Harry Potter with Technology System

Ch373- First Task

The stands surrounding the makeshift arena were packed with students, professors, and a handful of Ministry officials. Excitement buzzed through the crowd, a chaotic blend of anticipation and morbid curiosity. Betting pools had sprung up overnight, and Fred and George were running them like seasoned bookies, taking wagers on everything from who would get burned first to whether Krum would trip over his own feet.

Harry stood behind the marked boundary lines, arms crossed as he took in the setup. A large tent had been set up at the edge of the enclosure, serving as the waiting area for the champions. From inside, the distant roar of the crowd echoed, excited cheers and murmuring anticipation. The atmosphere inside the tent, however, was less energetic. Fleur Delacour sat on a wooden stool in the corner, her usual composed demeanor replaced by something paler, clammy. Across from her, Viktor Krum looked even more sullen than usual, his arms folded as he stared at the ground.

"Harry! Good-o!" Bagman called out, his voice too cheerful for the situation. He waved him over, grinning like they were about to start a game of pick-up Quidditch instead of a potentially life-threatening task. “Come in, come in, make yourself at home!”

Harry stepped further inside, sparing a glance at the others before focusing on Bagman. The man stood out like a sore thumb, his old Wasp robes clashing against the tense expressions around him. He looked like he belonged in a bright, crowded stadium rather than a tent full of stressed teenagers about to face dragons.

"Well, now that we're all here—time to fill you in!" Bagman said, clapping his hands together. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, purple silk bag, shaking it lightly. "When the audience has settled, each of you will reach into this bag and draw a small model of the creature you'll be facing. Different varieties, of course.”

Fleur inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing slightly. Krum remained silent, but the way his jaw tightened didn’t go unnoticed.

"And," Bagman continued, clearly pleased with his own presentation, "your task is simple—retrieve the golden egg."

Harry didn't react. He already knew what they were facing. The dragons were no secret to him, but seeing the actual confirmation laid out like a cheap party trick made him shake his head slightly. If the Ministry wanted to act like this was all fair and reasonable, they could at least pretend to be subtle.

The sound of the crowd outside grew louder, signaling that the event was about to begin. Bagman beamed, oblivious to the complete lack of enthusiasm in the room. "Right, time to begin! Ladies first!" He held out the bag to Fleur.

Fleur stood, smoothing out the folds of her blue robes, and reached inside. She pulled out a small, finely carved figure of a Welsh Green, its wings flaring as it settled into her palm. Her lips pressed together, but she said nothing as she sat back down.

Krum was next. He reached in without hesitation, drawing out a model of a Chinese Fireball. The tiny dragon let out a spark of flame, the light reflecting in Krum’s dark eyes as he gave it a long, considering look before tucking it into his palm.

Bagman turned to Harry, still grinning. "Your turn, my boy!"

Harry snorted. "What’s the point? The last two are mine."

Bagman hesitated for a second before forcing out a chuckle. "Still, we need to know which one you’ll face first."

Rolling his eyes, Harry stuck his hand into the silk bag, fishing out a small, carved figure of a Swedish Short-Snout. The tiny dragon flapped its wings once before settling in his palm. He reached in again and pulled out the last figure—a Hungarian Horntail.

Bagman clapped his hands together. "There we have it! The order is set—Miss Delacour will go first, followed by Mr. Krum, then Harry with the Short-Snout, and finally, Harry again with the Horntail!" He laughed like this was all some grand joke, but no one else joined him.

Fleur’s fingers tightened around her dragon model. Krum’s frown deepened. Harry just tucked both miniatures into his pocket and waited.

"Right, that’s settled!" Bagman continued, far too chipper. "Now, just a few more moments, and then we’ll send the first champion out—"

A loud roar shook the tent. Outside, the crowd responded with cheers. Fleur let out a slow breath, her expression smoothing into something unreadable. Krum merely cracked his knuckles.

Fleur turned to Harry, her brows knitting together. "Will you really face two dragonz? That seems unfair. Back to back at that."

Krum, who had been silent since the drawing, nodded. "He is one person. Why does he compete twice?"

Harry pulled out the two miniature dragons from his pocket and rolled them between his fingers. “The Goblet picked me twice. No one has a clue how to handle it, so they’re pretending it’s normal.”

Fleur frowned. "But zhis iz ridiculous. You should not ‘ave to do two taskz when ze others do only one."

Krum grunted, crossing his arms. "If Dumbledore allows this, it is because he thinks you can win."

Harry shrugged. “Or he just enjoys the entertainment.”

Before either of them could respond, Bagman clapped his hands. “Alright! It’s time! Miss Delacour, you’re up first.”

Fleur inhaled deeply, smoothing out the front of her robes. Without another word, she strode out of the tent, back straight, head held high.

Silence settled over the tent as the distant sound of cheers and crackling flames filled the space. Krum stared at the ground, occasionally flicking the miniature Fireball between his fingers. Harry leaned against the table, idly spinning his own dragon models.

Outside, Fleur’s match was unfolding. The noise swelled, then dipped—probably as she made her move. The crowd erupted again a moment later.

Krum shifted. "How will you fight two dragons?"

Harry didn’t look up. “Same way I would fight one.”

Krum’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t say anything else.

A few minutes later, the cheers hit their peak, then died down. Bagman, practically bouncing, peeked through the tent flap and grinned. “Marvelous! Simply marvelous! Krum, you’re up next.”

Krum stood without a word, his expression unreadable as he left the tent. The moment the flap fell shut, Bagman turned back to Harry with a grin. “Your turn soon, lad! Nervous?”

Harry gave him a flat look.

Bagman let out a nervous chuckle and quickly busied himself with something on the table.

The next several minutes passed in relative silence, broken only by the distant cheers and the occasional sound of dragonfire outside.

Finally, the crowd’s reaction signaled the end of Krum’s round. Bagman turned back to Harry, practically vibrating with excitement. “Alright, Harry! You’re up!”

Harry pushed off the table, pocketed his miniatures, and stepped toward the exit.

The moment he walked out, the crowd roared. The stands were packed, students leaning forward, eager to see how the youngest champion would handle the task—twice.

Across the enclosure, the Swedish Short-Snout waited, restless, its silver-blue scales glinting under the sunlight. Its yellow eyes locked onto him the moment he stepped into the ring, nostrils flaring.

Harry barely spared it a glance before reaching for his wand.

The noise of the crowd faded into the background as he focused on the dragon. It wasn’t the biggest or the most aggressive, but that didn’t make it less dangerous. The golden egg sat between its front claws, nestled against the dirt.

The moment he stepped closer, the dragon let out a low growl, shifting its weight.

Harry lifted his wand.

To the crowd, it looked like Harry was just standing there, doing nothing. But in reality, he was speaking to the dragon in its own language—Dragontongue.

“That’s not your egg,” Harry told her, his voice smooth in the guttural, rumbling tones of the language. “It’s a prop these idiots are using to test me.”

The Swedish Short-Snout let out a deep, huffing breath, shifting slightly. Her yellow eyes flicked from Harry to the golden egg, then back to him.

“Humans and their nonsense,” she rumbled. “Always meddling.”

Harry walked forward without hesitation, stepping right up to the dragon’s snout. Gasps rippled through the audience as he lifted a hand and placed it gently against her nose.

The dragon snorted, her breath hot against his skin.

From the stands, the reaction was instant—utter disbelief.

“What the bloody hell is he doing?” Lee Jordan shouted, his voice carrying across the arena.

“Is he—he’s petting the dragon?”

The professors were on their feet. Madame Maxime’s lips were slightly parted in shock. Karkaroff looked as though he swallowed his own tongue. McGonagall had gone rigid, her hands gripping the railing in front of her.

Even Dumbledore, who rarely seemed fazed by anything, had a flicker of interest in his eyes.

The students weren’t faring much better.

“Potter’s insane,” someone whispered.

“Or he’s a dragon whisperer—”

“This isn’t normal—”

Tracey had her hands over her mouth, eyes wide. Daphne, sitting beside her, watched with narrowed eyes, fingers tapping against the bench.

In the judges' box, Ludo Bagman let out a nervous laugh. “Well, this is certainly... unconventional!”

Fleur Delacour, still slightly pale from her own round, had her arms crossed, watching with furrowed brows. Viktor Krum frowned slightly, his gaze fixed on Harry and the dragon.

Back in the arena, the Swedish Short-Snout let out a low grumble.

“You’re different,” she said. “You speak like us.”

Harry gave her a small nod. “So will you let me take it?” He gestured toward the golden egg.

The dragon shifted again, then rumbled. “Take it. But quickly. I dislike this place.”

Harry gave her snout one last pat before stepping past her, reaching down, and picking up the golden egg. The crowd watched in stunned silence as he turned and walked away, not a single burn or scratch on him.

The dragon didn’t react. She just settled back down, curling around her real eggs with a soft huff.

The silence in the stands stretched for a moment, then—

Chaos.

Shouting. Yelling. Disbelieving laughter.

Bagman was practically tripping over himself. “Absolutely brilliant! A creative approach! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Karkaroff, on the other hand, looked furious. “That was not a real test of skill! That was—that was cheating!”

“How is taming a dragon considered cheating?” McGonagall snapped. “Did the Judges specify that he had to use force?”

“Ve did not say he could talk to ze creatures either!” Madame Maxime pointed out, though she looked more intrigued than upset.

Dumbledore simply stroked his beard.

Meanwhile, the students were going mad.

“Did you see that? He just walked up and took the egg!”

“Potter’s a bloody dragon tamer!”

Fred and George were already making bets about whether Harry could convince other magical creatures to hand over their valuables.

But the excitement barely had time to settle before the announcer’s voice rang out again.

“And now... Harry Potter! For his second round!”

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