The final ten days before the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament saw much feverish preparation on the part of the four champions. Viktor Krum was seen regularly in the Hogwarts library, poring over various heavy tomes with a furrowed brow. Crowds of predominantly male onlookers watched Fleur Delacour practise spells with other Beauxbatons students on the grounds. Cedric Diggory’s regimen was more low-key but no less intense, going for long early morning runs along the shore of the lake before most of the students were up.
It was the fourth champion however that was working harder than anyone. Neville had thrown himself into Moody’s crash course in defence against dragons with an intensity that he had never shown in any lesson or subject before. There was something about a looming confrontation with a forty foot fire-breathing lizard that tended to focus the mind.
Moody was an uncompromising taskmaster; he would not accept failure or excuses. His blank refusal that Neville could not perform certain spells had become a challenge to Neville, determined to repay Moody’s faith in him. One of the things that Neville had always lacked was concentration and focussing on one particular spell at a time had really helped. “There’s not been a spell invented that any wizard couldn’t do with enough time, patience and determination,” Moody had said. “We may not have much of the first, but enough of the other two will make up for that.”
Inevitably, as a result of this focus, his regular schoolwork had suffered, but he found that all his teachers (with the notable exception of Snape) were very lenient and understanding towards him. Although their behaviour seemed genuinely to be on account of the pressure they knew Neville was under, Neville couldn’t help wondering if maybe they had read Rita Skeeter’s article in the Daily Prophet and were feeling sorry for him.
Neville had only skimmed over the article, enough to convince him he would not enjoy reading the rest, but Hermione had dutifully waded her way through the whole thing and had looked thoroughly disgusted. In her rant to Neville, she had used the words “hatchet job” which, although a Muggle expression with which Neville was not familiar, felt like it had an appropriate ring to it.
Skeeter had painted a picture of Neville as a disturbed, repressed child, haunted by his past and unable to form relationships with other people. She also implied that Neville could be an extremely powerful, dangerous wizard, as evidenced by his defeat of Voldemort, but had bottled up his magic on account of the trauma he had suffered, and that magic risked exploding out at any moment. Her theory was that Neville’s entry into the Triwizard Tournament was driven by a subconscious need to release that pent-up magic and anger.
“It’s ridiculous,” Hermione had said, fuming. “She’s halfway to having you committed as a mental patient. What nerve!” The Marauders had laughed it off, with Fred offering to conjure a concrete wall around Neville’s bunk in case he exploded. Most of the comments he’d got from the other Gryffindors had been supportive, but for the rest of the school it was just another reason to steer clear of him. He began to notice he was getting odd glances wherever he went, and other students seemed to be wary of him. Draco and the Slytherins found it just another way to taunt him, baiting him to go mad and attack them or feigning mock terror whenever he came near. Neville continued to ignore everything in silence.
He had dreaded the inevitable letter from Gran, but when it came all it had contained was a stern warning to Neville not to talk to Rita Skeeter ever again. Neville knew that Gran’s opinion of the accuracy of the Daily Prophet was very low indeed, and was glad that had not changed in this instance. Gran always knew a lie when she saw one.
Gran had also reminded Neville she would be attending the upcoming First Task, and that did not thrill him. It had only really just dawned on him that he would be competing in front of hundreds of people, all of whom knew who he was. It was a frightening prospect. He’d mentioned it to Sirius at the start of one of his lessons with Moody. “Don’t worry, Neville,” Sirius had said with a smile. “I expect you’ll be concentrating more on the great big dragon. You won’t even notice the crowd.” Somehow this did not make Neville feel better.
Moody had learned that the task would involve retrieving an object from close to the dragon, so he had devised a simple and easy to follow strategy for Neville. “There’ll be an Anti-Summoning Charm on the object, so the obvious idea’s out,” he had said. “That leaves three options: attack the dragon directly, find some way of outpacing or outmanoeuvring the dragon, or distract it in some way. The first would require powerful magic I don’t have the time to teach, and might only enrage the creature. For the second, I could cast any number of powerful charms on you, but they’d be detected immediately. Or I might provide you with a magical item to Summon, but anything more sophisticated than a broom could raise too many suspicions and be denied to you. Since you’re no flyer, that leaves option three.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. Dragons rely primarily on their senses of sight and smell to detect their prey. So we’ll employ two simple curses. The first is Nasus Obstructo, which fills the nostrils of the victim with a noxious fume, making it impossible for them to smell anything. The other is Exammuscae. It produces the effect of a swarm of flies buzzing in front of the eyes, disorientating the victim.
“Both these spells are relatively simple and within your capabilities, and used in conjunction should give you approximately four minutes, with the Incaloris Charm as a safeguard, to retrieve the object. Let us get to work.”
Using the unfortunate but uncomplaining Sirius as a subject, Moody schooled Neville carefully in the application of the two spells. Although, as Neville pointed out, Sirius didn’t exactly make a very convincing dragon, Neville was able to perform both of them with a sufficient degree of success to satisfy Moody by the end of their last lesson, the day before the task.
At the end of that lesson, Moody sat Neville down to talk to him. “Listen Neville, I’ve just got a few last words I want to say. You’ve learnt well and really applied yourself, and I’ve been impressed with that. I think that when you really put in the effort, you become a far better wizard than you might think. But magical skill alone will not be enough tomorrow. Out there in that arena, it’ll be about keeping calm, and keeping your nerve. I shouldn’t have to talk to a Gryffindor about courage, but in my time I’ve seen Hufflepuffs rush into battle where Gryffindors would not go. Everyone is different.
“If you want inspiration, look no further than your mother. She was coolness under pressure personified, never reckless but always determined, a thinking fighter. You have her sense of purpose, but your father’s technique. I always had to tell him not to rush his wand movements. Very fiery at times, your dad. Think of them when you go out there tomorrow. They would believe in you. I believe in you. All you need is to believe in yourself.”
“Good luck, Neville,” added Sirius. “Make sure you get a good night’s sleep. I’ll be there tomorrow as well. I’ll see you after it’s over.” Neville thanked them both, slipped on Harry’s invisibility cloak and made his way back up to Gryffindor Tower.
He hardly slept at all however, tossing and turning in his bed and repeating the same words over and over again to himself: “Nasus Obstructo, Exammuscae, Incaloris. Nasus Obstructo, Exammuscae, Incaloris.” He knew that his life depended on those three spells, and desperately wanted them to be the only things in his memory for the next day.
* * *
Perversely, Neville still had lessons that morning, with the First Task set for two o’clock in the afternoon. He sat unmoving throughout Charms, paying no attention to Professor Flitwick’s lecture and taking no notes at all. Even in Herbology he said and did nothing, loitering in the corner of the greenhouse. Professor Sprout let him stand there and did not call on him for any demonstrations, as she did in most lessons. She gave him a sympathetic smile as he left.
At lunch in the Great Hall he noticed that most of the Gryffindors avoided him, giving him a wide berth to leave him alone with his thoughts. But as he was about to leave, he was approached by Ginny Weasley. “Good luck, Neville,” she said brightly. “Go out there and show them what you can do. I’ll be cheering for you.” Neville was surprised at her confidence in him, but it still made him feel a little better.
The grand bowl-shaped arena that had been constructed for the First Task was located on the edge of the Forbidden Forest and by early afternoon the stands were already filling up with spectators. At about half past one, Neville and the other champions were gathered together in the Entrance Hall by the three headmasters and were led out across the grounds. As they skirted by the edge of the forest, Neville thought of how easy it would be to dash off, disappear into the forest, and never be found. However he knew deep down that he could never do that. He was done with running away, more than anything because it would let too many people down.
The champions were led into a large tent on the edge of the arena. As Neville entered, he felt the flash of a camera and turned to see Rita Skeeter and her photographer loitering close by. There was a look of greedy anticipation on Skeeter’s face. Neville ducked quickly inside the tent.
Inside, he found Bagman and Crouch, the other two judges, waiting for them, with Crouch’s house-elf Winky again in attendance. Crouch looked bored; Bagman, clutching a small purple bag, was grinning with excitement. “Gather round, champions,” he began. “The day has arrived. I’m sure you’ve all been wondering what the First Task will be.” Neville looked around him. He knew full well that none of them had been wondering at all.
“Now I can reveal the truth,” Bagman continued. “Each of you in turn will enter the arena behind me, where you will each confront one of four dragons. The dragons are nesting mothers and within each nest we will place a golden egg. Your task is to safely retrieve the egg, which will provide a clue to the next task.”
He held out the small bag. “Please select your dragon.” Each of them reached into the bag and pulled out a small moving model dragon. Fleur drew a Swedish Short-Snout and would go first. Cedric pulled out a Chinese Fireball and would go third. Krum got what seemed to be regarded as the toughest draw: a Hungarian Horntail and last in the order. That left Neville with a Welsh Green and second up. He looked down at the little dragon crawling around on his palm and wondered if that was good or not. Moody had never said anything about different types of dragons.
The judges made their way to their seats while Fleur prepared to enter the arena. The other champions sat down on a bench to wait. At a signal, Fleur stepped forward and disappeared out of the tent. There was a loud roar from the crowd, and then a deeper roar from the dragon. Neville began to tremble and tried to shut out the noise from outside.
Cedric leaned over to whisper to him. “I never got to say thanks. I don’t know what I’d have done without your tip. I’m still nervous as hell, though. I wish I was going out before you. Get it over with quicker. I hate waiting.” Krum sat brooding in silence, twirling his wand in his fingers.
After a few minutes there was a loud, sharp yell of shock from the crowd outside. Everything then went quiet, and Neville tensed, wondering what had happened. The silence continued for several more unbearable minutes before a booming voice announced, “Would Neville Longbottom now enter the arena, please.” A muted chorus of boos followed.
Neville got to his feet and Cedric patted him on the back. “Good luck,” he said. Neville walked over to the entrance of the tent. “Nasus Obstructo, Exammuscae, Incaloris,” he muttered to himself. He closed his eyes and an image of his parents drawn from he knew not where swam into his brain. Make them proud, he thought, and then opened his eyes and stepped forward.
The terrain he was confronted by was rough and uneven. Surrounding him on all sides were stands packed with spectators of all ages. He could see in front of him the stand in which the judges and teachers were sitting, including Moody. Somewhere else he knew Gran was watching him and elsewhere Hermione, Ginny and the Marauders were cheering him on. But he didn’t have time to stop and look around for them.
He scrambled up behind a hillock and peered out. Some fifty yards in front of him in the middle of the arena a huge scaly green dragon sat nestled peacefully on a clutch of eggs. Its left hind leg was chained to a post by a thick, sturdy and rather long (to Neville’s eyes) chain. It twisted its long neck and briefly adjusted its wings, revealing its huge wingspan. Neville gulped, but his brain moved on to automatic as he prepared to instigate Moody’s plan. Need to be closer, he thought. I’m not in effective range yet.
Moody had drilled his charge well. Neville slowly edged forward, keeping low and using whatever cover he could find. Twice he froze as his foot slipped on a pebble and made a sound, but the dragon did not move. Once he got within twenty-five yards Neville lay flat on the ground and readied his wand. It was now or never.
As rapidly as he could he scrambled to his feet and pointed his wand squarely at the dragon’s head. “Nasus Obstructo!” he cried. A flash of blue light burst from his wand and struck the dragon square on the snout. It writhed and roared for a moment before shaking its head violently and shooting gouts of flame from its nostrils, trying unsuccessfully to clear its nose.
Neville knew this meant his spell had worked, but he had no time to celebrate. The flames from the nose of the Welsh Green came perilously close to his position and he dived back down for cover. This was not the plan. He was supposed to cast the second curse immediately, before the dragon could react. As soon as he heard the flame stop, he got to his feet again.
The dragon was looking almost straight at him. He aimed his wand and cried “Exammuscae!” A white jet from his wand flew straight over the dragon’s head into the sky. He had missed. The dragon, now seeing its attacker, raised itself onto its feet for the first time and began to advance on Neville. For such a huge beast it moved fast across the ground. Neville backed away, stumbling. The crowd gasped.
With one last desperate attempt, Neville’s arm stretched out once more. “Exammuscae!” he cried again. This time the jet struck the dragon square on the forehead. It was close enough. A buzzing black cloud burst from the point of the curse’s impact and spread across in front of the dragon’s face. The Welsh Green roared angrily and its head sunk to the ground as it scrabbled fruitlessly at the cloud with its front claws.
Neville knew there was no time to lose. Holding his wand point upwards, he said, “Incaloris.” There was a brief orange glow around him. Neville knew the charm did not last long. Hurriedly he began to run in a wide arc around the dragon, heading for its now vacated nest.
Although disoriented and with feeble hearing, the dragon knew there was something somewhere near its nest. Its savage maternal instinct kicked in and it began expelling fire wildly in all directions. The one unchained hind leg flailed perilously close to Neville and the gust of wind it generated blew him off his feet. He scrambled quickly to his feet again. “Constant vigilance,” he muttered under his breath.
As the dragon continued to thrash about, Neville reached the nest. He could see the golden egg resting in between the others. He dashed forward and reached out his hand for it. But he had reckoned without the unfailing instinct which draws a mother back to her nest. The dragon had turned. Confused it may have been, but it still could still sense where its children were.
A blast of flame struck Neville in the back. The Incaloris Charm absorbed most of the heat, but Neville was thrown to the ground away from the nest, his back scorched. The crowd fell silent as the dragon closed in. It pulled itself alongside the nest and swung its front claws in front of itself, mercilessly searching for its foe.
Neville rolled onto his side. His back felt in agony and knew the Incaloris Charm would now have failed. He was helpless. The dragon’s claws pounded the ground in front of him and he knew it was only a matter of time before one found its mark. He tried to move but he couldn’t, paralysed by fear and pain as the dragon loomed over him. He raised his arms to feebly protect himself as a huge scaly arm descended on him.
Suddenly he felt a massive force push against him, hurling him to the side as the claw smashed down right where he had been. The force seemed to have come out of nowhere and he knew nothing had struck him; it must have been magical. He was thrown against the ground a few feet away, and right by the nest. Not stopping to wonder at his miraculous escape, he pulled himself painfully up and seized the golden egg. Desperately he set off at a run to get clear of the dragon, not daring to look back.
But the cloud was just clearing from the dragon’s eyes. It sought out the fleeing Neville and sent one last massive blast of flame in his direction. The very edge of the fireball caught Neville in the side. He fell with a cry of pain, hit his head on a rock and blacked out.
* * *
Neville awoke painfully in the familiar surroundings of the hospital wing. The whole left side of his body ached terribly and it was uncomfortable to move. His eyes swam into focus. A girl was leaning over him. “Madam Pomfrey!” the girl called behind her. “He’s awake.” Neville’s eyes finally adjusted enough to register that the girl was Hermione.
She was not the only one there. Harry and Ron were standing at the foot of the bed and Ginny was next to Hermione. Madam Pomfrey the nurse came hurrying over. “Don’t try to move too much,” she said. “I’ve fixed your skin but it will still take time to heal, and that head wound needs to be treated with caution. You end up in here far too often, Mr Longbottom. I knew this Tournament would be trouble the moment I heard about it.”
Neville’s right hand felt the bandage round his head. “What happened?” he asked.
“You suffered second-degree burns to fifteen per cent of your body and a slight hairline fracture of the skull,” replied Madam Pomfrey. “Fortunately the dragon handlers were able to pull you clear after you passed out.”
“How long have I been out?” The chandeliers in the hospital wing were lit and Neville looked over at the far windows to see it was dark outside.
“It’s now half past eight in the evening. I’ll be keeping you in overnight for observation. Your friends can stay for five more minutes, all right?” Neville nodded, and Madam Pomfrey walked over to another bed. Neville was surprised to see Fleur occupying the bed.
“She got injured as well, though not as bad as you,” explained Ron. “Her robes briefly caught alight.”
Neville tried to sit up a little, but it was difficult. “What else happened out there?”
“You scored twenty-one out of fifty,” Hermione told him. “Last by some distance, but don’t worry about that. Viktor Krum did the best, though his dragon went as mad as yours did. Cedric Diggory was just behind him. They’re both okay. Oh Neville, I’m so glad you’re all right.”
“Neville’s a survivor,” said Harry. “He’s been through enough tough scrapes already. It’ll take more than a dragon to beat him.”
“I thought you were brilliant out there, Neville,” put in Ginny. “They were far too harsh on their scores. It was incredibly brave of you.”
“I don’t know about that,” muttered Neville. “More lucky. Or…” He thought of his mysterious rescue from under the dragon’s claw, but said nothing. Instead he asked, “Has Gran been in? I bet she was mad.”
“Just a little,” grinned Harry. “She left a few minutes ago to go harangue Dumbledore again over your safety. She was on the warpath all afternoon. Sirius was also here but had to head home. I’d better owl him to tell him you’re all right. By the way, they left you your egg.” Harry indicated the golden egg lying on Neville’s bedside table. “No one’s tried to open it yet.”
A short while later Madam Pomfrey returned and told them all it was time to leave. They said their goodbyes to Neville and filed out. Ron hung around for a moment by Fleur’s bed before Ginny dragged him away. When they’d gone, Neville glanced at the egg and thought about trying to open it, but as he couldn’t yet grasp it with both hands he realised he couldn’t.
He settled down to rest when only minutes later the door to the hospital wing opened and Moody strode in. Madam Pomfrey went to accost him. “Visiting hours are over,” she informed him curtly.
“This won’t take a minute,” growled Moody and, ignoring Pomfrey’s protestations, strode on her past her to Neville’s bedside. “Good to see you awake, Neville. How are you feeling?”
“Lousy, but alive, sir. I messed up. I didn’t manage to stick to the plan exactly.”
“Nonsense. You performed admirably and to the best of your abilities, that’s all I can ask. If anything it is I who should be apologising. I didn’t find out they were putting you up against a nesting mother. That complicated matters. I shall be more diligent in researching the tasks in future.”
Moody picked up the golden egg from the bedside table and gave it a once-over with his magical eye. “Hmm, interesting. Make sure you bring this to our next meeting, first week of next term. We’ll investigate it further.” He glanced round at a stern-looking Madam Pomfrey. “Well, I just wanted to see you were all right, and to tell you your parents would have been proud of you today. You fought bravely and well. How you got out from under that claw in time, I’ll never know.”
“Then that wasn’t you?” exclaimed Neville. Seeing Moody’s puzzlement, he explained, “Someone magically pushed me out of the way as I was about to be crushed. They saved my life. I’d assumed it was you.”
“I can assure you it wasn’t me,” replied Moody. “Nor was it anyone around me, or I would have seen the spell. Very mysterious, and I don’t like mysteries. How would someone manage that and not be noticed, and why? Thank you for telling me, Neville. Good night.” He turned and left the hospital wing with a concerned look on his face.
Neville too was puzzled, but not so concerned. Moody’s paranoia was on show again. After all, whoever his unknown helper had been, they had saved Neville’s life, and so were obviously on his side. Neville hoped he or Moody did find out who it was, so that Neville could thank them in person.
Neville Longbottom and the Goblet of Fire by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which Neville prepares for and competes in the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament.