Harry was a bit surprised when he woke to find himself still alive. He was further surprised to realize that he was in his room instead of the hospital wing. The teen turned his head to see Snape sitting beside his bed.

"Leave it to you to have a severe allergic reaction to Shrake fin," the man drawled. He didn't appear to have been doing anything – he didn't have a book or any grading with him. Had he been waiting for him to wake up? "How do you feel, Potter?"

The teen thought about it for a moment. "Head feels funny," he answered hoarsely, then grimaced and whispered, "throat burns."

"I rather suspect it does," said Snape. "Unfortunately, there isn't much I can do for that. What else, Potter? Do you feel pain anywhere?" Harry shook his head. "No headache?"

"It just feels full," Harry murmured, rather feeling like he was gargling shards of rock or broken glass.

"That is likely due to the headache draught Madame Pomfrey insisted upon giving you," the professor told him. "Needless to say, the antidote didn't work, though, were it not for your reaction to the Shrake fin, I don't think it would have done you any harm, either. Have you any other allergies of which I should be aware?"

The teen shook his head. "Didn't know I was allergic to the whatever you said."

"Shrake. It's a magically-created species of fish. It is not a common allergy to have. You're certain you've never had trouble with eating any other fish or sea food?" Snape asked, to which Harry nodded. "Very well." He raised his hand and the boy flinched back.

Harry was mortified. He hadn't meant to flinch. Usually, he was able to repress such a reaction, but at the moment he was too tired and sore to think straight, let alone reign in his flight response. He gazed uncertainly at his professor.

Snape watched the boy for a few seconds, hand still poised in midair, before letting out a sigh. "Honestly, Potter, I'm just going to place my palm on your forehead," he admonished, doing just that. "Are your relatives never kind to you?"

"I never said they weren't," Harry responded automatically.

"Clearly, you've never heard that actions speak louder than words," the man said, withdrawing his hand. "I knew after your first night here that your relatives mistreat you."

"They don't –"

"And when I said I dislike dishonesty, it was my way of cautioning you against lying to me. I already know you are not the spoiled little prince I'd always assumed. While I don't expect you to tell me about your personal life, I'm not about to tolerate lying, either. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry stared at him. He didn't know how he ought to act. Snape had just stated that he knew about Harry's mistreatment, yet he didn't pry for more information, nor did he attempt to throw it in his face. What did that mean? Did that mean that he really did want Harry to tell him about it or that he didn't care? One thing was perfectly clear, though: Snape wanted Harry to be honest with him, even if he didn't talk about the Dursleys.

"Yes, sir," Harry croaked, his throat still a bit sore.

"Good," Snape said. "Now, go back to sleep, Potter. It's the middle of the night."

Nodding wordlessly, Harry closed his eyes and soon drifted back to sleep, his Potions professor still seated in the chair beside him.

0o0o0

"Where are we going?" Harry asked as he followed Ron towards a far corner of the grounds.

"It's a surprise – you'll find out soon enough!" was the reply.

They had followed the edge of the forest so long that neither the castle nor the lake were in sight, anymore. Harry wasn't even entirely certain they were still on school grounds. It was Sunday afternoon and he still felt a bit tired from his bad experience with the antidote Friday night. He was about to ask how much farther it was when a painfully loud bellow rent the air.

Harry's footsteps faltered momentarily. "What was that?" he demanded.

"Wait till you see!" Ron grinned, motioning him onward. They rounded a stand of trees to see a clearing with huge, fenced-in enclosures.

Before Harry could ascertain just what was within them, they were approached by a stocky redheaded man who bore a striking resemblance to Ron. "Ron!" Charlie admonished. "I thought I told you no one's supposed to know!"

"Aw, c'mon, Charlie!" his youngest brother protested. "It's just Harry."

Harry blinked dumbly at the older Weasley. "Aren't you supposed to be Romania working with –" There was another deafening roar and Harry visibly paled as he suddenly identified the creatures within the enclosures. "Dragons."

Charlie ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stand up a bit haphazardly. "Great," he muttered aloud, "at this rate, the whole bloody school's gonna know what the first task is."

"We won't tell anyone!" Ron exclaimed.

"You've already told Harry," his brother rolled his eyes. "Not that I think you're going to go off and tell anyone else, Harry. I suppose it doesn't really matter anymore."

"Why do you say that?" Harry asked.

"Well, Hagrid brought Madame Maxime to see the dragons last night, and I'd be willing to bet my safe that Karkaroff was skulking around, also. Lucky you're not in the Tournament, Harry. Mum nearly had kittens when she heard your name came out of the Goblet."

"Yeah," the teen murmured distractedly. "So, the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions probably already know..."

"Undoubtedly," Charlie agreed.

Harry frowned. "What about Cedric Diggory?" The two siblings exchanged a look and Harry sighed. "Then, Cedric's the only one who doesn't know."

"Weasley!" one of the other trainers shouted. "A little help over here!"

Charlie took on a bemused expression as he turned to go join his colleagues. "Wasn't me that let it slip," he murmured just loud enough for them to hear, shaking his head. "Hagrid never could keep a secret..."

0o0o0

Cedric Diggory looked every part a champion should, which was just as well, as far as Harry was concerned. He rather liked the Hufflepuff sixth-year. Although they were both seekers for their house teams, the older boy had always treated him genially. That didn't, however, mean that Harry was comfortable approaching his Quidditch rival while he was surrounded by his classmates. Particularly since they probably all believed he'd tried to enter the Tournament himself.

"Did you need something?" Cedric asked, eying the Gryffindor uncertainly.

Harry almost wished he hadn't even bothered. He hated the suspicious stares he was garnering. "Look," he said quietly so the other students couldn't overhear, "I just wanted to give you a heads up that the first task is dragons. Maxime and Karkaroff know and probably told Fleur and Krum, already. I thought it was only fair for you to know, also. Good luck tomorrow." He turned to leave, but Cedric put out a hand to stop him.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?" he looked at the other boy expectantly.

"Thanks," Cedric told him. "It's too bad you can't compete, also."

Harry snorted. "Yeah. Too bad."

"You really didn't put your name in the Goblet, did you?" the Hufflepuff asked.

"Like enough trouble doesn't find me as it is."

"That's true enough," Cedric chuckled. "Thanks, again, Harry."

"No problem – I'm still gonna need a decent rival in Quidditch next year."

Cedric grinned and nodded at this, and Harry had to turn quickly before his own smile faltered. Would he even still be alive the following year?

0o0o0

The first task was nothing short of terrifying, by Harry's estimation. Each of the champions had to get past one of the three dragons – all of which were nesting mothers, making them even more aggressive – and retrieve a golden egg from amidst the nest. Harry found himself gaping in horror a good portion of the time, unable to tear his gaze away from the events unfolding before them. While all of the competitors made it through the task alive, none of them were unscathed.

Harry had nearly had to go through that. Furthermore, he wasn't all that confident he would have survived. If he hadn't accidentally poisoned himself, he would have had to face off against an enormous, fire-breathing, royally pissed dragon. He gulped involuntarily.

After Krum, the last to complete the task, had finished and his points were awarded (he came in first place), everyone was dismissed. Ron and Harry animatedly went over each champion's moves in much the same way they would have rehashed a Quidditch match. Hermione rolled her eyes at them, but refrained from commenting.

"Charlie said that if you'd ended up being the fourth champion, they would've brought a Hungarian Horntail," Ron said.

"A Horntail's a nasty piece of work, isn't it?" Harry asked, feeling a bit faint.

"Worse than the Chinese Fireball," confirmed his friend, looking a bit pale, himself. "I reckon whoever put your name in that Goblet was really trying to do you in!"

Harry turned to stare incredulously at him. "You really believed I tried to enter myself until just now." It wasn't a question. Ron looked sheepish and Harry heaved a sigh.

Hermione shook her head. "Boys," she muttered.

The three Gryffindors were among the last to leave as they'd been sitting near the middle of stands and therefore farthest from the exits. Finally, they neared the edge of enclosure, where they slowed to a halt as Ron was hoping to talk to his brother before he left. They continued talking, even Hermione joining in as they speculated on what the next task might be. Hermione, of course, had read all about previous Triwizard Tournaments and suggested several events that hadn't been done in a few hundred years.

Ron and Hermione were just arguing how valid some obscure and ancient endeavor would be when shouts rose up from the opposite end of the enclosure. Harry turned, his attention drawn to the racket, and was horrified to see the heavy gates give way to the Chinese Fireball's colorful mass.

It had been Krum's dragon. Half its eggs had been trampled, leaving it even more irritated than either the Swedish Short-Snout or Welsh Green had been. Its protuberant eyes swept the abandoned clearing, its gaze fixing upon the three students a relatively short distance away, for a creature its size. Shrieking in rage, it hurtled towards them, seeming to slither through the air at a terrifying speed.

After several long seconds of petrified immobility, the three fourth-years did the only thing they could do, given the circumstances: they turned and fled.

0o0o0

It had become apparent rather quickly that none of them would be able to outrun a full-grown dragon – not that they'd actually believed that was possible. They split up, hoping to confuse it a bit by giving it multiple targets to follow. Unfortunately for Harry, after but a brief hesitation, the Chinese Fireball chased after him.

Far too soon, Harry found himself at the base of a steep embankment. Where had it come from? His mind panicked. He was cornered. Whirling about, the teen raised his wand, ready to fight to the very end, even as he thought that whoever wanted him dead was about to get their wish.

Later on, he was never able to clearly recite what occurred after that. He had the impression that he'd cast at least one or two spells of his own as the dragon closed in on his position. The beast had shrieked – or had it roared? Then, next thing Harry knew, it was out cold, felled by numerous stunning hexes.

Harry was certain that some of the staff had appeared, because his mind numbly repeated, 'Thank Merlin, some the staff were here,' over and over again. Ron and Hermione had also arrived, for their friend could recall their anxious faces as teachers and dragon trainers moved to remedy the situation.

"Mr. Potter," Snape addressed the stunned teen, firmly taking him by the elbow. The boy didn't seem to hear him. "Potter! Potter. Harry!" That finally got a response from him, as Harry directed his attention to the man in front of him.

"Pr-profes-sor?" He probably didn't even realize how badly he stammered.

"Potter, do you hurt anywhere? Where do you feel unwell?" The Potions Master would not rest until he got a satisfactory response. It was obvious the boy wasn't entirely well and he was determined to assess what damage might have already been done. A healthy, full-grown wizard would not have responded well to being chased by an enraged dragon; Potter was neither healthy nor an adult.

Harry felt the urge to laugh manically, which he proceeded to do, but as he was currently breathing much too erratically to sustain true laughter, it came out as strained bursts of sound. 'Man up, Harry,' he managed to think, and even his inner voice sounded rather hysterical, 'you faced a Basilisk, remember? And Voldemort, and...'

"Harry!" Snape firmly smacked the boy's cheek a few times in an attempt to snap him out of whatever it was he had slipped back into. It appeared to work, for the boy no longer seemed to be looking through him. "Where do you feel unwell?" he repeated, his tone urgent and authoritative.

"Heart... m'heart feels l-like it's beating out of my chest," Harry answered at last between great, gasping breaths. "H-hard to... it's hard to breathe." The way the boy was gulping for air, it wasn't really a wonder.

"Harry, listen to me," the man gripped the trembling student by the shoulders, "you are having a panic attack. You need -"

"Never... had... before."

"Maybe you haven't had one before, but you're having one now. You need to calm yourself. Slow, deep breaths, Mr. Potter. No, no – with me. In... out... Good. Slower."

Ron and Hermione watched in growing alarm. While Harry had never been foolish enough not to have any fears, they'd never seen him come unglued in such a way before, either, and it was terrifying. Madame Pomfrey, along with the headmaster and Professor McGonagall, also stood looking helplessly on as the Potions Master of all people worked to calm their friend. Gradually, Harry's breathing began to come under control.

"Good, Mr. Potter," Snape said soothingly, loosening his hold on the boy just a bit, hoping he hadn't accidentally bruised him. "Now, how do you feel?"

Harry looked around him, truly seeing his surroundings for the first time in minutes. A dozen or so of the dragon trainers were already in the process of moving the unconscious Chinese Fireball back to where it was being held. Dumbledore, Madame Pomfrey, and his head of house stood by a short distance away, his two best friends a little ways beyond them. He couldn't remember if more of his professors had been there or not.

"Potter?" Snape was still waiting for an answer from him, but Harry wasn't sure what to say. The world was starting to become a little hazy.

"I..." he began, but got no further as his body grew limp and he lost consciousness for the second time in less than a week. His professor caught him, easily lifting the thin frame up into his arms.

"Severus?" the mediwitch stepped forward, resting a hand on the man's arm.

"I suspect he is merely unconscious, Poppy," Snape answered quietly. "He can wait to be examined until we get him back to the castle." The small group headed back towards the main grounds.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger," McGonagall addressed her two students as she neared them. "Ten points apiece for immediately informing staff members of the situation with the dragon instead of trying to take it on yourself, as you've done in similar circumstances in the past. It would be best if you returned to your common room now until supper."

"Is Harry going to be okay, professor?" Hermione asked anxiously.

The woman managed a wan smile that wasn't very reassuring at all. "I'm sure Mr. Potter will be just fine," she prevaricated. She didn't put much effort into hiding it. The two youngsters wouldn't have been fooled, anyway. Soberly, they followed the adults back to the castle, their concern for their friend greater than ever.