert dragon tamers. Unfortunately, one of the dragons broke free from its bonds and attacked one of the tamers and a wandering student."

"A student?" Cedric interrupted. "Which... who?"

Professor Sprout took a deep breath. "Harry Potter."

The head of Hufflepuff continued to speak, but Cedric didn't hear her. His eyes drifted away from her as he took in this new piece of information. He felt light-headed and nauseous, as though he could feel the world spinning on its axis. A question burned on the tip of his tongue, yet he found himself too afraid of the answer to ask it. One time – which seemed so long ago – Cedric believed that he had all the time in the world for Harry. He thought that, perhaps foolishly so, things would eventually work out in his favour. Harry would leave Hogwarts two years after Cedric, they'd run into each other unexpectedly at some function, and sparks would fly.

'Oh, Harry. You graduated, did you?'

'Why, yes, Cedric – I have.'

'Brilliant, mate! Care for a shag, then?'

'Why, yes, Cedric – I'd love a shag, thanks.'

Harry was simply young, too young for comfort. Nevertheless, Cedric could wait – would wait – because he believed it worth it. The unfortunate thing was that now, Cedric realised time waits for no one.

"Cedric? Mr. Diggory?"

Professor Sprout's tone finally pulled Cedric from his thoughts. "Are you alright, Cedric?"

"Is Harry dead?" he asked.

Professor Sprout reacted as if physically slapped by the question. "Uh... er, yes. Well, I mean... no. He's not dead. He is quite hurt, of course. One of the dragon tamers managed to cast a fire protection spell on him just moments before the attack. Unfortunately, the spell was too weak and the dragon, too close. Mr. Potter has suffered serious burns—"

"Can I see him?"

Again, Professor Sprout reacted sharply. "I ... Well, yes. You can see him in the morning, certainly. I do think that–"

Cedric stood, startling Sprout with his abruptness. "With all due respect, Professor, I'd like to see him now."

Despite its conviviality, there was little doubt that his request was actually up for debate.

"I – I didn't know you two were friends," Professor Sprout admitted.

"We... we were getting there."

"Very well, then. Madam Pomfrey has created a waiting room of sorts in the hospital wing. I shall escort you."

"Thank you, Professor."

"I must ask, however, that should you come into contact with any student between now and this morning's assembly that you do not repeat what I've told you."

"Of course, Professor."

With that, Professor Sprout walked around her desk and out of her office, followed closely by a disturbed Cedric on the verge of panic.