Four uniquely crafted dragon models stood in a line in front of the champions, each bearing a clearly visible number from one to four etched into their metallic scales.
"Each champion will randomly draw a number corresponding to one of these magnificent beasts," Bagman said with dramatic flourish, producing a small bag from his robes and shaking it with relish.
The sound of paper rustling within seemed unnaturally loud in the tense silence of the tent. "Come now, ladies and gentlemen, let's see what fate and fortune have in store for you!"
He approached Fleur first, the bag was held out in front of him like an offering to the gods of fate. "According to tradition, we shall allow ladies the first opportunity."
Fleur's hand trembled as she reached toward the bag, her composure cracking under the enormous pressure. Her face had taken on an expression of resigned acceptance, as if she were about to reach into a container of venomous serpents.
She fumbled around inside the bag for few moments. Finally, with a movement like she was ripping off a bandage, she quickly pulled out a folded piece of parchment.
"Please don't be number two..." she muttered in whispery murmured French, that only she could hear clearly, then unfolded the paper, and scanned the contents.
"Number two," she announced in a voice that had gone flat and hollow, reading the figures as if they were her death sentence. The color drained from her already pale face, leaving her looking almost ghostly in the tent's dim lighting.
Very bad luck indeed.
Although the four dragon models appeared roughly equivalent in size and general threat level to the naked eye, if the intelligence Madame Maxime had gathered was accurate, number two was the most dangerous and unpredictable opponent of the four available choices.
The moment Fleur's said those words, every person in the tent immediately turned their attention to the row of dragon models.
"Ah-ha! Chinese Fireball!" Bagman exclaimed with what could only be described as unseemly cheerfulness, as if announcing the winner of a pleasant garden party game. "Quite a challenging breed to handle under the best of circumstances, Miss Delacour!"
His enthusiasm was so inappropriate that it felt chilling, and Harry wondered briefly if the man had any understanding of the actual danger involved.
"Next, we continue with the remaining champions," Bagman continued, seemingly oblivious to the atmosphere of dread he was creating.
The subsequent draws proceeded with mechanical efficiency, each champion approaching their fate with varying degrees of visible anxiety.
Krum drew number three with his typical stoic expression unbroken: A Norwegian Ridgeback.
Cedric approached the bag and drew number one: A Swedish Short-Snout, reportedly the fastest and most agile of the dragon breeds.
By process of elimination, the final number four fell to Harry: A Welsh Green, the last remaining option in this deadly lottery.
'A Welsh Green...' Harry thought, feeling a complex mixture of relief and continued anxiety.
'This might actually be the best choice.'
Yesterday, Hermione had dragged him through nearly half of the Hogwarts library's entire collection, reading through books about dragon species, their behavioral patterns, their strengths and vulnerabilities, and historical accounts of wizard-dragon encounters.
According to their exhaustive research, the Welsh Green was considered one of the smaller dragon species with bright green scales. They were relatively compact in overall size compared to their cousins, but compensated with exceptional agility and surprisingly swift movement.
Most importantly for Harry's survival prospects, they were renowned for having comparatively gentle temperaments—at least as far as fire-breathing death machines could be considered "gentle."
'It should be manageable,' Harry tried to convince himself, though his racing heartbeat showed his body wasn't entirely convinced by his mental reassurances.
Meanwhile, after taking his leave from the tense atmosphere of the champions' tent, Adrian walked toward the newly constructed competition field, which had been surrounded by magical barriers designed to protect spectators from stray dragon fire.
The stadium-style stands that had been erected around the field were already packed to full with eager spectators from all three schools, plus what appeared to be a large number of Ministry officials, foreign dignitaries, and various magical creature experts who had traveled from across Europe to witness this historic revival of the Triwizard Tournament.
Adrian crossed through the dense crowd with ease, and sat into a seat slightly to the left, behind the judges' box, where he found Remus already waiting with an expression of deep concern etched across his face.
"I still think that having children face fully grown dragons is rather excessive," Remus said softly as Adrian sat beside him.
"Even professionally trained adult dragon handlers with decades of experience rarely face these creatures alone, and when they do, it's with backup and emergency protocols. This feels more like a gladiatorial spectacle than an educational competition."
His eyes were focused on the empty arena below, but his thoughts were clearly focused on Harry's wellbeing.
"Don't worry," Adrian replied with a casual shrug. "I've already confirmed that Harry has the necessary skills to handle the challenge that await him... Speaking of which, where is Sirius? I was expecting to see him here, didn't he come?"
"Oh, he's definitely here," Remus answered with a slightly amused smile.
As if summoned by the mention of his name, a pink dog head suddenly popped up from beside Remus's chair.
Adrian was momentarily stunned into silence, his composure cracking as he recognized.
'Wasn't this Bubbles?' He thought with growing amusement.
When Sirius had first captured by him, he had indeed transformed him into a pink dog and hidden Sirius by his side. Bubbles was the new name Adrian had given him at the time.
"Sirius said he didn't want to be conspicuous and attract excessive attention to himself," Remus explained barely suppressing his smile. "So, for today's purposes, he's my pet—a rare pink dog named Pico from Croatia."
"I'm fairly confident that Croatia doesn't have any animal called by that name," Adrian said dryly, struggling to maintain his expression. "And I think that bright pink coloring makes him even more conspicuous."
Sirius or rather, the pink dog that was definitely not attracting attention, immediately rolled his eyes.
The truth was, he desperately wanted to use his normal human appearance to support Harry openly, but his situation made that impossible. Despite having successfully cleared his criminal status and proven his innocence of the crimes for which he had been wrongly imprisoned, public perception was frustratingly slow to change.
People's first impressions and deeply held beliefs were remarkably resistant to correction, even in the face of overwhelming evidence. Even now, months after his official release, simply walking down Diagon Alley in his human body would still draw fearful glances, whispered conversations, and parents pulling their children closer.
As for the embarrassing matter of his current pink color fur, Sirius gave Adrian a look of pure resentment.
Ever since Adrian had cast that damned color-changing spell on him, Sirius had discovered that the transformation appeared to be permanent. He had spent the entire previous night attempting every conceivable counter-charm, reversal spell, and magical remedy he could think of.
Nothing had worked. He was apparently stuck with this ridiculous pink fur color for the foreseeable future.
Gradually, as the scheduled start time approached, the spectator stands filled with excited crowd.
Sitting on Adrian's other side was a stranger he didn't immediately recognize, he had a overwhelmingly strong scent of gunpowder.
'Most likely a professional dragon trainer,' Adrian thought.
His suspicions were confirmed when Charlie Weasley appeared and immediately sat into the seat next to the unknown dragon handler, launching into what appeared to be an intensely technical conversation about dragon behavior patterns, optimal restraint techniques, and emergency response protocols.
"Guess who will choose the Chinese Fireball?" the unknown dragon trainer said.
"Anyone except Harry Potter, I hope," Charlie replied, his face creased with worry. "That Fireball has been quite aggressive during transport and preparation. Even our most experienced handlers have been giving it extra space and respect."
When all the final preparations had been completed, the judges had taken their positions, and the crowd had reached a fever pitch of anticipation, Barty Crouch Sr. slowly walked to the center of the competition field.
The crowd's volume gradually diminished as his authoritative presence gathered attention, though excited whispers continued to ripple through the stands.
He raised a gleaming silver whistle to his lips and produced a sharp, clear noise that instantly silenced the entire arena.
Adrian watched Barty Crouch's every movement from his position in the stands, his eyes narrowing with suspicion and concern as he observed his manner and behavior.
He hadn't encountered Barty at Hogwarts recently, supposedly due to increasingly busy official duties related to tournament organization and Ministry responsibilities.
Regarding the question of who had successfully tampered with the Goblet of Fire to ensure Harry's unexpected selection, Adrian had been conducting his own quiet investigation.
If Igor Karkaroff remained his primary suspect among the ones currently present at Hogwarts, then Barty Crouch Sr. would definitely rank as the most likely candidate among outside ones.
Focusing his connection with the Tree of Wisdom, Adrian carefully examined Barty.
[Status: Imperius Curse (Mild)]
The information that flowed back through his magical perception confirmed his worst suspicions. According to the analysis, the current version of Barty Crouch Sr. was indeed already under the direct control of the Imperius Curse.
However, when the school term had first begun months ago, Adrian's previous observations hadn't detected any obvious traces of the Imperius Curse on Barty.
This meant the curse had been applied relatively recently, sometime between the beginning of the school year and the current tournament task.
Without question, the person responsible for casting such a powerful and illegal curse on a high-ranking Ministry official was almost certainly his own son, Barty Crouch Jr.
'What a touching display of filial devotion and family loyalty,' Adrian thought with dark irony.
After completing his official whistle signal, Barty slowly left the field without giving any additional commentary or explanation.
The spectators shifted restlessly in their seats, confused by the abrupt and seemingly incomplete opening ceremony. Murmurs of confusion and concern began to spread through the crowd as people wondered whether something had gone wrong with the planned events.
It wasn't until a full minute of growing anxiety and puzzled conversations had passed that Ludo Bagman finally appeared at the arena entrance, jogging toward the center of the field with rush.
"Oh, terribly sorry, everyone! I seem to be running just a bit behind schedule," He called out breathlessly, panting from his rushed arrival as he took position at the field's center.
His face was flushed with exertion and excitement as he raised his magically amplified voice to address the packed stadium.
"Ladies and gentlemen, wizards and witches from around the magical world! Welcome to the first task of the revived Triwizard Tournament—a magnificent display of courage as our brave champions face dragons in mortal combat!"
The spectator stands erupted in a thunderous wave of enthusiastic cheers, applause, and excited shouts.
Bagman raised both hands in a gesture calling for silence, though the crowd's energy remained electric.
"The four champions will face their randomly selected dragons in turn, each with the same objective: successfully retrieving the golden dragon egg that each beast has been assigned to guard!
But remember, distinguished spectators—this is not intended as a battle to the death or a slaughter of magnificent magical creatures, but rather a contest of courage, intelligence, and magical skill!"
Following his dramatic explanation, a team of heavily protected dragon trainers began the process of wheeling an enormous iron cage into the arena. The massive container moved guided by multiple wizards using coordinated levitation charms and protective shields.
Inside the cage, a magnificent beast with bright blue scales crouched protectively over a pile of various dragon eggs. Among the natural eggs, one gleamed with golden radiance making it eye-catching.
One of the dragon's legs was bound with an absurdly thick iron chain that glowed with steady white light, it was obviously protective enchantments.
Adrian examined that restraining chain with interest and nodded slightly in approval.
It appeared that the tournament organizers had at least made some reasonable efforts to ensure basic safety measures were in place.
"Swedish Short-Snout!" Bagman announced with the enthusiasm of a carnival barker promoting the greatest show on earth.
"This magnificent dragon is capable of breathing extremely high-temperature blue flames that can melt solid stone, and it moves with incredible speed and aerial agility that makes it nearly impossible to predict or track! Successfully taking the golden egg from under its protection certainly won't be an easy task for any wizard."
Bagman's excitement was so intense that he practically vibrated, clearly relishing his role as the master of ceremonies for this historic and dangerous show.
"So! Which of our four brave champions will have the honor of facing this particularly troublesome dragon first? Let us extend an enthusiastic welcome to—"
He paused for dramatic effect, allowing the tension to build throughout the stadium before delivering the announcement that would determine the first contestant's fate.
"Hogwarts' own champion, Cedric Diggory!"
The moment Cedric's name echoed across the arena through the magical amplification, Adrian immediately shifted his attention toward the champions' entrance.
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