She’s led up the weaving stairway to the faculty section in the stands. The professors shuffle around to make room, all nodding approvingly at her. Professor Flitwick says, “Very nicely done,” as she passes, and Slughorn raises a mug as if to toast her. Now, high overhead, she can finally look down into the full arena. Each of the enclosures are constructed in the same general size and shape, each with large stones and boulders scattered across the ground. The walls on all sides are high enough to prevent the dragons from seeing each other.
The dragons are all in the centre of their respective enclosures. The Chinese Fireball has returned to its clutch, curled up like a serpent and breathing steady puffs of fire across the eggs. Hermione can see Bisset’s sleeping Swedish Short-snout, stretched out like a winding river of blue.
The Hungarian Horntail sits in the centre of its enclosure, black scales and body like a strip of volcanic rock that shears across the grey boulders. It is the size of a small mountain, and its large, taloned wings are drawn up like rocky crags beside its spiked head. It shifts ponderously, and stones crumble under its claws.
