After that round of practice, all three of them looked thoroughly wiped out.
Cedric's robes were ripped in several places, Draco had red welts on his arm, and Harry's hair was a complete mess, tangled by the wind and panic.
They carried their brooms back to the ground and walked over to Dylan, all letting out a collective sigh of frustration.
Harry, Cedric, and Draco stood on the grass, holding their brooms. A gust of wind made the torn hem of Cedric's robe flutter, revealing his trousers, which were slightly stained with mud.
Draco kept touching the red mark on his arm, wincing slightly as his fingertip brushed his skin.
Harry was running his fingers through his windblown hair, trying to smooth his fringe out of his eyes.
The chaos of that last training session had left all three looking particularly rough.
After watching Dylan effortlessly weave between the Whomping Willow's branches without even snagging his robes, they'd all thought, "This shouldn't be too hard."
But once they experienced it for themselves, they realized that getting through the gaps unscathed was far more difficult than they'd imagined!
It took a while to steady their breathing before the three of them finally gathered, frowning.
They looked at each other, starting to debrief their mistakes.
"Draco, when you were getting cornered in there, I miscalculated the range of my Shield Charm," Cedric said first, sounding full of apology. He pointed to the tears in his own robes. "The shield was off by half a yard, and it made you have to dodge that thin branch, which is how you got scraped. And I messed up too—I was so focused on you, I nearly forgot the attack coming at me from behind."
Draco's ears were still a little red, and he shook his head gently, his voice lower than usual. "It's fine, I made a mistake later, too."
"When Harry was pinned on the left by those branches, I cast the spell too quickly; the shield wasn't aimed at the attacking branch. Instead, it blocked him, forcing him to jump off his broom and nearly getting pinned by two other branches. My bad."
"Honestly, I'm the problem," Harry admitted, scratching his head, his eyes avoiding contact. "When Cedric was targeted by that thick branch overhead, I saw it clearly, but my mind just went blank. I didn't even raise my wand. Dylan had to help block it. I was too slow to react."
As the three of them were hunched over reviewing their failures, a soft laugh came from behind them.
They turned to see Dylan leaning against the Whomping Willow's trunk, one hand in his robe pocket, the other idly twirling his wand.
"Ha-ha-ha, you know, this feels pretty good."
Dylan straightened up and walked toward them, his tone completely free of blame, instead carrying a clear hint of amusement.
"Good?" Harry and Draco exchanged confused glances.
They'd been failing miserably and almost got hurt—what exactly was "good" about that?
Cedric, however, stroked his chin thoughtfully, his eyes lighting up. He had a pretty good idea of what Dylan was about to say.
"When you reviewed what happened, not a single one of you said things like, 'It's your fault for not blocking it,' or, 'You dragged us down.' Instead, you all looked at your own mistakes."
Dylan stopped, looking at the three of them. "You faced so many dangers in just the first round of practice, and you managed not to blame each other, only reflecting on your own missteps. Isn't that something worth celebrating?"
He paused. "To my mind, that's the hardest thing to achieve in teamwork."
"Plenty of people can practice a hundred times and still immediately blame someone else when things go wrong. But this was your first real session, and you were already looking internally for the causes."
"That means you've already established a foundation of trust. You're willing to attribute a failure to your own shortcomings, not your teammate's problem."
"That's more important than mastering a hundred evasive maneuvers. It's the most critical step in forming a team, and you've already crossed it."
"Dylan's right," Cedric agreed immediately, recalling his own experience as Quidditch Captain. "When our team first started practicing passing coordination, we dropped the Quaffle all the time. At first, some guys would complain, 'You threw it off-target,' or, 'I missed it because you threw it too late.' But eventually, everyone learned to look at their own mistakes first, and that's when our teamwork finally started to click."
"Training is just a constant process of trial and error. One bad session doesn't mean anything; we just need to keep practicing."
He looked at Harry and Draco. "If we started blaming and pushing responsibility around right now, without that basic trust, things would only get messier when we're actually facing a dragon or a Niffler—that's when accidents really happen."
"But it's different now. We can focus on reflection instead of blame. All we need to do is practice more, and our synchronization will only get better."
Listening to them, Harry felt his sense of failure slowly disappear. He gripped his wand tightly, his eyes regaining their determination.
Draco straightened his back as well; the red welts on his arm didn't seem to sting quite so much.
Cedric clapped them both on the shoulder.
The three exchanged a look, and without a word, they picked up their brooms and headed back toward the Whomping Willow.
This time, there was no hesitation in their stride, only certainty.
It was late November at Hogwarts, and it had been snowing for days.
Feathery flakes drifted down, blanketing the castle spires, the withered grass, and the branches of the Whomping Willow in a thick layer of white frost.
Walking on the flagstones, their shoes made a crisp crunching sound on the snow. Their breath instantly turned into plumes of white mist, which quickly dissolved into the cold air.
This morning, as Dylan entered the classroom, he saw a letter sealed with gold embossing lying on his desk.
The envelope bore the seal of the Panel of Judges, and the wax was still warm, indicating it had been delivered very recently.
He tore open the envelope, finding only a piece of parchment with half a riddle.
Dylan picked up his quill and wrote the words "Dragons."
The moment the tip left the paper, the entire letter burst into a pale blue flame.
Strangely, the flame didn't burn his fingers or damage the desk. It simply extinguished a few seconds later, and the ashes reformed in the air, transforming into a new letter.
The new envelope now bore a red stamp from the Ministry of Magic. When opened, it contained a single sentence.
"Please arrive promptly at the Gamekeeper's Grounds at five o'clock this Friday afternoon."
Almost simultaneously, Harry, Cedric, and Draco received identical letters.
Harry rushed over to Dylan, his ears still red from the cold.
He stomped the snow off his shoes and asked, puzzled, "Why would the judges suddenly call us out to the grounds? Do you think they want us to look at the dragons? But why would they do that?"
Draco followed, his hands shoved deep into his robe pockets, his breath pluming as he spoke. "If they wanted to hide the dragons, the most sensible place would be deep in the Forbidden Forest—it's secluded, and few people go there."
"But the Beauxbatons carriage is parked right next to the grounds. They're staying so close that the sound of the dragons would be obvious. They can't hide them at all."
"I know!" Harry suddenly clapped his hands, his eyes lighting up before Draco could finish. "Since they couldn't hide them anyway, and Headmaster Dumbledore gave us a riddle hint way back—why not stop hiding them and openly let us see them in advance? Instead of making us guess, they might just want us to see the real dragons so we can adapt ahead of time."
He cupped his hands and blew into them to warm them up, rubbing them together quickly, his voice full of anticipation. "We've seen footage of dragons in the Pensieve, but that was just a memory. It's going to be completely different from seeing a real, live dragon!"
"I wonder how many types of dragons the judges prepared this time. Will there be aggressive ones, like the Hungarian Horntail?"
As they talked, the group walked along the snow-covered path toward the Gamekeeper's Grounds.
Before they even reached the edge of the area, they were hit by a strong whiff of single-malt whiskey.
The smell was very distinct, a spicy warmth that was also incredibly pungent.
Dylan remembered a funny story Hagrid had told him.
His pet Thestral, Luna, used to love playing on the grounds but had been sent spinning in dizziness by the smell of the liquor several times, unable to flap her wings.
Since Luna often rolled around in the grass with Hagrid's dog, Fang, Fang knew her scent well.
Whenever Luna was overcome by the smell and stumbled in the snow, too wobbly to stand, Fang would grab her wing and drag her into Hagrid's hut.
The hut's fireplace was constantly lit, radiating warmth. After half an hour by the hearth, Luna would sober up and flutter away.
After that, Luna was so afraid of the smell that she never came back to the grounds, choosing instead to wander the Hogwarts castle.
But the new location meant trouble for Peeves the Poltergeist.
Luna was Dylan's pet, and Peeves knew it.
Peeves never dared to antagonize Luna or fight back.
So, Luna would peck at Peeves's hat with her sharp beak.
If Peeves deliberately made noise to try and scare her away, she would fly onto his shoulder and scratch his hair with her talons.
Joking around, the group reached the entrance to the grounds.
Champions from the other schools also arrived in turn.
They were all bundled up in heavy winter clothes, some rubbing their hands for warmth, others quietly discussing the dragons they were about to see.
However, Ludo Bagman and old Barty Crouch weren't present, nor were any of the Headmasters.
Just as everyone was looking around, a tall figure emerged from the depths of the grounds—it was Hagrid.
He wore a thick, grayish-brown coat, and his bushy beard, dotted with snowflakes, covered most of his face. But his round eyes were sparkling with excitement, a clear sign of his excellent mood.
"All here, are you? Follow me, I'll take you to see the big lads!" Hagrid's voice was booming, carrying far through the cold air.
Hagrid spotted Dylan and his friends and immediately waved warmly, shouting, "Get over here! All of you, come my way!"
Once they were closer, he smiled and nodded to the Champions from the other schools, then turned and started down a snow-covered path.
The tree branches on either side of the path were heavy with snow. When the wind blew, it shed tiny particles of ice onto the ground.
"It's marvelous! Such a lovely bunch of creatures!" Hagrid walked in front, his steps as light as a child's, his voice filled with unconcealed joy. He drew out his words with an exaggerated, operatic flair. "I guarantee you'll love 'em—they're even more charming than what they write about in the textbooks!"
He chattered on as they walked, occasionally turning back to smile at the group. "Course, these beauties have got big voices, so don't be alarmed when you hear 'em—don't let their roaring scare you off!"
"To me, a big voice is a sign of good health! Means they've got plenty of energy and are in top shape!"
Hagrid did most of the talking on the way.
He jumped from "Dragons are the most magnificent creatures in the magical world" to "The Triwizard Tournament having a dragon task is simply perfect."
He also frequently complimented the "brilliant vision" of the judges, excited like a child sharing his favorite toys.
Noberta (the Norwegian Ridgeback) hadn't seen Hagrid in a while either.
But Hagrid hadn't mentioned her to Dylan recently.
Clearly, he had a new object of affection.
Dylan and Harry followed behind.
Listening to Hagrid, Harry and the others' initial nervousness gradually eased, replaced by anticipation.
After all, getting to see so many dragons up close was a rare opportunity for anyone.
They followed the path along the edge of the Forbidden Forest for nearly twenty minutes. The snow grew thicker, and the crunching sound underfoot grew louder.
Just then, a faint commotion drifted from the distance—it sounded like the clanging of iron, mixed with intermittent, sharp roars.
The sound was packed with power, and even from far away, you could feel its raw menace, tightening your nerves.
"Hagrid! You're here!" a familiar voice called from ahead.
Everyone looked up to see a tall young man in a dark blue jacket, his hair a little messy, waving at them with a hearty smile.
It was Ron's older brother, Charlie Weasley.
He was covered in a bit of black soot, clearly having just finished working.
"A little surprised to see me, are you?" Charlie quickly walked over, first giving Harry a big hug, then smiling and patting Dylan on the shoulder. "Honestly, I'm more surprised than you are! I was only told that one school had three champions. I never expected Hogwarts to have four this time. It's a lot livelier than the Ministry's dragon protection task I was on last time."
He exchanged a few words with Hagrid about the dragons' feeding schedule, and then quickly told Harry and Dylan about the defensive charms he'd been calibrating on the dragon enclosures.
Then, he took over leading the way. "Everyone, follow me. Watch out for the ice underfoot. The clearing where we're keeping the dragons is just up ahead."
Following Charlie through a thicket of low bushes, the sight that greeted them instantly took the breath away from all the Champions.
In an open clearing, several dragons of different shapes and sizes were sectioned off into different areas by magical fences.
Each one radiated a powerful aura.
The Hungarian Horntail on the far left had black-green scales. When its wings spread, they nearly blocked out half the sky, and it occasionally spat out small bursts of sparks.
The Norwegian Ridgeback next to it, with sharp bone spikes down its back, was currently pawing at the snow on the ground with its claws.
The Hebridean Black's scales had a metallic sheen, and a low, guttural rumbling occasionally escaped its throat.
The Swedish Short-Snout's nose tip had a faint blue tinge, looking like a thin layer of ice.
The Common Welsh Green on the far right was comparatively the "mildest" of the group, curled up in the corner of its enclosure, occasionally raising its head to glance at the group, its eyes glowing with an amber light.
Walking through the bushes into the clearing, the first things they saw weren't the dragons, but enormous wooden partitions standing on the ground.
These boards were two stories high and over half a yard thick, etched with complex protective runes. They divided the clearing into five separate areas, each holding one dragon.
The gaps between the boards were tiny, just enough to see the tail of the dragon in the next section, clearly designed to prevent the dragons from attacking each other.
Looking closer, each dragon was wrapped in special restraining gear.
Their upper legs were tightly bound with straps made of dragon-hide as thick as a wrist, the edges studded with silver buckles. Thick chains, the size of a bowl, connected the buckles to a metal stake secured deep into the base of the wooden partition.
The other end of the chain wrapped around the dragon's neck. Even with this double restraint, the chains rattled loudly whenever a dragon twisted its body.
The metal stakes were tugged and shook slightly, a testament to the astonishing strength of these creatures.
The two enclosures closest to the group housed the Swedish Short-Snout and the Common Welsh Green.
Hagrid stopped immediately when he reached the fence of the Swedish Short-Snout. He squinted slightly, his booming voice softening dramatically, and his eyes even looked a little watery with obsession. "Oh... look at the little chap. It's truly beautiful!"
He spoke in his usual operatic tone, but now infused with tenderness. "Just look at those silvery-blue scales! They shine in the snowlight, like it's wearing an elegant evening gown studded with diamonds! You simply can't look away!"
"It would be thrilled if it could understand your compliments!"
Charlie Weasley walked over and clapped Hagrid on the shoulder, smiling and nodding toward the dragon in the enclosure, then began introducing the beasts to the Champions.