I don't own Harry Potter.

Dumbledore reached out and grabbed the last piece of parchment. He read it in a slow, clear voice: Harry Potter.

"Harry!"

Harry turned to find Fred Weasley shouting at him. He stoooed, waiting of the tall seventh year to catch up. "Hello, Fred." Harry said warily. Fred frowned slightly as he heard calls down the hallway at them.

Fred leaned closer, looking concerned. "Harry, were you serious? About the first task being…dragons?" Harry nodded and Fred straightened up, looking anxious. "And do you have any idea how to get past a dragon?" Harry shook his head. "Me neither. Well, at least we'll both look like fools."

The bell rang, and Fred clasped Harry on the back. "Don't let them get to you, mate." He muttered to Harry, and Harry suddenly felt very glad that it was Fred he was sharing this particular experience with.

Since that terrible night when his name came out of the goblet Harry had found himself rejected by many people, Gryffendors included. His own house felt that he was taking the glory away from the "real" champion. Worse still, Ron had started ignoring him.

Fred, who's name had also appeared out of the goblet, seemed to be the only person who knew what he was going through. On their walk back to the dormitory after hearing the news, he had confided in Harry. "I didn't want to champion at all. I was in it for the laughs. You'll probably be better than me." He mussed Harry's hair affectionately, then his face clouded. "I don't want to see George's reaction, though, he really wanted this. Do you think Dumbledore can tell us apart? He can participate instead of me."

Harry told him that he was sure that Dumbledore knew everything, and he would be able to tell the twins apart. It turned out that Fred needn't worry about George. He was waiting outside the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Fred!" He said, looking relieved. They stared at each other for a moment with such intensity that Harry found himself looking away. Suddenly, George rushed forward to grasp his brother, holding him in a tight embrace. "I'm sorry." He murmured, pushing Fred away after a moment. "And if I can help…"

That was the night his name had come out of the goblet. Now suddenly he was in the tent, sitting next to Fred as they waited to be called to battle against the dragons.

"Don't worry," Fred muttered to Harry, who was staring straight ahead, concentrating on not being sick. "Charlie's worried sick about you. Any sign that that Horntail's going to lunge and he'll get you out of there." Fred started when his name was called and stood up hurriedly. "Good luck, Harry. You deserve it."

Harry wished he didn't have to hear Fred's fight. He heard Bagman scream something about "bad luck" and wondered if Fred was injured. His stomach gave a painful lurch at the thought. Finally, the egg was captured and Harry had to prepare himself for his turn.

On his way out to the stadium Harry past Fred who was being rushed into the medical tent by Madame Pomfrey, one side of his face red and blistered, obscuring his eye. He shrugged out of the witch's grip when they past. "They're not really that bad, dragons." Fred said, winking at Harry with his good eye. Harry shook his head, feeling that Fred was one to talk.

The match was a blur. He vaguely remembered calling his firebolt, barely recalled getting cut by the Horntail's razor-sharp spikes, and almost forgot reaching the golden egg.

It was in the medical tent that Harry finally stopped shaking. It was occupied by only himself, Fred, and George. Fred was sitting up on the cot, half of his face covered in yellow paste, as he tried to reassure his twin that he was fine, thank you, and he wasn't going to die.

"You sure?" George cocked an eyebrow and stared at the paste on Fred's face. Fred swatted him, "You're worse than mum, George, now go away, I'm fine."

Both boys left the room when Ron and Hermione rushed in, looking terrified. Fred gave Harry a knowing look before disappearing out of the tent flap.

I know that this is probably making no sense to anyone but me, but review anyway.