November 24th, 2:47 PM – Champions' Tent
The tent was too small for four people who might die in the next hour.
Ludo Bagman bustled in, radiating manic energy. "Right then, champions! Time to draw your lots! This is it—the moment we've all been waiting for! Your dragons await!"
He held out a purple silk bag with theatrical flourish. "Ladies first, I think?"
Fleur reached in and withdrew a miniature dragon: smooth-scaled and green, elegant even in miniature. A small number 2 glinted on its collar.
"The Welsh Green! Second to go!"
Krum drew next: red and gold, mushroom-shaped fire clouds. Number 3.
"The Chinese Fireball! Third!"
Theo reached in. His fingers closed around something cool, compact. He pulled it out: silvery-blue scales, short vicious horns. Number 1.
"The Swedish Short-Snout!" Bagman announced with delight. "And Mr. Hale goes first!"
First meant no time to observe. First meant walking in blind.
Harry drew last—the largest, blackest figurine. Number 4.
"And Mr. Potter faces the Hungarian Horntail!"
Bagman clapped. "You'll enter when you hear the whistle! Your task: retrieve the golden egg! The dragon believes it's hers! Good luck!"
Theo sat on the bench, turning the figurine over. Blue scales. Compact. Fast. Flames that burned hotter than most breeds.
The whistle shrieked.
November 24th, 4:32 PM – The Arena
Theo stepped into the roar of hundreds of voices. Bagman's commentary crackled overhead. Beneath it: a low, rumbling growl that made his bones ache.
The Swedish Short-Snout raised her head at the far end. Silvery-blue scales gleamed. Her eyes—pale, intelligent, lethal—locked onto him.
Between her forelegs: the golden egg.
"And here we go!" Bagman boomed. "Theodore Hale enters the arena!"
Theo cast Disillusionment and Muffliato immediately—silent, efficient. His outline shimmered. Sound dampened.
The dragon's nostrils flared. She sensed something but couldn't pinpoint it.
He crouched behind a boulder. Thirty feet to the egg. The dragon coiled protectively, every muscle tense.
He transfigured stones to his left into three crude stone dogs. They scattered with sharp clicks.
The dragon's head snapped toward them. She hissed—
Then opened her mouth.
Blue flame erupted.
The dogs vaporized instantly. Fire washed over the boulder Theo had been hiding behind a heartbeat earlier. He'd already moved, diving right, rolling as superheated air seared past his face. Close enough to smell burning stone. Close enough to feel his lungs strain.
He came up in a crouch, heart hammering violently against his ribs.
He'd almost died.
Should have died.
Didn't.
Something shifted in his chest—not fear, but its opposite. A rush of pure, crystalline awareness flooded through him. Every nerve sparked alive. Every sense sharpened to a razor's edge.
His lips pulled back.
A grin spread across his face—wide, feral, unsettling. The kind of expression that didn't belong on a sixteen-year-old's features. It stretched too far, showed too many teeth. His eyes went bright and wild, pupils dilated with adrenaline.
In the stands, someone whispered, "Look at his face—"
The dragon prowled forward, searching.
Theo raised his wand, that terrible grin still fixed in place, and transfigured the ground between them into a field of waist-high stone spikes.
She smashed through them with her tail, roaring.
Theo moved while she was occupied, closing distance. Twenty-five feet now. Every step toward death felt like the first real breath he'd taken in years.
The dragon's head whipped around.
Second breath attack.
Theo slammed his wand down. A curved barrier surged up. Fire washed over it, the stone glowing red-hot under the assault. He felt it beginning to crack—felt death pressing against the other side of that failing stone—and rolled out just as it shattered.
The grin stretched impossibly wider. His face was alight the pure thrill of hanging on the edge of life.
"Extraordinary transfiguration!" Bagman called. "But look at Hale's expression! IS he enjoying this? Merlin's Beard this is extraordinary. This boy seems to be the Sleeping Dragon of Hogwarts that just awakened as he is having a staring contest with Death."
The dragon lunged forward, claws gouging earth. Theo transfigured a boulder into a charging stone boar. She snapped it in half—
Third breath attack, sweeping wide.
Theo dropped flat. Fire roared overhead, so close his robes smoked, so close the heat blistered the back of his neck. He rolled, came up behind rubble, breathing hard.
That grin never faltered. If anything, it intensified. His eyes were fever-bright, every close call, every second he prevailed death made his grin wider.
Twenty feet to the egg.
The dragon was between him and the goal, moving with terrifying speed.
Theo raised his wand. Stone chains whipped up from the ground, wrapping around her hind legs. She roared and pulled, ripping the anchors free in a spray of fragments—
But three seconds was enough. Theo sprinted laterally. His grin was maniacal now, wild with the thrill of every heartbeat that meant survival.
The dragon wheeled to track him.
Fourth breath attack.
This one nearly ended everything.
Theo raised a barrier but too slow, angle wrong. Fire caught the edge, wrapped around. His sleeve ignited. He threw himself sideways, rolling frantically, and felt flame kiss his left arm before he smothered it.
Pain blazed white-hot.
But the grin didn't fade in the face of pain. It sharpened. Like the pain was just another sensation confirming he was real, he was here, he was still moving, still alive. Blood rushed in his ears. His burned hand shook but his wand stayed steady.
"Hale's has caught the edge of the flames, Oooh, nasty burn," Bagman's voice cracked. "But he's still moving!"
The dragon pressed forward, sensing weakness.
Fifteen feet to the egg.
Theo transfigured three stones into large wolves. They lunged from different angles. She snapped at one, tail lashing—
And Theo moved.
He transfigured the ground beneath her right foreleg into loose gravel. She stumbled. He was already casting again, chains wrapping her tail, pinning it.
She thrashed, ripping one chain free.
His face was a mask of feral exultation. Every narrow escape. Every spell that landed. Every second stolen from death's jaws. It all burned through him like lightning.
Stone barriers rose on either side of her, narrowing her range. The dragon's head swung toward him—
Fifth breath attack.
Theo dove behind his barrier, felt it shatter, rolled, came up with wand moving. A net of stone chains erupted, wrapping her neck and shoulders. She thrashed. Some broke. Enough held.
That grin was burned into his features now like a brand.
Theo ran for the egg.
Ten feet.
The dragon lunged, jaws snapping. Theo transfigured a pit. Her momentum carried her into it, neck extending. Another chain around her neck, anchored behind.
Five feet.
Her tail broke free and lashed. It caught him across the back, lifted him off his feet, slammed him down. Pain exploded. Blood filled his mouth.
The grin wavered for the first time—but didn't break. His hand closed around the egg.
He ran.
Wide angle, forcing her to rotate through all the restraints. Every movement tangled her further.
Theo crossed the white line, golden egg clutched to his chest, blood dripping from his mouth, left arm burned, back screaming, robes smoking.
And that feral, unsettling grin was still there—wide and wild and absolutely terrifying to anyone watching.
"THEODORE HALE HAS RETRIEVED THE EGG!" Bagman bellowed. "Through the most intense display of survival magic I've ever witnessed!"
The crowd erupted.
Behind the boundary, the grin finally began to fade, leaving Theo hollow and shaking as the adrenaline drained.
Immediate Aftermath
Hermione was already running.
She'd watched him dodge that first flame by inches. Watched him move through the arena like every second might be his last. Watched him nearly burn, nearly get crushed, nearly die a dozen times over.
She reached him just as Madam Pomfrey was approaching.
"You absolute idiot," she breathed, and pulled him into a fierce embrace. Her hands shook as they ran over his shoulders, his back, checking for injuries. "You almost died. That tail—your arm was on fire—"
"I didn't die," he said hoarsely.
"You came so close," Hermione said, voice cracking. Blood at the corner of his mouth. Burns on his arm. "Too close. Theo, if any of those flames had been one degree closer—"
Her breath hitched. She was shaking.
"Mr. Hale requires medical attention," Madam Pomfrey interrupted. "Miss Granger, step aside please."
Hermione flushed and stepped back, suddenly aware of how tightly she'd been holding him. Pomfrey's examination was swift.
"Second-degree burns on the left arm, rest is just bad bruising"
Warm healing magic flowed over him. The pain receded to a manageable ache.
"You will drink this potion every morning and make sure to not strain your lungs too much for the next week"
In the stands, Dumbledore watched thoughtfully. He'd seen that expression on Theo's face during the fight—that wide, feral grin. He'd seen it before, on other young wizards who'd discovered they had a taste for danger. It was something to watch carefully.
Hermione had noticed it too, though she didn't mention it now. She was worried he would chase that feeling. Put himself in danger, she could not bear to see him hurt.
The Scores
The five judges conferred.
Ludo Bagman: 10 points. "Absolutely extraordinary! Survival instincts and transfiguration under impossible conditions!"
Barty Crouch Sr.: 9 points. "Effective. Controlled. Within acceptable parameters."
Albus Dumbledore: 9 points. His expression was thoughtful. "Exceptional skill under duress. Well executed."
Igor Karkaroff: 7 points. "Adequate."
Olympe Maxime: 9 points. "Impressive restraint magic and tactical thinking."
Total: 44 out of 50.
Slytherin Common Room, Evening
Theo entered to a roar that shook the stone walls.
Every Slytherin was on their feet, screaming, pounding tables, brandishing drinks.
"HALE!" someone bellowed. "You absolute LEGEND!"
"Did you SEE that?!" another voice. "He CHAINED a dragon!"
"Restraint transfiguration while dodging fire—that's insanity!"
Laurel grabbed him in a brief, fierce hug. "You magnificent bastard. That was the most Slytherin performance in Tournament history. Calculated brutality. I'm genuinely impressed."
Montague clapped him on the shoulder—hard enough to make his bruised body protest. "You made us look good, Hale. Ruthless. Efficient. No unnecessary heroics, just cold strategy."
Blaise raised a glass. "To Hale. Who proved you don't need to be the strongest to win. Just the smartest. And possibly the most mental."
The room erupted in agreement.
Someone shoved a butterbeer into his hand. Someone else was already retelling the fight with dramatic gestures—"And then the chains came up and she couldn't MOVE—"
"He walked in there like he had a plan and walked out like it actually worked—"
"Did you see Potter's face? He knows he's got competition now—"
Theo endured an hour of celebration, accepting congratulations, deflecting questions about specific spells. His ribs ached. His arm throbbed under the bandages. But for once, being noticed didn't feel like a threat.
Around midnight, exhaustion finally won. Pucey found him near the stairs.
"Granger sent word," he said quietly. "She'll be in the usual spot."
Theo left without fanfare.
Abandoned Classroom, 12:47 AM
Hermione was pacing when he arrived.
The moment the door closed, she wheeled on him.
"You almost died," she said, voice tight. "Not once. Not twice. At least five times I counted where if you'd been one second slower, one inch off, you'd be dead."
"I know," Theo said quietly.
"Do you?" Hermione demanded. Her hands were shaking. "Because out there, you looked like—like you'd forgotten dying was even a possibility. Like you were so focused on the next move that you stopped caring about survival."
"That's not true," Theo said. "Every move was about survival—"
"Every move was about the thrill," Hermione interrupted, and her voice cracked. "I know you enjoyed it, I saw it in your eyes, you loved the adrenaline, but if you chase after that feeling you will get hurt! I hate that. Promise me, you won't chase that feeling and you will be in danger only if the danger comes to you"
Theo was quiet for a moment.
Theo looked at their joined hands, then at her face—fierce and worried and more important than he'd fully realized.
"I promise," he said.
She pulled him into a gentler embrace. He wrapped his arms around her and felt the trembling in her shoulders ease.
"You scared me," she whispered into his shoulder.
"I know," he replied. "I'm sorry."
They stood like that for a long moment, in the quiet classroom, with nothing between them but the truth of how close he'd come to not coming back at all.
Tomorrow, the Daily Prophet would run headlines about the Slytherin champion's ruthless efficiency. Rita Skeeter would write about calculated violence and boys raised in dark shadows.
But tonight, in the abandoned classroom, Theo just held on and let Hermione remind him what he was fighting for: not the thrill of survival, but the people waiting for him to survive.
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A/N:
This one is a short chapter.
I will compensate with the 2 pretty long chapters next. I will be uploading after Christmas.
Thank you for your patience and Thank you for reading hope you have fun!