Just before they stepped inside, Professor McGonagall gave them both a quiet word of encouragement.
Harry exchanged a nervous glance with Cohen and swallowed hard.
Inside the tent, the other champions had already arrived.
Fleur was perched on a low wooden stool in the corner, pale-faced, her fingers tapping nervously against her cheek.
Krum was glowering at one of the tent poles, as if already strategizing how to take down a dragon.
Cedric was pacing back and forth, looking tense—but he managed a faint smile when Harry and Cohen entered.
Seeing how anxious the others were, Cohen suddenly felt like his own calm was almost… unnatural.
"Good, everyone's here," said Mr. Crouch briskly as he swept into the tent from outside, his eyes darting around to count the champions.
Trailing behind him were the three headmasters and a few photographers carrying large cameras.
"Once the audience is settled, I'll be passing this bag around," Mr. Crouch explained formally, lifting a purple silk drawstring pouch for them all to see. "Inside are miniatures of the dragons you'll be facing in the first task. You'll each draw one, and each dragon is a different breed."
"Your objective is to retrieve a golden egg, guarded by the dragon."
No one questioned why it was a golden egg, or what it might look like. There wasn't time, and frankly, it didn't matter.
More and more people began to fill the large tent, circling around the champions and Mr. Crouch.
"Miss Delacour, you'll go first," Crouch said, offering Fleur the bag.
Trembling, she reached in and pulled out a small, lifelike model of a dragon. It was vivid green and flapped its wings with surprising energy. Around its neck hung a small tag: Number Two.
"A Welsh Green," Crouch announced.
"Mr. Krum," he continued, offering the bag next.
Krum drew out a Chinese Fireball—Number Three.
Then Cedric stepped forward and pulled out a Swedish Short-Snout—Number One. Cohen frowned slightly at this; that silvery-blue dragon was the one he'd hoped for—its shimmering scales had really caught his eye.
Harry, just ahead of Cohen, reached in next. He pulled out a Hungarian Horntail—Number Four.
Which left Cohen with the only one remaining: a Norwegian Ridgeback, Number Five.
If it had been the same breed as Norbert, that might've made bonding easier later on. But now it looked like his suitcase might end up filled with nothing but gloomy black dragons.
"Bit disappointing," Cohen muttered as he studied the wriggling model in his hand.
"I'd trade if I could…" Harry groaned. His dragon looked terrifying even in miniature, bristling with spikes. "It looks like a flying porcupine."
"Don't insult Spikey like that," Cohen said, holding up a finger in mock warning.
"Spikey?" Harry gave him a puzzled look.
"The ancient dragon from legend," Cohen sighed, dramatically. "Said to follow its master to the ends of the world… If only I had my katana with me…"
"All right," Mr. Crouch said after confirming each model. "You've all drawn your dragons. The number indicates the order in which you'll face them. Understood?"
Everyone murmured their agreement. Crouch gave a satisfied nod, then exited the tent with the three headmasters—they would take their places at the judge's table.
BANG!
A cannon blast sounded just moments after most of the people had cleared out of the tent.
"Diggory!" came Moody's voice from outside.
Cedric looked a bit green, but he straightened up and marched out.
"Bagman's been suspended, and Fudge didn't show…" Cohen mused aloud. "That means there's only four judges?"
"Does it matter?" Harry replied distractedly. "Maybe they'll just all give me zero—or worse…"
"It does matter," Cohen shook his head. "If it's only four judges, the highest possible score drops from 150 to 120. Doesn't look nearly as impressive when it's printed in the Prophet."
"Eh, I don't think it's that—"
"So dangerous! Did Cedric Diggory really use that move?!"
The voice of the commentator boomed from afar—familiar, excited, and energetic. It sounded just like a Quidditch match.
"Lee?" Harry perked up his ears.
Sure enough, it was Lee Jordan's unmistakable voice.
"A clever tactic—he's nearly done it—oh! No, he missed!"
Lee's commentary only made Harry more anxious.
"You think Cedric's okay?" Harry asked uneasily.
"He should be," Cohen replied. "I haven't heard any screams of terror."
No sooner had he said it than the crowd erupted in cheers.
Cedric had gotten the egg.
"Fantastic performance! Let's see what the judges say!" Lee called out.
"Wait, five judges?" Harry sat up straight. "Did Fudge show after all?"
Cohen shook his head and quietly sent out his spirit form to peek outside—
Sure enough, five people sat at the judges' table: the three headmasters, Mr. Crouch, and one woman Cohen didn't recognize… wearing a fluffy pink cardigan, with a toad-like face.
Dolores Umbridge.
Cohen's spirit returned.
"Well, that's unfortunate," Cohen said flatly.
"What is?" Harry asked.
"I mean my score might not be great," Cohen sighed. "That toad is notorious for hating half-breeds like me."
Harry looked confused, but didn't press for details—Fleur and Krum were still in the tent with them.
"One down, four to go!" Lee announced. "Next up: Miss Delacour!"
Fleur held her head high, gripping her wand tightly as she strode out of the tent.
Now only Cohen, Harry, and Krum remained.
Cohen noticed the two boys were carefully avoiding each other's eyes.
Harry seemed embarrassed, but Krum's avoidance felt different—not shy, not hostile… just strange.