Chronicles Of Arth: Prince Of Shadows

Soon, the time for the first task had arrived.

The atmosphere in the school was one of great tension and excitement. Lessons were to stop at midday and they were to be sent to the school grounds.

Time was behaving in a more peculiar fashion than ever, rushing past in great dollops, so that one moment he seemed to be sitting down in his first lesson, History of Magic, and the next, walking into lunch.. . and then, Professor McGonagall was hurrying over to him in the Great Hall. Lots of people were watching.

"Kingscrown, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now... . You have to get ready for your first task."

"Okay," said Arth, standing up, his fork falling onto his plate with a clatter. "Good luck, Arth," Luna whispered. "You'll won't die, I think."

"Yeah," said Harry in a voice that was most unlike his own. "Go show them."

However, Arth knew what he was going against wasn't something he could easily accomplish.

He heft the Great Hall with Professor McGonagall. She didn't seem herself either; in fact, she looked anxious. As she walked him down the stone steps and out into the cold November afternoon, she put her hand on his shoulder.

"Now, don't panic," she said, "just keep a cool head. . . . We've got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand. . . . The main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of you. . . . Are you all right?"

"Yes," Arth said. "Yes, I'm fine."

He would be fine as long as he didn't get THAT.

"If you say so, I just want to say, that you are the most brilliant student I've ever had."

She was leading him around the edge of the forest, but when they approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, Arth saw that a tent had been erected, its entrance facing them, screening the task from view.

"You're to go in here with the other champions," said Professor McGonagall, in a rather shaky sort of voice, "and wait for your turn, Kingscrown. Mr. Bagman is in there. . . he'll be telling you the - the procedure. . . . Good luck."

"Thanks," said Arth, in a flat, distant voice.

Did she think he was going to die?

Fleur Delacour was sitting in a corner on a how wooden stool. She didn't look nearly as composed as usual, but rather pale and clammy. Viktor Krum looked even surlier than usual. Cedric was pacing up and down.

"Arth! Good-o!" said Bagman happily, looking around at him. "Come in, come in, make yourself at home!"

Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, standing amid all the pale-faced champions. He was wearing his old Wasp robes again.

"Well, now we're all here - time to fill you in!" said Bagman brightly. "But before that, shall we commence the memory wiping?"

"Now that that's finished, let's get to it. When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag" - he held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them - "from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different - er - varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too.. . ah, yes... your task is to collect the golden egg!"

In no time at all, hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet could be heard passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking. About to watch people risk their lives.

And then - it seemed like about a second later to Arth - Bagman was opening the neck of the purple silk sack.

"Ladies first," he said, offering it to Fleur Delacour.

She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon - a Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck. Fleur flinched and krum, Cedric, And Arth stared at the minuscule dragon with horror.

Wait a minute.

This can't be.

Krum pulled out a scarlet Chinese Fireball. It had a number three around its neck. He didn't froze before sitting back down and stared at the ground.

Cedric put his hand into the bag, and out came the blueish-gray Swedish Short-Snout, the number one tied around its neck.

Something told him, that the last dragon was going to be the worst. It was as if his hidden memories were screaming at him to be careful.

When Arth reached in and took out a dragon, he instantly went still, petrified.

It was an Alaskan Sapphire, beauty of the arctic wasteland.