Harry Potter: Dragon Eyes

Harry Potter and Fleur Delacour sat on opposite couches in the champion's waiting area—a cramped lounge adorned with school banners and alive with tense conversation.

Fleur flicked a stray lock of silvery hair behind her ear, her blue eyes narrowed in frustration.

"Will you stop 'iding after the task?" she asked, her words clipped.

"No," Harry replied tersely.

"Why?" Fleur pressed.

She leaned forward, as though hoping to pry some confidence from him with sheer force of will.

On a crate near the back of the tent, in her tiny beetle animagus form, Rita Skeeter observed the exchange with growing impatience.

From Rita's vantage point, Harry's expression seemed calm—too calm.

He offered a dismissive shrug.

"Headmaster problems," he finally said.

Fleur's eyes widened comically, but she gave no immediate retort.

'Where's the damned Bozo when I need him?' Rita thought, her tiny antennae twitching with frustration. 'A picture of a Veela champion scowling at The Boy Who Lived would sell papers in a heartbeat. And it'd show Veelas aren't always perfect princesses.'

"You too?" Fleur mumbled, lowering her gaze to her hands.

Harry perked up slightly. "What do you mean?" he asked, sharper than before.

Rita leaned in, ready to catch every word—she could practically taste the intrigue.

But fate would not grant her the satisfaction; a Ministry official approached, clipboard in hand, wearing a bored expression.

"Ms. Delacour. It's your turn," he announced flatly. "Hurry along now."

Fleur stood, casting one last glance at Harry. "I'm going in. 'Ave you got anyzing you want to tell me?"

Rita waited breathlessly for Harry's response. 'Come on, say something that'll make headlines!'

"Good luck," Harry said with a slight smile. "You'll need it."

'Ugh, that's it? He really is oblivious. Fleur clearly wants him to say something more… something to put her at ease or maybe even flatter her. Does he not see that? Such a typical teenage boy!' she thought; her wings were twitching in irritation.

Fleur lingered for a heartbeat, then she sighed, and swept out of the lounge.

The moment she disappeared, the anxious tension seemed to leak from the room.

Harry leaned back on his couch, shifting slightly as if readjusting his robes.

Across the tent, Rita watched with practised attention.

'Why is he fidgeting like that?' she wondered. 'Is he hiding something?'

He was.

A subtle rippling beneath his robes betrayed the presence of something—something sliding out from the folds of cloth.

Without warning, an emerald-green snake unfurled itself and dropped soundlessly onto the floor behind Harry's couch…

Sadly for Rita, she was so focused on the boy's face that she failed to notice the serpent gliding across the tent.

She mulled over how best to spin Harry's apparent aloofness.

'Poor Fleur, brushed off like that. The readers love a bit of romantic drama. Veela Charms Fail on the Boy Who Lived!Yes, that could sell…'

The snake moved with lethal grace, hugging the shadows.

In one fluid motion, it circled behind Rita's crate, tongue flicking to taste the air.

"WHAT A MAGNIFICENT DISPLAY OF MAGIC!" suddenly came Ludo Bagman's booming voice, startling the hidden animagus.

"THE FRENCH CHAMPION MANAGED TO KNOCK OUT THE DRAGON!"

Just at that moment, Rita felt something.

She froze, her tiny beetle heart hammering as she spun around just in time to see two glittering reptilian eyes fix on her.

She had no idea it was there until a low hiss rumbled right behind her.

Rita tried to scramble backwards, but it was too late.

The serpent hissed something—she could swear it was mocking her—and lunged.

It didn't hesitate.

With lightning speed, it moved forward and caught Rita in its jaws.

She felt the sharp, crushing pressure around her beetle form, her world spinning as she was lifted off the crate.

'Merlin save me. Merlin save me,' Rita thought frantically as the serpent's grip tightened.

In her panic, she didn't even think about transforming back—if such a thing was even possible while being crushed.

Terrified and disoriented, she could only watch as the tent blurred around her.

Her wings buzzed uselessly, pinned by the snake's grip.

Then she saw it; a streak of red light, arcing in her direction from somewhere off to the side.

'No!' she thought, or perhaps screeched; she wasn't sure.

Everything went red—and then black.

…

'Whaz happening? Where am I?' Rita's mind swam through a thick fog of confusion as she woke up.

Her beetle senses felt dulled, almost nonexistent, and a throbbing ache pulsed through what she assumed was her head.

The last thing she remembered was those terrible, glinting eyes and the flash of red light.

Hours—maybe days—slipped by in black silence. Rita had no way to measure time except for the dull throbbing behind her eyes that refused to subside and her growing hunger, that soon turned unbearable.

She felt herself growing weaker, her tiny beetle form trembling with each passing hour.

The cold, unrelenting darkness, pressed in, making her wonder if this would be her final resting place.

Occasionally, she drifted off, only to jerk awake at the memory of fangs clamping around her.

Finally, after an indeterminate stretch of misery, she felt movement.

A jolt rocked her little prison, making her tumble against the glass wall.

'Wha—someone's carrying me?' Light filtered in from above, stinging her compound eyes.

She could sense shapes, shifting outlines, then…

Air.

Someone—no, Potter—was opening the pouch she'd apparently been stored in.

Harsh sunlight cut through the jar she was in, forcing her to blink and curl her tiny legs protectively.

'I knew it! That boy, the snake… so it was him!'

She tried to scramble upright but only succeeded in slipping back down, her wings scraping uselessly against the slick surface.

Potter's face loomed closer, eyes narrowed.

Rita stared at his features—less boyish, more calculating.

'What the hell. This is no innocent child…' she thought, dread coiling within her.

They were outside.

She glimpsed towering trees, their ancient trunks weaving a canopy overhead.

'The Forbidden Forest!'

Her heart hammered.

No one ventured there, not casually, and especially not alone.

Harry drew back a few steps from the jar, placing it on a tree stump.

His gaze flicked across the clearing, then fell on her again.

"Ah," he said quietly, as though speaking to himself, "you're awake."

'Not good, not good,' Rita thought, pressing her body against the jar's base.

'He's not supposed to know I'm an Animagus. How in Merlin's name did he find out?'

Potter cleared his throat, scanning the forest.

He looked every bit like someone making certain there were no unwelcome spectators.

Satisfied, he focused on the jar.

"I bet, you can imagine my surprise when I cast the animagus reversing spell—"

'No. It can't be, no,' Rita thought fervently.

"on you and saw just who you were… Skeeter," he finished, voice low. "Let's talk."

A faint sizzling wave rippled through Rita's form as she realised the boy knew exactly who she was.

In her panic, she nearly transformed back—which only made her panic worse— and images of her body filled with glass shards flashed through her mind…

She battered the glass with her tiny forelimbs, attempting to convey some kind of protest.

Harry merely raised an eyebrow. "I know you can hear me. I also know you understand me. I'm not going to shatter your little jar home," he added, tone wry, "unless you give me a reason to."

Rita froze, torn between indignation and terror.

'This kid… did he really just threaten me?'

He leaned in, green eyes cold.

"I'll cut straight to the point," he said, voice clipped. "I know how you've been sneaking around the grounds and the castle, digging up dirt. I don't care about most of it—" he hesitated, mouth twisting in distaste. "But you've caused enough trouble."

She huddled in the jar, silent but furious. 'You think I'm the troublemaker, boy? I make a living from truth—or at least, a polished version of it. You've no idea how this world works!'

Harry tapped the glass lightly, and the reverberation sent tiny shockwaves through Rita.

"I'm giving you a choice," he continued, voice resolute. "I can just leave you here." He gestured vaguely at the looming shadow of the Forbidden Forest behind them. "Plenty of creatures fancy a crunchy snack… especially if I crack the jar first."

A shiver of real fear raced through Rita. 'He wouldn't… would he?'

She didn't know.

The Harry Potter she saw now was nothing like the boy she'd imagined. He was nothing like the press, her included, said he was.

For all she knew, he could be going around killing people since eleven…

He drew closer, exuding an unsettling calm. "Or, you and I can come to an arrangement."

His lips curved into a faint smile—too faint to be comforting.

"In exchange for your… restraint… when it comes to writing about me and my friends, I'll let you go."

Rita managed a scoff in her mind, even if she couldn't produce any sound. 'Of course. Blackmail. Not only am I getting blackmailed by a Gryffindor—for Godric's sake—but from the boy who lived?'

Harry continued, "You'll write your stories, but not about me, or Hermione, or anyone close to me. You'll keep your distance. In return…"

He shrugged, lifting the jar off the stump as though weighing it. "I keep your dirty little secret about being an unregistered Animagus to myself. No mention to the Ministry. No mention to Dumbledore… or certain other interested parties."

At Harry's expectant silence, she inclined her tiny head in what she hoped looked like a nod.

'Yes, yes, you blasted brat. I agree. Just let me out of here!'

Relief flickered across Harry's face, almost too quick to catch, but was immediately replaced by the same measured detachment.

He placed the jar back down, twisted the lid, and then, with a soft pop, fresh air cascaded in.

Rita wasted no time.

In a heartbeat, she flexed her limbs and felt the magic surge.

The world expanded and warped until she stood—dishevelled, hair askew, and robes dusty—in her human form.

"You little—" she began, but Harry raised his wand, eyes flashing dangerously.

"You can leave," he said. "We're done. But remember—say one word about me or my friends that crosses the line, and I'll personally make sure everyone knows just how you get your stories."

Rita bristled, but her rage cowered behind a layer of caution.

She snatched at her handbag—somehow lying at the base of the stump—and pulled it over her shoulder.

As she disappeared among the trees, she couldn't stop thinking about revenge.

'I'll find a way around this eventually, Potter… just you wait.'

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I DON'T KNOW WHY THE CHAP DIDN'T UPLOAD IN TIME.

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Chapter 74: Ladybug

Chapter 75: Wings Clipped

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Chapter 82: Why do you have a horcrux in your house?