'Potter Stinks' badges bombarded Draco as he made his way to the empty seats in the stands, followed closely by about five of his Slytherin cronies, as well as Blaise and Pansy. The air buzzed with the noise of three schools' worth of teenagers as they all eagerly awaited the tournament's start. Draco tried not to bite his nails in worry, as he had been doing obsessively for the past few days. The only time he'd spoken to Harry was in Snape's class (They hadn't had any more potions recently, Harry was too busy), and Harry had barely grunted a reply.

"I'm betting Potter dies!" Pansy's screechingly excited voice almost hurt Draco's ears as he forced himself to laugh along with the other Slytherins, who were all intoxicated with anticipation. Over on the other side of the stands, Draco could make out Granger and Weasley standing together in the stands, looking ashen-faced and worried. Despite his anger at Weasley for deserting Harry, Draco felt an odd urge to join them.

At last, Bagman bounced onto a platform I front of the judge's table and began to talk in a magically magnified voice. Draco heard him as if through water. Dragons... champions... danger... Draco was beginning to feel a little sick. Blaise nudged him.

"You okay? You're looking a little ill."

Forcing himself into his sarcastic, sneering voice, he said "Thanks. Ill was the look I was going for,"

As the first champion fought their dragon, Draco began to feel positively faint. The dragons were so vicious, so big compared to the tiny figure of Cedric down in the arena. And if the seventeen-year-old was struggling, how could fourteen-year-old Harry even hope to succeed? And of course, Draco's fear was worsened by the voice of his father in his mind telling him he shouldn't care, that it wasn't normal behavior to care, that he was a freak because he was worried about this Gryffindor boy who shouldn't even matter.

The competition passed in a blur, and Draco didn't know if he wanted time to slow down or speed up. In the end, he didn't get the choice. Harry was walking into the arena, a mere smudge against the vast, scaly form of the Hungarian Horntail. Draco held his breath with everyone else as they watched to see what would happen next and the stadium filled with an eerie, suspended silence. The dragon had seen Harry by this time and had whipped its long, wicked face round to look at him. Suddenly there came an earsplitting roar and a bout of flames ate up the air only a few feet from where Harry stood. People seemed to wake up, beginning to shout encouragements to both Harry and the dragon. Draco realized he still had to play his part as the Slytherin Prince and, reluctantly, began to shout encouragements with Blaise and Pansy.

"Come on dragon! Is that really the best you can do?!" He made himself grin and laugh, but his eyes never left Harry, who wasn't doing anything. Why wasn't he doing anything? Then, as Draco watched, Harry lifted his wand and made a movement with it, shouting something into the air which was instantly lost in the pressing noise of the stadium. Draco stopped shouting and concentrated on the boy, but still, nothing happened.

"Look!" cried Pansy, in ecstasy, "Potter can't even cast a spell to help himself!" She cackled with laughter, along with Crabbe and Goyle who guffawed loudly. "He's going to die for sure this time!"

The sick feeling grew, but still Draco forced himself to laugh along with the others, eyes still fixed upon the figure in the stadium. The dragon was hunched low, belly crawling towards Harry. A low rumbling growl filled the stadium, making the chairs vibrate, and the watching crowd quieted. Harry threw himself behind a boulder just as the flames filled the air behind him, and heat washed over them.

Draco couldn't stop himself anymore. "Harry! Do something you idiot!"

Blaise turned to him with a very odd expression. "Draco, did you just call-"

But Draco wasn't listening, he was laughing, watching the broom soar over people's heads into the stadium. Harry was out from behind the boulder... he had leapt onto the broom... he was airborne! Blaise was no longer looking at him, but was transfixed as he was on the boy on the broom, soaring effortlessly high into the air. As he watched, Draco was certain he saw Harry laugh.

But it wasn't over yet. Harry still had to get the golden egg. As Draco wondered how he was going to do it, Harry stopped flying upwards and stopped just out of reach of the dragon. There he hovered, floating this way and that, taunting the dragon who was, by this time, was completely focused on him. Come on, Harry seemed to be urging the dragon, take the bait.

"Oh my god," Said Draco faintly. "He's teasing a dragon."

"Idiot's actually going to get himself killed this time," Said Blaise, and Draco was surprised to hear a note of worry in his friend's usually calculated voice.

Time seemed to slow to a grinding halt as Harry led the dragon in what seemed almost to be some sort of dance. The only sounds were the blood in his ears, the wind, and always, the low growl of the beast in the ring. It could only have been half a minute, but it felt like hours of agonizing waiting as the dragon's head slowly turned this way and that, following Harry's movements through the air.

And then what? He'll outfly the dragon? Surely even he couldn't...

And then it happened. In the blink of an eye, the dragon began to move, and Harry became a whirl of colour as he went into a spectacular dive... He dodged the dragon... He was nearing the eggs... And then he was flying off the pitch, golden egg in hand, and the stands were exploding.

0o0o0o

The Slytherin Common Room was awash with noise as Blaise and Draco sat in regal-looking armchairs by the fire , which was, as always, glowing with a green-tinted yellow light, Manimi resting near the flames enjoying the warmth. The boys talked conspiratorially about the tournament, Pansy having retired to bed for an early night ("The excitement... so tiring... Must write to Mama...").

"I mean, Krum didn't even think to fly, did he? And he's a Champion Seeker,"

"But of course Potter flew, he loves doing that sort of extravagant thing, doesn't he? That's probably why he entered. The attention, I mean."

"Yeah, maybe." Said Draco slowly, trying to decide whether or not he could voice any vaguely pro-Potter ideas to his closest friend, or if he would sound too un-Slytherin. In the end, he decided to test the waters.

"It's just, you know how I do those Potions study things with Potter?"

Blaise nodded. "Because your dad wants you to, how does he put it?" Blaise adopted a noble, arrogant air. "Have friends in high places."

Draco grinned. "Exactly. Anyway, obviously I observe him in those study sessions, you know, keep friends close and enemies closer and all that, and you know, I'm not really sure," Draco trailed off, unsure of whether or not to continue.

"Not sure..?" Blaise prompted.

"Well," Draco stalled. "It's just, well, I'm not really sure if he did put his name in the Goblet." He said quietly. Blaise did not, as Draco had expected, make fun of him or become angry with him. He simply leaned back into his armchair and considered what Draco had said. Draco silently thanked Merlin that Blaise was intelligent enough not to blindly follow the other Slytherins in every way, and became very interested in his nails as he waited for Blaise to break the silence. Finally, he looked at Draco with dark, guarded eyes and said, slowly,

"Draco, I don't think you should do these potions lessons with Potter anymore."

Manimi slowly turned her bright eyes on them and watched them from beside the fire. Draco answered carefully. "What makes you say that?"

"Draco, I don't care what he's like as a person. He could be a saint for all I care. But you can't be friends with him."

"I'm not-"

"I'm sure you aren't. But you're not not friends with him, are you?"

Draco shook his head, exasperated. "I've told you a hundred times, Blaise, I'm not doing this out of choice. Back in our first year, my father told me I had to gain his trust. In third year he told me not to be friendly to the Gryffindors, else it would seem suspicious. He makes no sense, but who am I to question him? And if I have to do potions lessons with him for this to work, and for my father to be satisfied, then who am I to question it? It's not my choice, Blaise."

"It never is, is it?" Said Blaise quietly; eerily mirroring the words Harry had spoken to him that first day back. Then Blaise checked his watch. "Past one. I'm going to bed." He paused, looking at Draco, and then said with a resigned air. "Look, you do what you want, okay? But just... Just remember who you are, and where the two of you stand, okay?"

Not long after that, Draco followed Blaise to the dorm and eventually settled down into an uneasy sleep, his clenched fists the only outward sign of the dreams that haunted him.