There was a time for waiting and that time had passed. Now was the time for action, the time to show the world not only what they, the champions were made of, but of what Salem was made of. What Vexillarius Anderson was made of. The task would be daunting, certainly, one fully grown acromantula was severely dangerous, to face an entire lair... legendary didn't quite suffice in it's definition of this task. With a deep, shuttering breath to clear the nerves, Vex strode out onto the field.  The roar of the crowd was great, and the boy from Arizona couldn't help but give a grin, even though he couldn't see the stands through the maze. Up there was his family, his friends, his classmates. He wondered idly where Parker was, or even Vulpes who seemed to be supporting him begrudgingly. They were all up there watching.

And he was down here. Alone.

Well not entirely alone, he reminded himself, examining one of the rocks he had created with Tracy and Taryn while in the tent. Hopefully this idea would work. But even if it did, Vex wished his teammates were there with him. Tracy with his skill in defensive spells, Taryn with her strength that rivaled that of the smaller spiders that would certainly be lurking inside.

Realizing he had been standing at the start for far too long, Vex began moving forwards. How much time had he wasted already? How badly would it count against him. He didn't have time to really think on it as he pressed forwards, and in no time at all he reached the first fork. Quickly Vex pondered on which route to take.  It was a maze after all, either way could work. He glanced down the left hand path, and then down the right. Both seemed to be equally lit, and equally twisted. But something gave Vex the impression to go right. Thinking of his teammates, Vex left a small arrow pointing to the right, carved into the thick brambles and charmed it to appear as a sigil he knew they would recognize from their earlier years.


It wasn't an official marking, but it was still on that the Salem students knew, passed down through the generations. Finishing the change, Vex left it with an incantation that would ensure only a Salem student would be able to transform the sigil. All they needed to do was say the school motto, 'Operor non alieno flamma congelo lepor lepos'.

Not wasting anytime, Vex quickly began to head down the right path, eyes scanning the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. There were supposed to be traps but so far... nothing. That was almost as unnerving as the knowledge that there were spiders lurking in in the depths. Somewhere. 

As he moved along he thought for a horrifying moment that he heard clicking behind him. Clicking was something he knew acromantulas made when excited. Growing wary, Vex spun about, wand at the ready.

Nothing.

Vex gave a slight sigh and lowered his wand slightly. The sound he had heard was no longer there. That was disturbing. Was it just his mind playing tricks on him? It certainly wouldn't be past expection, Vex considered eyes still on the path he had come from, taking a cautious step back-

-And right into the first trap.

"SHIT!" Vex swore as his feet fell from under him. He clawed furiously with his hands at the ground as his body slid into the pit, only barely keeping himself from falling into it entirely by. "Son of a BITCH!" he shouted, chin resting on the ground only inches from the rim of the trap. With a grunt Vex carefully began pulling himself out-

-When he heard the clicking again. Oh that certainly explained it, the spiders were laying in wait to stop anyone who became ensnared in their little trap. Well Vex didn't come all this way to be stopped at the first damn trap. Scrambling now, he pulled him self out of the trap as fast as possible, certain that there were giant spiders closing in upon him. As his feet once again contacted the ground above, Vex spun around, launching a fireball into the pit.

Or into the spider that had lept up to try and grab him. Good enough, the fireball slammed into the arcomantula and knocked it back into the pit. Firing more blasts of fire, Vex backpedaled, eyes locked on the pit. When he was a few feet back, he collapsed, breathing hard. That was horrifying. Catching his breath, Vex picked himself up and carved another rune into the brambles.


An old travelers sign for danger. Again he covered it with the Salem Sigil and enchanted the same as the first. With that done Vex sprinted forwards and jumped over the trap to move deeper towards his prize.

It was only another bend when Vex sprung his second trap. As he past through a set of brambles a large spider lept out of the darkness, Vex barely had enough time to duck out of the way as it came at him. The first was then joined by a second and third and fourth. Two blocked the path forwards, and two blocked the path back. Now sandwiched wasn't a term Vex usually liked to use to explain a situation he was in. Not even if girls were involved. But that was all he could really think of to describe his situation.

The spiders didn't wait long before pressing the attack. They had the advantage and were smart enough to know to use it. But Vex probably wasn't typical for their prey, even amongst humans. As the first spiders in front of him moved forwards, Vex changed his stance to meet them. One spider lept at him again, and Vex used that to start his attack. With a quick cross step forwards he launched a kick at the spider that was midair. His foot landed with a sickening crunch, and as it did Vex turned slightly and shot the pair of arachnids behind him with a fire blast. As the pair behind him recoiled from the flames, the pair in front was recovering. Vex rocketed a bolt of fire in their direction, hoping to drive them off. But this only worked for a time, and soon the spiders came at him from both sides. Ducking Vex found himself back to at the start of the trap, all four spiders in front of him.

This wasn't going the way he had planned.  The spiders advanced, and Vex took a step back, launching another fireball at the group. When he saw them spread out and back off as the flames came near he considered charging at them again. But then the stones he had brought with him shone in his head. Moving fast as the spiders came for him, he threw a stone they had enchanted at the ground in the midst of them. He only had a second to see which one it was, and did his best to cover his eyes as the charmed stone gave of a bright flash of light. Magic flash bang grenades, very handy.

As the spiders reeled, temporarily blinded by the light, Vex launched his attack again. Firing wildly, he landed blow after blow on the stunned spiders, driving them back into the darkness. All that he could manage as he watched them retreat was a sigh.

For a second time Vex left the "danger ahead" sign along with an arrow for which direction he had gone, and covered it before pressing on again.

Keeping his eyes on the ground he trudged through the bends. The first two traps had been grueling on their own. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. If he ran into another trap like the last there wouldn't be much hope of succeeding. As he came around what looked to be the final curve, Vex carved one more sign into the brambles.


Don't give up. It was a message for all of the champions.

Coming around what he had suspected to be the final bend, Vex found that he was right. and stepped into a large clearing. Vex froze at the sight of it. He knew that a fully grown acromantula was big, but... "Fucking hell..." Vex muttered. "How the hell do they expect me to chase that beast off?" It certainly seemed impossible. The spider sat upon the center, the box that was his prize only barely visible beneath its mass. Vex paced slightly to the right, and noted how the mother acromantula turned and followed him as he did. But it didn't charge. It was Vex's move.

Fine, he could play that game. With a jerk of his wand Vex sent a blasting curse near the legs of the spider, causing it to stumble slightly. It clicked its mandibles and began towards Vex, while Vex sprinted forwards. Fire hadn't failed him yet today, and fire was what he used. As he charged he launched fireball after fireball at the beast, but to no real avail. While it recoiled slightly, it wasn't enough to make her back off, and Vex found himself much closer to the spider than he had anticipated. As it made to bite him, Vex dove to the side, rolled and backpedaled, still firing at the behemoth.

Vex was backed into a corner now, literally. He had to think fast or lose. And losing wasn't an option. Not now. Not when victory was within his grasp.

The spider loomed closer, knowing that it's prey was trapped. Vex glanced around quickly, trying to come up with something, anything that would get him out of this. The box was unguarded at the center, and Vex knew he had to get it. But how could he possibly while...

Then it hit him. Vex looked up. Yes, that would be enough room.

With an arrogant grin, Vex sent another blasting curse at the beast which landed at the ground in front of its head. The motehr spider reeled as dust and dirt flew into its eyes, and Vex took the opening. "Ascendio!" Vex shouted to propel himself into the air and over the spider. No longer in the corner. Midair Vex spun round and fired again at the spider below him. Fireball after fireball rocketed into the creature. But even that was simply a distraction. Vex only hoped it would keep the beast stunned as he grabbed the chest, which he hopefully would be landing near.

As Vex fell towards the ground he positioned to to tuck and roll. He saw that he was much further off than he expected, in fact he was about as far from the center as when he started. But now the guardian was on the other side of the room. Landing roughly Vex rolled awkwardly. As his left leg contacted the ground mid roll he felt a sharp pain, stunning him momentarily as the momentum ended and he landed flatly on his back.

He let out a cough and rolled onto his hands and knees. Blood dripped from his mouth from where he had bit his tongue, cheeks, and lips. Slowly, Vex picked himself up, shaking his head. "Damn..." he muttered. "This is fucking ridiculous. If Trace and Taryn were here..." But they weren't. Trying to take a step forward, again pain shot up his leg. He must have fractured it, at least, when he landed. Not the best plan. Vex watched as spider began to recover, and turned to face him.

The box sat boldly in the middle.

It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, Vex once again sprinted forwards, ignoring the horrible pain. He could suffer it when he won. This time, however, his wand trailed behind him as water gushed from its tip. The spider charged as well, and Vex could see that it would reach the middle before he did. But tat was fine, that played in his favor. At least he hoped it did.

Now only a few feet from the middle, Vex lept off his good leg, and twirled his wand once. Immediately the water he had conjured lifted off the ground and formed into a globe behind him. Vex gave another flick of his wand and it froze solid. The spider was in the middle, crouching over the box, as Vex fell through the air towards it. With a shout Vex brought his wand around, and with it came the globe of ice. As the large ball of ice smashed into the mother acromantula, it reeled up and Vex rotated his body and slide right underneath it. Quickly he wrapped his arms around the box-

-And found himself back in the champions tent.

Teodosio looked up when it was his turn to leave the tent to enter the task. Stepping out of the tent and onto Hogwarts' quidditch pitch- his eyes grew wide when he saw the webbing everywhere. It was darker than was natural given the time of day, and Teo was certain he could hear hundreds of legs shuffling through the mess that lay before him. He was equipped with only his wand and his intelligence. And his intelligence wasn't going to help him any with this particular task.

He hated animals. All of them. He did not continue his education in the study of creatures because he thought they were disgusting animals and wanted nothing to do with them. Teo was a student of the fine arts and the more refined aspects of magic. Ancient runes, arithmancy, astronomy... Not mindless drivel like creatures and divination. Immediately, his heart sank and his stomach twisted into a knot. His confidence was shattered. Teodosio knew was ill prepared for this task. No matter how stellar his wand work, how stunning he could draw his runes, this was a task meant for those who knew how to elude the spiders that were shuffling in the dark.

Teodosio took a deep breath, and steadied his mind. First he cast a muffling spell on himself- hoping to make his movements through the maze that was ahead as quiet as possible. Another spell dispelled his scent. Then he set forth, determined to try his best- despite his total lack of confidence. This was a new feeling for Teodosio Medici. He had never once in his life considered that he was not the best, that he was not set up to succeed without even trying. In all of his years at Beauxbatons he had always been an exemplary student, he was everything that his family stood for- but now, in the face of spiders, he was sure to fail.

Though the boy did not know it, his nerves and lack of confidence hindered his spellcasting. The muffling charm made little difference, and his scent was not erased- but rather enhanced. He certainly was a tasty little treat for the acromantulas littering the quidditch pitch.

He had barely moved forward when he was faced with his first decision. Left or right. Teodosio went left- vaguely remembering some sort of rule that always going left would help you out of a maze. He wasn't sure if he remembered it correctly, but was going to follow his gut. His steps were quick and as light as he could make them. He brushed webs from his face and his arms, and went around a curve. It was darker here than it was throughout the rest of the pitch. His uniform snagged on the thorns, and he could feel blood trickle down his leg. He cursed loudly in Italian.

Teodosio lit up his wand, blasting bright light all around him. He heard skittering, and looked around. Left or right again. Teodosio went left, and after a few steps found himself looking into a large, dense web. Without hesitation he hacked through the web with his wand- sending thick strands of web flying. He wanted out of here as quickly as possible. But soon he could see eyes- so many eyes- leering at him from the web. His skin crawled as he stared the spiders in their hundreds of eyes. One of them moved forward- and he took a step backward, foot snagging in the webbing that littered the ground. In a most ungentlemanlike and very non-masculine way he screeched when he brushed against something that was... almost... furry.

And like that- barely into the first task- Teodosio Medici was surrounded by the acromantulas. Hexes, curses, and spells seemed to do nothing but ricochet off of their thick hide. The first bite was a painful punctuation to his failure. He could feel the spider's poison coursing through him, and the second bite he received he could barely feel. Teodosio sank to the ground, completely incapacitated. He couldn't fight back as one of the spiders wrapped him in webbing and dragged him through the bramble tunnels away from any hope of victory. But his worries ended as suddenly he was asleep.

Josh was the next to step into the arena. a maze, and it was Acromantula by the look of it. he had been right when he speculated with Sasha about what the Task would be. This would be interesting.

 Walking up to the maze, he went right, into the maze. Suddenly, Josh almost fell inot a pit, avoiding it onyl by magaing to grab onto as bunch of brambles, several thorns piercing his skin. Swearing, he picked himself up, Using a Blasting Curse to expose the full size of the trapdoor he had fallen into.[1] Transforming inot his feline form, he carefully picked his way around the trap, transforming back once he was sure he was clear.

After a few minutes, Josh came across spiders amongst the brambles, and recognized the brambles in question immediately. They were very slippery. Rolling his eyes, he transformed into his cat form again, he extended his claws. methodically picking his way through the brambles, he was glad he had transformed. several times, only poking a claw into a bramble had saved him from losing his footing. Finally, he was through.

Continuing on his path, Josh finally emerged and saw the box. He also saw the Acromantula guarding the box. OK, basics first he thought, casting a Summoning Charm. As he expected, nothing happened. OK Then. walking to one side, he saw that the Acromantula turned to follow his movement. OK, no sneaking up to one side. Thinking hard, he thought up soemthing that should work. Quickly, he Transfigured a loose bramble nearby into a large rock. It wouldn't hold for long, but it didn't need to. Using a Banishing Charm, he tossed the rock at the Acromantula, followed by a fairly strong flame spell. It wouldn't actually hurt the Acromantula, but it would intimidate the arachnid. Finally, seeing the spider retreat, Josh ran for the box, using an Aguamenti spell on the Acromantula when it looked to be getting interested again. Grabbing the box, Josh was relieved to see the Champions tent again. He looked awful, and his leg was hurting badly where he had fallen on the first trap. Not to mention his hand was hurting from the brambles he had grabbed onto to avoid falling into the pit. He staggered to a seat, throwing himself onto it, and watched as the next poor soul headed out. This had better be worth it.

1.	Whether the Blasting Curse erased the sign left by Anderson is up to the Salem Students (I left it ambiguous in case the Salem students have anything arranged)

The soft whisper of the tent flaps falling closed behind him was almost inaudible, despite the heavy, dense quiet that seemed to envelop him.  It was quiet but it wasn't exactly silent.  It was a quiet that was reminiscent of being in the depths of the Amazon with Professor Fraiser.  All around him was empty and still but, at the same time, just beyond that there was a multitude of sounds.  But, in the place of distant birds, primates and insects, Sasha could hear the general din of voices overhead, beyond the patchwork shadows of brambles.  And, from the darkness of the brambles, scuttling. 

Sasha stared, wide-eyed, at the scene that met him.  He was surrounded by thick, thorn-covered brambles that were only broken by two broad passageways and massive, ominous stretches of sticky, white webs.  Webs.  Scuttling.  Spiders.  Acromantula.  About half a minute had elapsed in the time it took for that realization to fully sink in.  Then, Sasha granted himself another half minute - no more, no less - to panic.  He counted the seconds and, after thirty, he forced his mind to focus on the task at hand. 

His objective was to find, and lay his hands on, a box at the far end of the quidditch pitch.  He had to find his way through the bramble-lined fox holes and, presumably, he'd come across acromantula and other obstacles along the way.  Which meant, the actual challenges were three fold: find his way, watch out for whatever surprises lay along the route and defend himself against spiders. 

The first was, arguably, the easiest to deal with.  Sasha moved forward to the very center of the clearing where the two routes diverged, allowing a large swatch of sunlight to reach the ground.  He pivoted until he was square with the direction the morning sun cast his shadow and held his left hand out flat so the line between sunlight and shadow ran straight down his palm and between his middle and ring fingers.  With his wand in his other hand, Sasha first murmured "Point Me" and then drew two lines on his left hand to intersect the line formed by the shadow: one line that pointed due north and another that pointed directly towards the other end of the pitch.  Unless this endeavor took longer than an hour, those two indicators should be all he'd need. 

He took another few seconds to cast two more preemptive charms to his feet: one muffling charm that would help minimize the vibrations of his footsteps and a tracking charm that would, temporarily, leave a illuminated trail behind him - to help minimize the chances of getting turned around and backtracking or, simply, going in circles.  Then, after picking a direction at random (left), Sasha took off at a brisk jog. 

It didn't take long for the clearing to close in, and the sunlight vanished as he found himself in a darkened, narrow passage.  He slowed his pace as the brambles closed in overhead and tightened his grasp on his wand.  After three strides, Sasha could see light ahead of him - it looked like the path widened again but just as he was about to quicken his pace, a terrier-sized spider dropped to the path in front of him.  Sasha skidded to a stop and started to back away from the creature but, as if it had been a coordinated effort, he heard clicking from behind him. 

Sasha jumped and whirled to face the spider behind him, firing off a shot of blue light from his wand in the arachnid's direction.  The spider made some sort of noise that, in a human, would have been described as a shriek and scurried back into the brambles but the spider's cry seemed to have caught the attention of others nearby.  Two more had scurried out to join the first and the three were scampering quickly towards him.  Sasha raised his wand and was about to blast off a curse when he caught himself and shifted gears, mid-incantation.  A billow of thick, dark smoke poured from his wand, heavy and rancid.  As the cloud grew, it took a distinct, animate form that targeted the spiders, charging after the closest one first.  Though nothing like a patronus, the amorphous, animate cloud could have resembled a darker, more archaic version of the white light.  It was still a non-standard spell, Sasha knew that much.  But, it had been nowhere near the caliber of the one he'd been on the verge of casting. 

The Ravenclaw didn't have time to question whether the spell would prompt any unwanted attention.  Sasha wasn't going to let his momentary advantage slip away from him.  He took off running after the snaking cloud of smoke, trusting it to clear the path ahead of him.  It twisted through the brambles until it reached the clearing at the next fork in the path and finally drifted up through the brambles, dissipating into the sky overhead. 

There were no fewer than five options at this juncture.  Sasha found a ray of sun, lined up his shadow on his hand and double checked his bearings.  Two options led in the opposite direction.  Two options moved in opposing directions towards the sides of the quidditch pitch.  One of the narrowest paths led straight in the direction he was wanting to go.  Sasha explored that route first but it quickly came to a dead end.  That left two options: the larger path that led towards the left of the field and the one that led towards the right.  He knew the first leg of the challenge he'd just finished had brought him towards the left side of the pitch so he opted for the path to the right, knowing he needed to stay towards the center. 

The path snaked around and came to a dead end along another path.  Checking his progress with the lines on his hand, the new path seemed to be heading in exactly the direction he needed to be going.  He broke into a jog, again, but skidded to a halt when the all-too-familiar scuffling sound started closing in around him.  He didn't wait until the spiders came into view.  "Concusso," he cried, flicking his wand and, again breaking into a run before seeing the extent of the spell's effects. 

Sasha continued down the new path at a jog, putting distance between himself and however many young acromantulas had populated that last grove.  He had to be close to the end, and though it was impossible to be sure, he felt like he'd managed to keep decent time.  He had to be close, now.  Close, he presumed, to whatever grand finale awaited him. 

Sure enough, as Sasha rounded a last corner, there it was.  Sasha came to an abrupt stop at the edge of the largest clearing, so far, and laid eyes on the full grown, queen acromantula.  She was massive and she'd spotted the intruder immediately.  She scuttled forward, her front legs raised and pincers flashing in display and Sasha immediately retreated to the narrower passageway.  The queen didn't pursue him; once he was out of range, she retreated back into her nest and crouched low over her brood.  And, Sasha could just see in the shadows and at the center of the nest, the small, wooden box. 

The narrow passageway afforded him shelter to consider his options but he knew he wouldn't have long.  Already, he could hear faint sounds in the brambles behind him.  The spiders were likely forming ranks, preparing to flank him from behind.  He had to come up with a plan and he probably had less than a minute to put it into action.  The options seemed limited: drive the spider back far enough to have access to the box or somehow sneak past her.  Sneaking by seemed unlikely - she already knew he was there.  If he drove her back, he'd also have to hold her off.  He had long legs and he was fast but he certainly was no match for the spider when it came to a foot race. 

Then, as Sasha peered at the massive spider from around the last bunch of brambles, an utterly insane idea came to him.  It was a make-it or break-it idea that bordered on the idiotic.  But, that's what competitions were about, right?  Go big or go home and he'd already made it this far. 

Sasha stepped back out into the clearing and moved far enough forward to draw the acromantula out and then he retreated, watching as the spider backed once more into her den and over her prize.  He'd need to draw her out further if this was going to work.  Which meant, he'd need to be a little gutsier in his game of chicken with the acromantula.  He dashed out into the clearing again and waited her out, casting a quick knock back jinx at the ground near her. 

The spider responded and raced forward, again, flashing her display.  Sasha waited, holding his breath, watching as she grew closer.  If he missed gauged this ... if he didn't wait long enough, she'd just back into her nest, again.  But, if he waited too long, she'd ... well, she'd catch him.  And, Sasha would ... would it be like Frodo?  Would it be a stinger to the gut? 

Now was not the time to be freaking himself out by such thoughts.  Sasha inched back, judging her distance from him and, at what he hoped was the right moment turned to retreat, again.  It worked, beautifully.  Far enough from her nest, the queen turned her back to him to scurry back to her wooden ward.

Sasha made his move.  He dashed out from the cover of the narrow passage and leaped on to the spider's back leg.  He wrapped his arms and legs around the spider's leg and held on for dear life.  It seemed to take a fraction of a second for the spider to realize what happened but, while spiders were leggy and hairy, they weren't the most flexible creatures.  She turned and pivoted on the spot but there was no way she'd be able to reach her back legs. 

She spun and turned in a frantic attempt to rid herself of her newly acquired parasite and Sasha could do little else but wait for the right moment.  The moment came when the spider lurched and spun a full circle.  Taking advantage of the momentum from the spider's own movement, Sasha pushed himself free just as the spin tossed him in the direction of the nest.  He hit the ground in a perfect roll and was back on his feet, throwing up a barrier shield between himself and the acromantula.  The barrier would only buy him a few seconds, he knew.  But, a few seconds was all he needed.  He turned and sprinted the last little bit towards the box.  Sasha came to a stop, standing over the box and reached down to pluck it free from the nest.   

The next moment, the Ravenclaw found himself standing in the Champion's tent, box in hand and grinning broadly. 

Katya waited at the entrance to the course. She had unfortunately drawn the short straw, as it were, and was the first of the Durmstrang champions to go. Nervously she played with one of her waistcoat's pockets as she waited for the signal to begin. At the nod of the official Katya tensed, ready to go claim glory for Durmstrang.

The offical pointed his wand upward and began counting down from three. At one his wand let out a loud bang informing everyone that the task had started. Katya charged into the tunnel, moving quickly but cautiously, keeping an eye on her surroundings.

Quickly the entrance disappeared behind her and she happened upon her first choice in the maze. The path split into two directions - one to her left and another to her right - with neither obviously leading to a trap. Katya danced on her feet, looking down both corridors trying to figure out which way to go. 'Most people go right so that's where they'll put the trap. But what if that's what they want you to think and going to the left will be a pit fall...' After a few minutes of debating which way she should go Katya gave up with logic. Crouching down Katya placed her wand on the maze's floor and spun it. The wand whirled around and finally came to a stop pointing mostly towards the right. Picking up her wand, Katya charged to the right a determined look on her face,hoping she wouldn't regret it.

The path up to this point had been entirely uneventful and it was starting to make her twitchy. Her movements were slow and hypertensive to the slightest crackle or rumble, which is why she nearly had a heart attack when a loud crashing sound came from the left. Startled, Katya whipped around to face the source of the sound, as small spiders poured out of the 'wall'. Clutching her wand, she cast the first thing that came to her mind. "Confringo!" With a loud boom the webbing, brairs, and spiders exploded - covering Katya with bits of burnt carcasses and ash.

Squeezing her eyes in disgust, Katya tensed up and shivered slightly, causing the ocassinal spider part to fall off. 'Uhhgh. It's, it's. Hurugh.' Eagerly, Katya quickly cleaned herself off with a scouring charm. 'When this is done, I want a hot bath.' With one last shiver she took off running down the path.

Coming around the bend at speed, Katya was greeted by a tangled mass of webbing and dirt covering the floor. She skidded to a stop in front of it, pinwheeling her arms a bit to regain her balance. Pointing her wand at it as to not be caught off guard again, Katya considered the trap. It was fairly obvious to her that something must be concealed beneath, the question was what.

Carefully, she reached into one of her hip pouches and pulled out a small, two compartment vial of Calius' Burning Sour - which should dissolve the webbing with little trouble. With a flick of her wrist she twisted the upper half of the vial, allowing the liquids in the two compartments to mix. With a flick of her wrist, she threw it into the middle of the webbing. While in mid air the potion dissolved through the glass and poured out.

The potion quickly got to work on the webbing, eating outward from the first point of contact like fire burning the edge of a piece of paper. Several hisses from within the webs indicated where several spiders had been hidden as they were eaten  away by the potion. While  the potion worked, Katya pulled out another vial, this one a single compartment filled with a bright blue liquid. When the majority of the webbing had been dissolved, revealing the pit beneath, Katya uncorked the vial and, with a flick of her wand, sent it misting over the trap, neutralizing the effects of the previous potion. Confidently, Katya sidestepped the pit and moved on.

As she moved into the next section the walls began to change from thicker brambles to thinner, more vine like ones. Suspicious she moved closer to try and analyze it. Unfortunately her proximity triggered several of the small spiders hiding among the brambles to attack. Leaping back in surprise Katya quickly fired off a quick blasting charm, which while it took care of the spiders, was probably not the best idea.

The vines reacted violently, whipping outward and growing rapidly. 'Baybarb!' Katya moaned, 'Crap.' She quickly rolled out of the way but not before getting sliced on her leg. Hissing, she crouched down and pulled out two vials of Calius' Buring Sour and, after setting them to react, threw them at the writhing mass. If plants could scream these would be doing so, and loudly. The vines reared back and retreated and Katya slowly sat down wincing in pain as her leg muscles flexed.

Reaching into one of her hip pouches she pulled out another vial, this one filled with a glowing green liquid, and a small cotton pad. Opening the vial she caped it with the pad and reversed it to soak the pad with the solution. After resealing the vial and placing it back in its pouch Katya wiped her cut with the soaked pad, wincing as the potion cleaned the wound and began to heal the cut.

Standing up slowly, Katya limped past the disolving vines. She could see a large chamber up ahead and as the cut healed she picked up speed. As Yekaterina entered the large webbed dome, in front of her lay her prize. As she began walking towards it, a loud hiss stoped her cold. Glancing every which way she finally met the eyes of the biggest spider she had ever seen.

The huge spider lept off the ceiling and landed on top of the box. It reared up and screeched at her and began skittering menacingly towards her. Panicking slightly Katya grabbed two vials from the front pocket of her waistcoat and threw them at the queen. The first one hit the ground and shattered, creating a small explosion with an extra loud bang throwing the queen back slightly. The explosion propelled the second vial to the extremely adventitious spot at the queen mother's feet. The vial burst upon contact igniting a large burst of flame driving the spider back farther and slightly away from the boxes.

Remembering her training,  Katya charged forward, relentlessly throwing spells in the spider's face until she had it backed up away from the box. Even though the spider had retreated, Katya kept up her guard as she approached the box. Picking it up she suddenly felt the odd pull behind her navel that signaled a portkey activating. Finding herself back in the Champion's tent, Katya set the box down and sunk into a nearby chair utterly exhausted.

At the first sight of those thick, grayish clumps of web, Tracy tried to remember what he knew about spiders.

A swamp boy through and through, he wasn’t ashamed to admit he hadn’t had much to do with them personally, not with Nanna warding the houseboat against all sorts ‘n manners of things, and how she and his ma—whenever she was in town—were the ones who dealt with the creatures, if and when they had to. But that wasn’t to say that he’d gone on without seeing more than a daddy long legs, though, because he hadn’t; Bayou Sauvage had its own eight-legged beasties. Sure, neither of them was as big as an Acromantula, but some of them were vicious enough to give it a run for its money…

Personally, he had nothing against spiders and their ilk—hell, even his mam sometimes turned into one. He knew they all had their purpose and place in the way o’ things, and there were a lot of them who’d be just as glad to stay away from people as people were to stay away from them. Aside from bite they might give and the venom they might have, Tracy wasn’t afraid of them at all.

However, there was no denying that the ones that were acromantulas gave him pause. And now wasn’t the time to pause, because here ‘n now, he was in a lair that was supposed to be full of them and all he had were his wand, a few pre-enchanted rocks and a tiny, compact kit of ready-made potions he’d been taught to carry since he was six.

And, of course, his head.

With that in mind, Tracy jogged into the center of the first intersection, mindful to step lightly despite the Timberlands he wore. His wand tip lit with a dim, murky green light (no point in broadcasting his position like a beacon, right?), he looked both ways, trying to peer into the shadows each tunnel had to offer—and then zeroing in on the mark left on the wall.

Softly, in that slow, Louisiana drawl, he said the words: “Operor non alieno flamma congelo lepor lepos.”

Moving like snakes, the connected curves of the sigil flowed and twisted and melded, until all there was left was an arrow. Quickly, and out of habit, Tracy glanced over his shoulder to his left. Although his hearing was anything but supernatural, it was keen; he could hear the faint scratching of tapered limbs against ground, accompanied by the soft echoes of clicking mandibles.

His face set into an almost grim look of determination, he set off to his right and plunged into the darkness.

After the first several steps, however, he slowed down, nostrils flaring with deep, steady breaths that brought in the dank smell of dirt, dust, and musk, that glowing wand tip held close to his face as he kept his other, free hand to the wall. Once the post-Goblet celebration had died down in the Salem dormitories, the three of them—Taryn, Vex, and himself—had agreed to work together; almost immediately they’d begun discussing what tricks and which methods would be useful for them, whether individually or for all. The Salem Sigil had been the first thing they’d come up with; keeping an eye on the walls was necessary. When Tracy found himself looking at another one—and then another—he cast the shadows ahead a wary look; while he had been uncovering the traveler’s sign, the white noise of faint clicking had quieted. Now that he had noticed, the noise had returned and was steadily growing louder, like a stirring, surging tidal wave. One noise in particular stood out: the sound of someone—something—approaching.

It seemed that even though he had yet to actually trigger the trap, he had ‘fallen’ for it anyway. Shaking his head slightly as he covered up the sigil again, Tracy sighed, that faint grin on his face a slash of white in the darkness. Thanks for the thought anyway, Vex.

And with that, he spun on his heel and broke into a run.

A second later, they followed.

Thanks to a set of lungs only his mother could have given him, the boy found it in himself to cast as he ran. With a sharp snap of his wrist, “Liberté,” he whispered, and the marsh light jumped from its perch and pushed ahead until it was a hovering good two or three feet away and glowing significantly brighter. The Marshlight Spell was one of the first spells he had learned from his ma, way back when he was a boy no older than seven. Though it wasn’t as bright as a Lumos and was in no way like Point Me, it had its uses; aside from giving light, it had the second function of acting as a detached one, able to free-float and leave a guy free to cast other spells as long as he held his wand.

His own grip firm and sure, Tracy didn’t have that worry.

Just before he turned the corner, movement caught his eye above him. Risking a look, he spotted an acromantula skittering on the ceiling, its deceptively cumbersome body moving nimbly above him. Faster than the others, it moved; with a slight tensing of the muscles and a leap, it would land right on top of him-

“Epoximise!”

-but didn’t. In fact, it couldn’t drop at all. Loudly—angrily—it screeched, its mandibles bared with rage; unable to rear, the arachnid couldn’t spin, couldn’t aim.

But that was just one. Swiftly gaining on him were two more, moving faster than ever, encouraged by the first one’s screams. The faster one—the nearest one—suddenly halted and reared. What the first couldn’t do, it would, and it wouldn’t miss.

Chancing another look over his shoulder, Tracy got an eyeful of spinneret just in time. What he did next, he didn’t think about; he just did. “Locomotor acromantula!” he cried, and his voice rang loud and clear over the clicking and screeching. As hard as he could, he hurled the rearing spider into the third and sent both hurtling down the tunnel, powered by spell and momentum. Once the shadows ate up the last of their tangled limbs and their furious screeches grew fainter and fainter, he released the spell.

Then, it was just him and the sound of his own harsh breathing.

He was still panting—gripping the edge of his shirt and airing it out—when he found himself at the next crossroads, unknowingly caught in the crosshairs of traps number two and three and two dead ends. Looking pensive, he looked ahead—to the sides—and then a little ways behind him. What to choose, what to choose…

Ah, what the heck. Picking up the pace again, Tracy plowed on, falling into an easy stride as the marshlight, still present, floated ahead. When he caught sight of the thick crush of shrubbery, he slowed.

Upon closer inspection, oblong, dark green leaves spiraled from woody stems. Familiar-looking berries—heavy-looking clingstones of a purplish color—hung from them in clusters, some of them the color of raspberries, a few of them an unripe shade of yellowish green, many of them an inky hue, their wax coating giving them a gleam under the marshlight’s glow. Beyberries, his Herbologist’s eyes told him.

And they weren’t without company.

His eyes narrowed, Tracy raised his wand. As much as he disliked harming creatures no matter how violent they were, he didn’t have time for this; although it had been less than ten minutes—seven, really—it felt much more than that to him, the time restraints a weight hanging over his head. “Engorgio,” he said softly, and as the shrubs swelled and enlarged, causing their occupants to hiss and skitter with alarm, “Aranea necto,” was uttered without missing a beat.

As they writhed with sudden growth, the vines twisted and snaked around the spiders, catching them, trapping them. When one struggled to lift its spinneret, he looked at it thoughtfully, before directing the vines to have it face elsewhere. Problem solved, he approached the thicket and began to pick, moving swiftly as he did. With a conjured cloth, he packed them into a single, tight, compact ball, sealed it up with a charm, and made his own arrow on the wall, only—like Vex—to cover it up with the Sign.

That done, he continued on, until…

Finally

-he was looking up from Vex’s last sign and into a vast clearing domed with massive webs. And at the very center of the dome was his prize. Hallelujah, he heard Aunt Maisie’s voice in his head. Puh-raaaise Jesus!

Problem was, an acromantula—larger than any spider he had ever seen—stood possessively over it, a great, hairy leviathan of arachnid proportions. The box lay caged by its legs.

In challenge, she screeched a primal, hair-raising, bloodcurdling screech.

His grip on his wand tightened in reply. Silently, he dismissed the light—and charged.

Predictably, the spider reared, its abdomen tucked in and its spinneret jutting out with intent. As soon as it released, Tracy lunged to the ground—somersaulted—and rolled behind a boulder, his long, powerful frame curling and bounding with ease. Quickly he cast a Repelling Charm on his clothes; it wouldn’t keep anything the acromantula shot his way, no, but it’d definitely help keep those stray webs at bay.

The scattered footsteps of the spider were like thunder to his ears. When it leapt, he was prepared; one tiny bottle selected and plucked from his belt, he gripped it in one dwarfing fist and threw it full-on into her face.

Upon contact, the delicate glass vial shattered, releasing a burst of blinding white light.

She screamed.

Blinded, she crashed into the boulder. Tracy had only a second to get out of the way; he acted on it.

“Obex!” he bellowed, and let the forced of the collision send him flying away. He landed yards away, winded by the sudden flight; it was only thanks to a hastily-cast Cushioning Charm that he got away without injuries—serious ones—at all. Unsteadily, and looking a little worse for wear, he rose to his feet. Wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, he smeared the dust off his face—and then darted away, making another play for the box.

But the spider wasn’t down for the count just yet, however. Slowly, she lumbered to her feet, swaying a bit as she turned around. And when she turned around, there was pure, sheer rage in those half-blinded eyes. With another screech, she bore down on him again, mandibles bared in a way that couldn’t mean anything else.

Tracy, though, was ready for her. When she drew closer, and closer, and closer, every measure of covered distance taking less than a second, he sent the stuffed ball of berries at it… and hit it with a Blasting Curse. Promptly, in a shower of searing juice, hot wax, and burning cloth, it exploded. Repulsed, the spider fell back with another enraged screech; it was all he needed to break out into one last, dead run. His legs pumping like they’d never had before, they ate up the ground with every stride, his heart thudding and slamming against his chest with every—labored—breath-

-and then he swiped up the box, and was elsewhere, stumbling in that final step.

Tiredly, he raised his head… and at the sight of his friends, he held the box over his head for one triumphant second before tucking it under his arm.

He’d done it. He’d actually done it. Clumsily, he fell into the nearest available chair and let his head fall back with a whump, a dazed but brilliant grin on his face.

“Well, damn,” the champion breathed, and let out breathless laugh.

   

It was immediately obvious just what Vladlena would be facing as she stepped in to the shadowy stadium, the gong signaling her turn to enter. The darkness was palpable, and what sullen light could make its watery way into the brambles reflected like beacons off of the domed webs encasing the stadium floor. Her family did not consider itself Dark, though they certainty weren't  the sort to lift a finger in aid to anyone. However, isolated in their desolate citadel, there were few who inquired closely about their activities, and their choice to send their potential heirs to the care and craft of magical beasts —‘children’ was a foreign word at the svyatilishche[1]—to Durmstrang to study, where Dark and dangerous creatures being a part of the curriculum was a given, was no accident.

Standing in the relative safety of the entrance, the lithe girl's body was tense for an attack, wand raised in the quiet gloom. Her free hand slipped into her pocket to remove the glasses she rarely wore, and she placed them on her nose, and tapped them with her wand.

Immediately the image distorted, magnifying telescopically so she could better examine the webbing draped in domes and spread sickly across the floor in front of her without yet getting too near.

Unmistakable, to a girl whose primary focus for seven years had been creatures in the magical realm.

So they were to face the mnogie glazami[2]?

She frowned, her rapid thoughts quickly turning over possibilities as she slipped the glasses back into her pocket. Surely it couldn't be mnogie glazami. They were not trainable. Being a technical sort of creature herself, Lena had of course read through the made-public mounds of committee transcriptions and legal regulations that came with an international event of this magnitude.  It had been clear that the approval to hold the event would only be conferred if utmost caution was taken to prevent death. Which meant the cooperation of these creatures--if she were correct and they were indeed the Many-Eyed--had somehow been obtained.  Mortals that fell to the mnogie glazami would be devoured, ordinarily, and that would not have met the approval of any of the governing councils issuing their approval to the challenges. Except perhaps Headmaster Eisenberg, but he was but one part—a charismatically convincing part, but only one nonetheless.

Coercion was possible but unlikely—a forced creature would be furious to play for the whims of wizards, and would not likely forget its coercion when the tournament was over and focus was elsewhere rather than on its bindings. A bargain, then. She decided, if the webs did indeed belong to the creature of her suspicions. But what sort of bargain could hold them?

Glistening ahead was the slick, white reflection of silken webs.

No time to wonder. She needed to get moving, and get started. She had been standing there slightly less than a minute, but it was already too long for her tastes, and so raised her wand.

It was a quick, silly little spell, meant for musicians to keep time, much like the muggle Newton cradle.  The balls her spell created bounced in her hand, emitting a soft shk, shk, shk and a pulsed ring of sound each time they  hit. With the floor so covered in webbing, she was at a disadvantage. Each step she took would give away her location through vibrations. So she would exacerbate them, and distort them, and in doing so, hide herself within the ripples of sound, those caused by her feet lost in the overlap of the rest.

Concentrate.

The thought was cool, collected, and iron-willed as Lena thrust her wand forward and sent the metronomically pulsing spell orbs scattering forward through the brambles. Being sound and magic only, they passed through the brambles though she could not. They bounced, moving forward and emitting their vibration of sound meant to guide musicians, and Lena timed her even jogging footsteps to their beat even as they vanished ahead of her, while she headed to the left path, listening intently for the sounds that would warn her they had attracted the attention of a predator.

Her mind flew even as her feet did, disconnected, compartmentalizing the fear and focusing on the solution, listening the quiet dark.

Twice, a side tunnel led her to a dead end, brambles pulling and ripping her uniform as salt-drenched sweat dripped into her eyes, but a whispered priori incantentem showed her the path of her pulse spells, and while she could not follow them—being that she was regrettably solid—she used their ghostly paths to tell her which way was forward, and move again in that direction when she was forced to backtrack. At last she came to a clearing with four clearly visible choices.

Without pausing, she simply chose to continue going straight. 

The Russian had not jogged more than few steps when she heard, rather than saw, the swarm of giant beasts. Mnogie glazami they were indeed! Her pulse spell, sent ahead, had triggered the third trap, and the frustrated creatures were whipping their heads around, searching in vain with their eyes for what their other senses told them was there, and had caused them to surge forward from the brambles where they hid.

Brilliant she may be, but Lena had little interest in herbology, and so did not register the difference between the vines draped in this area and those she had passed already. She was a bit more focused on the giant, many-legged deliverers of death ahead of her, swarming forward, pincers clicking. She backtracked, shedding her crimson coat as she ran, already torn. There was no doubt in her mind that their presence meant she had chosen correctly in which path to take—but how to get past them?

These creatures were as bound to see this through as she, though she did not know by what sort of covenant. She would, therefore, not use force. She did not have time. These two thoughts were forefront.

Concentrating as quickly as she could, she tossed her coat to the ground and transfigured it into a fat, bleating sheep.

If its fleece was slightly crimson-hued, well, it was dark.

Smacking it on its fluffy rump, Vladlena sent it running down the path she had chosen, and a heartbeat later, sprinted after it. She was not allowed to be eaten—of this she was utmost certain. Her death would come at a price these intelligent creatures were surely too aware of to pay. But a sheep? She did not doubt the acromantula, given the choice between a free snack and one they could not munch on, would take the former. She heard the curiously human-voiced shouts of triumph, squashing the suddenly icy cold feeling plummeting in her stomach as she got her first glimpse of the creatures she was attempting to deceive.

Ahead of her, the spiders had swarmed, descending upon the sheep. She sprinted, grateful she had forced herself to train the humid Scottish air as her breath burned in her throat.

A slight miscalculation.

The sheep had indeed distracted the acromantula, as they piled on top of the creature, but the path was too narrow for her to pass behind them where they were blind as she had planned. Her mind processed this and her arm raised even before she could even think to panic—Lena was a creature of reason, logic, and icy calm--even as the acromantulas realized that what they had thought was tasty fresh meat was indeed, at heart, only a coat, and began to roar their disappointment. Vladlena had the advantage of those precious seconds time brought by her distraction, to breathe deeply, once, and hurl her spell precisely as one of them reared in anger, exposing the soft abdomen that marked its weakness. With the shouted spell, the acromantula to the left began to shrink[3], its distraction and her precise aim allowing the spell to take root. The acromantulas whirled but Lena's feet were already moving, diving through the space no longer occupied by a monster, and she thrust several breathless "Impedimentia!" spells behind her, sprinting on labored legs down the twisting path--

--and right smack into a web. She threw her arm up to stop herself, but her momentum was too great, and the acromantulas, slowed but not stopped, gained ground. Arm trapped, expression cool, she dropped her wand into her free arm, and though it was not her dominant hand, Lena had practiced ambidexterity diligently in her wandwork. With a hissed spell, the web froze like ice, and she brought her leg up to shatter it as  hot, potent adrenaline screamed under her skin.

The shards bit her leg and arm like glass, but the wounds were minor, and Lena was off again, though her side ached from the pause that allowed her muscles to realize just how much she was straining them. As she ran, she hurled more slowing spells over her shoulder.

The path widened.

The soil was firmer and drier, bare of grass as though it could not survive the choking weight of silk and spider. A meager  clump of brambles grew there like a miserly afterthought in the otherwise barren expanse surrounding the massive dome.

That would be it, then.

For the barest of moments, Lena hesitated, torn between academic curiosity and her honor and duty as a Champion of Durmstrang. When, oh when, would she have this opportunity again?

She could not be disloyal to either of her selves.

The academic spoke to her first. Would an acromantula understand Russian? Her research had not covered precisely how it was acromantulas—isolated from humankind for the most part—learned and were capable of human speech. Her lips quirked—it was an arrogance, wasn't it? Defining it as 'human' speech. English, then. The scientist in her yearned to converse with it, to see if the magic that changed spider clicks to speech translated as well. With a deep breath, Lena raised her wand once more, and whispered a spell in her native tongue. A shield dropped around her like a bell jar of glass. It was a strong shield, but airtight. It could only be held as long as the air within it had not been entirely consumed, but it would hold off the thrown hairs of the tarantula-esque creatures, and their slung webs. It was not a spell one usually used on their self--its airtight nature was meant to contain fires caused by the dragons on her reserve, starving them of oxygen while shielding them from further dragon-induced damage. Lena, fascinated by its tightness, had devised its cross with a native protego-like spell on her own.

Vladlena licked her lips, and entered the dome, where a massive, elephant-sized spider guarded  what was, no doubt, her prize. Using as little air as possible--so difficult, when her lungs burned and ached from her race--she stood straight and spoke, voice smoky and soft, muffled as though by glass, as the mother reared to attack.

"Vwhat deal binds you?"  Lena questioned.
 
 Something crashed into the back of her shield and she did not turn to look, she could not afford the gasp of air it would cost. The clicking coming from the mother sounded like derisive laughter.

Lena's skin burned, but it was only her own blood, fierce and exhilarated.

Concentrate.

"Do you think to persuade me to your cause with a better one? Do you think we are as petty as to be bought?" The spider's speech was difficult to decipher through the rumbling click of truly appalling pincers.

"No." Lena said simply, but something fluttered in her chest--a more emotional person would have recognized it as the soaring sensation one got when their question was answered, for Lena had heard the creature speak in Russian.

Again, the clicking laughter.
 
Click click click. It was a mocking sound—the imitation of a clock's ticking, with a rumble coming deep from inside the beast. "Wasting time, human morsel. My children close in--and they are displeased with your deception. Is not speed part of your judgment? Or do you wish for me to…take a bite now?" The creature was not stupid, it knew her shield and knew it could wait, and so it engaged in her game.
 
She was running out of air. Resisting the sigh that would have wasted it, she instead drew it deeply in a calm, precise breath. She had promised herself that—the time for herself was only that which could be spent without dishonor to her school. She would not pursue her academic curiosity to the risk of failure in the greater challenge. The acromantula  mother's clicking sped up, crouching to attack the minute the shield dropped, which she anticipated would be soon.  "What shall you do? My children come!" It did not offer suggestions—the situation was obvious. She could attack the mother, and be devoured—or captured, rather—by the children who had at last caught up, shaking off the last of her slowing spells. She could defend from the children and be conquered by their mother. She could run for it, and hope she was fast enough. But none of those were, or had ever been, her plan.
 
A soft, fierce smile pulled on the quiet girl's lips.
 
Why did acromantulas fear basilisks?
 
Because they had so many eyes.
 
Vladlena inhaled the last of the air.
 
The shield dropped.
 
The spiders surged forward.
 
"SLEPOῘSVET[4]!"
 
These were not spiders that had no use for their eyes, who sat blindly on webs waiting for prey—these were hunting spiders who feared the basilisk because they had no eyelids nor impaired vision to protect them. From the tip of Vladlena's wand came a blinding light that swallowed her even as she vanished. So white it was almost black, it pulsed and rang in its blinding brightness, hung in the air as there was a howling of a swarm of spiders staggered from the visual onslaught, crashing into nothing as a white fox dove nimbly from the pile, just barely avoiding the lunges and webs meant for a larger—more specifically, taller—target.
 
Temporarily blinded, they could only track her only from vibrations, but those were muddled by the number of their brethren flailing and crashing, and the feather-light skim of her paws was meant for gliding delicately over snow that may give with too much pressure. She moved in a series of leaps, zig-zagging agilely forward as her acutely sensitive ears, as alert to vibrations as her opponents’, warned her to the furious clicking and surging bodies, above all listening for the deep, patient but furious click of the mother, wise and dangerous.

She could not see. Thought she'd closed her eyes before casting her spell, such was the brightness of the light that it had glown through the meager protection offered by her eyelids and the arm thrust up to cover them. Spots hung in front of her eyes, indistinguishable in their darkness from the dark splotches of spiders, but she was as much a predator as they now, and did not need her eyes. Streaking forward, the tiny creature elongated, shifting, stretching--

 It was a human girl who hit the ground in the Champion's tent, arm curled around the precious prize, breathing labored, arm and leg aching but unfelt compared to the blissful rush of challenge.

Was this then, what living was like?

1.	Translation: Sanctuary. As in the Savitsky Dragon Sanctuary
2.	Translation: Many-Eyed. As in, Acromantula!
3.	( http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Tooth-shrinking_spell I'm assuming this spell can be used on non-tooth-things)
4.	Translation: Blinding Light. roughly, at least. Lumos on stero--er, muscle-mass-increasing-potions! I imagine its use in the frigid, frozen north of Russia is to simulate the sun during the parts of the year when there is none. I'M SO SORRY FOR THE RAMBLINGS. SO SORRY.

“Oh my gawd.”

The moment she ducked out from under the tent and lifted her head to web of brambles and silky spider-lines, Taryn realized what she’d stepped into, and her heart leapt. She should’ve known. They’d not been allowed to talk about it, but now that she thought back, she could see it in the eyes of her teammates, in Tracy’s tired grin and Vex’s pained smirk, as though they’d been saying without words, ‘Girl you’ve got this one in the bag.’

Acromantula. Here. The very thing she’d wanted to see from the moment they’d landed, the creatures she’d been willing to hunt through a forbidden forest, were right here in front of her. And the tournament staff wanted her to get as close to them as possible. 

Best. Task. Ever.

Beaming from ear to ear, Taryn ducked under the low nets of web and branches, lingering only a moment at the first crossroad. She picked out the familiar sign almost instantly. Salem’s Mark. Taryn traced its shape affectionately. The sigil was an unofficial symbol of a hundred years of magic study and trickery. The symbol itself held no power, but it resonated Salem the way few other things could. She knelt down for a better look, muttered the school motto, and nodded sagely as the message became clear. Good ol' Vex. Always looking out for the team.

Taryn took off down the right-hand path at a light jog. Somewhere in the trees, she could hear soft clicking; the acromantula were planning their assault. But they weren't approaching just yet. Maybe her giant blood kept them weary, or maybe they just liked watching her fight with the dips and curves in the nests' low ceilings. Taryn had no love for low-hanging trees at even the best of times, but after the second web-covered branch tried to snatch the Stetson from her head, she swore like a sailor, yanked it free, and tore the offending branch from its place. “For the love of Laveau, you’d think they didn’t know I was comin’.” She shook the lingering webs from her hat, rounded the corner, and let out a low whistle.

She could see how the trap would have been concealed before, but after six or so champions, the wear and tear was starting to show – somebody’d blasted the hell out of a nearby tree, and the webs still bore a trace of liquid burns, from acid rather than fire. One of the ruined trees bore Salem’s Mark. She didn’t even need to uncover it to know it was a warning against danger.

Tucking away her wand, she clung to the trees around the pitch’s edge, using the overhead branches to steady herself as she rounded the trap. Beneath the repaired layers of web she could hear the chattering of hidden spiders. It nearly made her want to trip the trap on purpose, but doing so would be as good as discarding Vex’s clue, and she didn’t want to be ungrateful.

So she made it to the other side of the pit without incident and was about to continue on her way when a sound from off the path gave her pause. It was different that the soft pattering of spider feet that surrounded her on every side, different than the chattering that echoed ominously off the trees. It was closer, for one thing, and it sounded pained.

Unable to ignore the cries of an injured animal, Taryn pushed aside the brambles, peered into the shadows, and gasped.

A lone acromantula the size of a standard poodle struggled to free its front three legs from a tangled mass of its own web. From the state of the knots, she guessed that it had been struggling for quite a while. A nasty potion burn bubbled on its abdomen, while one back leg had been embedded with glass shards that oozed thick, colorless blood. Worse, though, was where it had been trapped: Tangled in the scorched web and burned briars were the fragmented bodies of a hundred other spiders. They weren't acromantuala, thank god, only a nest of ordinary wolf spiders. But still, to be trapped with their bodies would be, for the spider, like a living hell.

“You poor baby!” The Task at hand momentarily forgotten, Taryn leapt into the trees and knelt at the captive acromantula’s side. It let out a shriek and tried to bite her, but couldn’t twist far enough in its bonds. She placed a giant hand on its un-injured thorax and rubbed a soothing circle into its skin. “Hush, baby, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help. Just hold still and I’ll get you out of here, okay?”

The acromantula shuddered, peered fearfully up at her with its eight black eyes, and stilled.

As she began to work, Taryn heard the chattering of other spiders drawing closer through the trees. However, none of them moved to attack. They must be waiting to see what she did with their kin. Acromantula, she knew, had some degree of sentience. They created no culture and no law and were therefore disqualified from the status of ‘being,’ but they could think and reason and even speak a human language if properly exposed.  She would have to move carefully, so that none of her actions could be misconstrued.

First she used Aquamenti to wash the lingering potion from the wound. The spider gave a squeak of surprise, then made a soft noise very much like a sigh as the cool water soothed its burn. Then she carefully Vanished the glass using Evanesco and, for good measure, attempted to close the gash with Vulnera Sanentur. But healing spells had never been her forte, so it only managed to clot the bleeding, leaving the spider’s leg with a series of ugly, jagged red wounds.

“That’s gonna scar,” she warned it, tugging open her heavy purple button-down to reveal the white t-shirt underneath. “But I think it should heal up just fine. Let me get it wrapped and we’ll be all done here. Diffindo.”

Her t-shirt ripped open across the stomach, giving her a good clean break from which to tear off the bottom half. She tore it further into makeshift bandages and layered them over the wounds, adding a Sticking Charm to cover the burn for good measure. Finally, she turned her wand on the webs, Severed them with a few quick strokes, and dragged their sticky threads away from its skin. “There you go. All better now. Go on.”

The spider didn’t need to be told twice. Without looking back, it scuttled off into the trees.

As Taryn returned to the path, she could pick out a dozen other acromantula lurking in the trees, but none of them moved to attack her. Perhaps she’d earned a reprieve for the rescue. She offered the trees a salute of thanks, tied the button-down off under her ribs, and broke into a jog. There was lost time to be made up, after all.

The path curved ahead for a few moments longer, at one point drooping so low that Taryn was forced to her hands and knees in order to get through. By the time she'd passed that section, the chattering had started up again. She kept her wand raised, its tip gleaming, expecting a trap or attack at any moment and bristling with excitement. Her wand buzzed in her grasp, sharing her anticipation whole-heartedly. It was the same expectancy that she -- they -- got when stepping into the rodeo pen. To think that, just out of sight, there lurked a powerful magical beast ready to struggle to the death if it meant bringing you down, it was a thrill unlike anything else she'd ever known.

It was almost as good as basketball. Not quite, but almost.

She was so hyped up with the anticipation that she almost missed the last Mark on her way past and had to double-back. The carving here was slightly different than the rest, like handwriting. So this one belonged to Tracy rather than Vex. When she revealed it, it pointed not at a direction on the path, but at a cluster of berry-laden bushes that she'd not noticed before. She stared at them. The berries, so dark in the gloom that the resembled acromantulae eyes, stared back.

"Frick," she thought. "Shoulda paid more attention in Herbology."

Still, Tracy would not leave the note for no reason. He knew plants better than most anyone Taryn'd ever met. So there must've been a reason he wanted to point these out. Taryn'd said from the beginning that she'd trust her teammates, and they'd given her no reason to doubt now.

She reached for the bushes, only to yank her hand back when an acromantula head suddenly burst from within, its jaws snapping at the place where her fingers had been. Taryn yanked back, her startle response the first to chime in - instead of summoning any spell, she smacked the spider with her wand. The acromantula -- now revealed as larger than the one she'd helped, perhaps even full-grown -- gave an annoyed shriek and lept into the path, intent to run her down.

"That's what I'm talking about!" she crowed. "C'mon!" She dodged the spider's strike and rolled, one leg extending under the bush to steady her balance as she slid. Searing pain shot up that leg, and she yelped, kicking straight up through the bush. The second spider, which had sunk its mandibles into the flesh of her calf. was thrown back, but recovered in an instant to surge forward, three others in its wake.

This was quickly getting out-of-control. Taryn somersaulted backwards, bounded to her feet, and fired off a barrage of spells -- "Stupefy, Obex, Alarte Ascendare!" -- to keep the acromantula at bay. The last one sent a spider flying, but it still left four to deal with. She'd need something bigger.

She drove a hand into her pocket. There were five stones there, two each from Vex and Tracy, and one enchanted all on her own. She seized two on instinct and hurled them straight into the heart of the acromantula mob. She covered her eyes with her arm a moment before they struck the ground. One went off with a loud bang and a cloud of smoke, while the other brought a blinding flash and a voice that sounded somewhat but not entirely like Tracy, bellowing for attention in a stadium crowd.

That was her cue. She charged like a linebacker, knocked aside the momentarily-stunned spiders' limbs, and snatched a fistful of berries as she shot by. She kept running, clutching her leafy prize and holding down the stetson with her wand-hand, letting the hat take the brunt of the trees' abuse. Behind her, she heard the spiders hiss and give chase, but they only went a few feet before giving up and returning to their posts.

When she was certain that they weren't following her anymore, Taryn slowed to a stop and knelt in the firm, dry soil to investigate her bitten limb. Her pants leg was torn, and half the sock beneath it stained with blood. Only the adrenaline pumping through her veins kept it from hurting like hell; now that it faded, she bit her lip to hold in the pain. 

Still, she'd lucked out. With its brief bite, the spider hadn't enough time to fill her with even enough poison to knock out a normal student. At her size, she could feel a sluggish weight being added to her muscles, as though she'd gotten off eight straight hours of hard training, but it wasn't enough to put her down. Not yet. She killed the pain with a simple charm and kept moving. It wouldn't be long now. She was bound to be at the end soon.

She kept to walk now, partially to take it easy on her leg and partially so she could examine the entire half a bush she'd accidentally managed to drag with her, instead of the bough she'd been aiming for. She ran through the possibilities of what a plant could do to spiders and -- ruling out the idea of spider-nip -- decided to just go with her first instinct, crushing the berries in her palm and smearing the resulting juice over her bare skin.

Finally, she reached the final clearing. There was her Box, smack dab in the center, all on its own. Massive webs rose all around it, hiding the clearing in gloom. Taryn paused at the entrance, lifting her wand high to cast the beam as far as it could go. She couldn't see anything, but this was no time to take chances. She pulled the stetson from her head and tossed into the ring like a frisbee, aiming for the ground beyond the prize.

And there she was. The Mother of All Spiders. Literally.

Her massive leg shot from a cave-like nook between the webs, crushing the hat into the earth as easily as a human could swat a fly. Taryn swallowed. The mother acromantula was larger than any bull Taryn had ever wrestled, even the Crimean ones. She was even bigger than Hagrid, large enough to frighten a pure-blooded giant. She was tremendous. She was terrifying.

Taryn loved her instantly. But she had a Task to complete, for Salem's sake, so she couldn't indulge. It was time to see if she'd gotten Tracy's hint. She burst into a run, charging for the box with her arms raised. The mother acromantula crashed from her hole a moment later. Her steps were longer than Taryn's by far.  Before Taryn could make even half the distance to box, the spider's mandibles closed over her arm. Then, the mother jerked, made a disgusted noise, and tossed Taryn away.

Taryn barely managed to keep her balance and swore beneath her breath. Okay, so the berries made her taste bad. That was good, she couldn't afford any more venom in her system. But it was also bad. The spider was still coming. She needed another plan.

"Vapos Nebulae!" Thick, dusk-purple smoke bellowed from the end of her wand, blanketing the clearing. In the same instant, Taryn dropped another enchanted stone. The resulting  BANG masked the rustle of branches as she dove back into the trees. The mother acromantua hissed in disappointment and retreated, not back to her cave, as Taryn had hoped, but crouching over the box.

Taryn scowled out from her hiding place, not daring to move an inch. The smoke screen wouldn't last much longer, and there were still smaller spiders in the woods. She'd have to move soon, so she had to focus, and ignore the fact that the berry juice made her smell like an alcoholic fruit salad. She tapped the last two of her stones into her right hand, clutched her wand with her left, and waited.

The moment the Mother's eyes were turned she flung the two rocks with all her might over the spider's head. One burst  against the wall on the far opposite side of the clearing, while Vex's voice laughed down from the trees. The mother's eyes were drawn up and away, and Taryn took her chance, flinging her wand back into its proper hand as she leapt from the trees. "Riata Laquem![1]"

Snap! Out popped the trusty lasso from the tip of her wand. It arched through the air, its loop growing wider with every foot, and snagged perfectly over the Mother's giant jaws. Taryn seized the rope and yanked, pulling with all the strength that she could muster. If only, if only she could get the right leverage, she could pull the spider over and then...

But it was no use. Against the smaller acromantula, those the size of dogs or horses, she might have stood a chance. But against the Mother, there was nothing to be done. It struggled for only a moment, reared back, and yanked Taryn straight off her feet before she knew what was happening. She flew over the Mother's head, turned upside-down in mid-air and slammed, back-first, into the mass of web that coated Quidditch pitch walls. Between Taryn’s size and the sheer force of the blow, the impact rattled stands like the ripples from a skipping-stone.

Taryn dropped, winded and stunned. She choked, coughed, forced the air into her lungs. She had to get up. Had to. Had to reach the box. Had to win. But the the Mother was upon her again, and she couldn't think fast enough. Her hands shot up, abandoning her wand, and caught the mandibles before they could close on her shoudler and neck. Only the foul taste of the berry juice kept the Mother's bite at bay, and even that could not last forever. Taryn was pinned, she was trapped, she couldn't get away...

And then, there came a high-pitched voice from above. “Maw-there! Muh-ther!”

The giant mandibles froze so close to her skin that Taryn held her breath for fear of a prick. Eight gigantic eyes rolled upwards in sets of two, until all had settled on the small spider clinging to the webs above their heads. Taryn thought, stupidly, that it looked familiar. Once it had the larger beast’s attention, it began to speak in the clicks and hisses of insects rather than any human tongue. Taryn tried to tug an arm free while the creatures was distracted, but to no end. The Mother was simply too strong.

After a long moment, the eight eyes returned to the pinned half-giant, and something inside clicked inside its jaw. “Child tells you healed him.”

It took a moment for Trayn to ferret out the meaning in the odd words. “…Oh!” That’s why it looked so familiar. Now that she looked, she could recognize the bandaging on its leg. “Yes! I, uh…Yeah. I did.”

“Why?”

Taryn swallowed. There was so little space between her neck and the creature’s fangs that she could feel the point leaving an indent in her skin, but it did not break through. Yet. “Well, uh. He got caught. An’ I know he prob’ly coulda gotten loose, but it would’ve taken a while and probably hurt a lot. I didn’t wanna see that.”

“Why?”

“’Cause it ain’t fun if the critters get hurt.”

Taryn’s eight reflections stared down at her, slightly warped in the surface of the huge black orbs. The Acromantula Mother stayed very still for a long, quiet moment. Then she huffed something that sounded surprisingly like a sigh and shuffled back on her eight massive legs. “Two minutes.”

Taryn was so surprised that she’d been released that she continued to lay there, among the web, only hoisting herself into a sitting position to keep her eye on the giant spider. “What?”

“I'm giving you two minutes. For child. Take the box and go.”

The information finally clicked. Taryn leaped up, grabbed her wand, and scrambled for the box, babbling wildly as she did. "I, wow. This is. Wow. Wow! Thank you so much. Really. Thanks." With her hands an inch from the box's surface, she stopped again and looked back up. "Um..."

“What is it?”

“…I’m Taryn. What’s your name?”

Each of the mother spider’s four pairs of eyes blinked in sequence. “Mosag.”

“And him?”

Mosag looked up at the smaller spider, who still clung to the webs above her head. “Child has no name, yet. Soon, he will find.”

“Well then, if you don’t mind, I have suggestion: Androcles.” Taryn grinned up at the newly-scarred arachnid, who clicked his pincers. She took that as a sign of approval.

There was only a minute left to her reprieve now, but Taryn didn’t retreat just yet. She reached out her hand, though better of it, and pulled it against her chest with a sigh. “Listen Mama – Mosag – I just wanna say thanks. I know it probably took a lot to let yer people, yer family, get involved in this, an’ some of the others ain’t been good to you for it. But me, I had a blast.  I just want you to know, even if no one else appreciates what'cha did, I do. And I want'cha to know that you’re gorgeous and you’ve got beautiful children, and…and I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun. So thanks. For everythin'.”

Mosag eyed Taryn for a long quiet moment. Then she said, “Ten seconds remain.”

Taryn smirked and picked up her box. With a rush of color and air, she was back in the Champion’s tent, flat on her back, covered in berry juice, smelling like a fruit cocktail, and grinning like a loon. 

1.	Taryn's signature, the Lariat Spell

Head held high, neck swanlike, hands clenched with cool determination, one bearing the wand that was her weapon, her defense, her lifeline, Magdalena took three swift steps into the arena. Pride was a natural resource, and she knew better than to look tepid. She also knew that an abundance of hotheadedness could easily cut short one’s venture into stadium. Thus, it was with a careful eye and calm demeanor that she paused to consider her lot.

Webs. Everywhere. Webs implied precisely one thing.

Magdalena nodded once, almost unintelligibly to the spectator’s gaze, and proceeded forward. She took the path to the left, and then wound rather sharply to the right, when the first path began to widen into an almost cove-like niche. She continued to move at a steady diagonal path toward the other end of the arena, the hunters’ compass of her mind-- an inheritance her grandfather, not an almost innate talent after years of trekking through forests and dancing grand duels with the warrior Headmaster-- propelling her. But as her path grew steadily south-bound, the trees grew denser with bruise-hued fruit. There was a familiar quality to them, and flashes of bustling, colorful Copenhagen summer markets brimming with imports came to mind, a stark contrast to this shadowy labyrinth of slick, silky, fatal webs. These fruits were used for brewing.

If their prettiness was meant to lure champions, Magda doubted it was for the express person of poisoning students. Never mind the fact that anyone dense enough to pause to have a picnic in the trees did not deserve to put their name in the Goblet of Fire, let alone see it spit grandly from the flames. She tore her eyes from the fruit and continued to walk, her steps becoming more careful, her ears alert, her eyes predatory and prickly at once. The fruit, though she chose not to make use of it, was nevertheless a warning.

The first clicking was faint. And then it was echoed. Magda stopped in her tracks.

Whirling around, she only caught sight of it coming at her just before it was upon her. She moved just enough to avoid being bitten, but the ticklish legs, which were not so ticklish at their size, brushed over her, one slicing her cheek as swift as a terrible parchment cut. She winced and drew in a sharp breath at the pain, was immediately stinging. Her fingers moved reflexively to her cheek, and came back slightly coated in fresh, bright red. She knew the scent would be tempting to larger Acromantulas, and there had to be larger ones here, judging by the size of the webs.

The first one disappeared into the brush, and she knew by the clicking that began to chorus like death bells, that more were gathering, getting close. They would come from the direction in which the one had just scuttled.

Wand posed like a knife, Magdalena cut through the air, searing a large branch that was more like a log, with many smaller, spindly clusters of growth. It glowed orange-red where it met the tree’s strong core, and then the wound went coal-black and ashy gray, and suddenly it was no longer attached. It landed with a sturdy thud, sending a small wave of dust a few inches into the air. Mostly, it was softened by the webbed floor of the arena, a rare advantage to this graveyard ecosystem. Magda waved her wand again, as if it were a whip, as if she had wielded such a simple weapon for a thousand centuries. As she did so, she whispered, “Scolopendra gigantea maxima[1].” There was no pity in her face, only cool determination, as the broken branch began to rattle. Magda was adept with plants and potions, but did not have an Herbologist's heart. She was certainly accomplished in Transfiguration. Where the knobby roots had been an eye’s blink ago, they were smooth, sharpened with sickening detail. Appendages. Bits of green leaf became a stomach-churning reddish clay color, but glossier than clay, and much, much less pleasant. Smaller branches became a hundred yellow legs.

If any sentiment came to her, it was visible in the tiniest of smiles, which dotted her lips like an interlude to a visage that was otherwise consistently icy while it worked, dangerous its apathy for the creatures whom she was about to ruin. She recalled her twelfth birthday. Her grandfather had taken her on a hunting trip to South America, to the clandestine depths of a mammoth rain forest. And with his crossbow slung over one impressively huge arm, and his wand wielded wisely in his hand, he had taught her about their enemies’ enemies, from the smallest and most poisonous, to the grizzly, clawed shadows who could overwhelm an abraxon. Though at its very heart, it could not be domesticated, predicted, made to answer, Magda knew what many people did not. The wilderness was politics and blood.

Though average spiders were hardly crossbow-yielding trophies for richly hued dens in the cold, foresty parts of Europe, they were nasty things. Clearing a house of other unwanted pests was one thing. But here they were huge, beastly, and served no purpose but to get in Magda’s way.

The centipede was easily thrice her grandfather’s height. Its pincers would make any number of strong-willed people queasy, and that was at its usual size. Now, they rivaled the spiders’, they were repulsive and terrible, chill-inducing. Magdalena stood her ground as its creator. She frisked her wand at it, agitating it, repelling it, sending forward, away from her and toward the webs.

A high-pitched scream from spiders waiting above warned the others of its coming. Arachnid legs were ideal for speed; centipedes had many times the same number, and the luxury of a wormy, snaky belly that could cling just as easily to smooth vertical surfaces, and could-- arguably-- move even faster.

The ones who had made it out of the brambles to attack to the Oberteil were met with the centipede’s clawed forcipules. The crowd, until now barely audible, let out a roar of horror that crashed like Magdalena’s tidal wave upon the ship that summer.

She could not blame them. It was brutal to watch. The centipede fell upon the first few spiders, medium in size, within ten seconds. It ignored the smaller ones, who would make a fine dessert. Tangles of legs moved like branches in a storm. The centipede was engaged in a half dozen fist-fights, winning some, losing others, but it mattered not. Its claws did most of the work, and what legs it lost, it had more than enough to make up for.

As it went at bits of arachnid like garden shears, the centipede inspired the wrath of the mother spider a million times over; even from across the arena, the deeper clicking was distinguishable. Magda raised her head. It was torn between saving its clan, destroying Magdalena, and staying where it was-- which told the girl that she had to continue in that direction.

She used the same cutting whip spell with which she’d cut the tree to repel a few spiders-- they looked to be the smallest-- who were not ensnared with centipede or hiding from it, and narrowly missed another pair of pincers as she drove them toward the centipede. Then she was off, toward the throaty cry of revenge.

She was just past the clearing, heading south again, when she paused, turned back, and saw the mess the centipede had made. The land might as well have been smoking, it was so ruinous. Magda summoned the creature, using a shrinking spell, and promptly trapped it in a tiny glass vial she wore on a black string beneath her uniform. She held it to the light. It rattled in rebellion. It seemed to have a few wounds, some missing legs, but nothing too damaging. She did not so much as tap the glass with impatience as she left the clearing.

She came upon the mother’s territory sooner than she had imagined. Suddenly she was there, in its circular clearing, with its web spanning what seemed like the entire southern portion of the arena, where the quidditch hoops might have stood on any other day. (She had spent plenty of time on the green, contemplating, taking advantage of the space to practice, before today’s task.)

The mother was massive, as unforgiving as the girl herself. It could smell the death of its young clinging to the witch, who had not even gotten her hands dirty in the slaughter. Magdalena felt her feet ache in a way that seemed unique to dueling her grandfather.

She did not need to formulate another plan. She knew what she had done had been impressive, and she was in her element now. She took out the vial, opened it, and emptied it onto the webbed earth. Immediately she engorged the centipede back it its initial size. As it oriented itself, caught scent on the Acromantula (who was now hissing in protest, like a bull kicking at the earth), Magda’s eyes landed on the ground beneath the heart of the web. The box was meant for her.

Where even the largest of naturally sized centipedes were hard pressed to break human flesh, and a spider’s bite was nary a two tiny marks, one could hear the pincers and claws, swordlike as they went to combat. The spider wrapped itself round the centipede, belly to belly, using its poisonous pincers for the offense. The centipede squirmed slickly, its many free legs obliging, returning the favor of a full-body lock. Its clawed, venomous head was like a goat’s, a bad omen for those who would divine.

Magda danced on nimble toes toward the web of webs, where the box grew ever more solid, more tangible. She was steps away. Only a few spidery arms swiped at her, pincers clicking furiously, frantically-- the mother’s brood had come to aid its matron. They were mad with chaos, unsure where to go. Superficial cuts bloomed on her cheek, again, and neck, but they were not enough to deter her.

“You will pay for this,” the mother hissed at her, hotly, promising, as it wrestled the centipede. “Men think they are great, but they will be tangled in the webs they weave.”

She paused, her sharp face quirking up at the spider’s many eyes, her hands hovering over the box. “I am no man.” She grabbed the box and stood up, posture straight, face unforgiving, and disappeared from the arena.

1.	Amazonian giant centipede, known to eat rodents, birds, and arachnids, including tarantulas. This is the same thing, on a larger scale (“maxima”) to match that of the spiders’.

Erin regarded the mess of webs and brambles currently transforming his Pitch. Acromantulas. He couldn't have been more excited if it'd actually been dragons. He felt adrenaline fill him, rising in a tingling tide over fear and common sense, but tried to remember how he'd trained. Strategizing - that was what he was supposed to do. Bloody great wicked spiders - ! No. Strategizing.

What were his strengths? Speed, stubbornness, athleticism, the ability to take a pounding and spring back up again.... perfect for a thing like this. Erin took a moment to thank Merlin and Professor Vaillancourt and anyone else who might've ever taken an interest in his scruffy blond self. He was deeply grateful this hadn't turned out to be an intellectual challenge.

Probably he was expected to dart off into the cowering darkness, but first things first. He had a little prepping to do. Filled with the white rush of adrenaline, Erin quickly tapped his shoes with his wand, trotted off his favorite speed-spell, and was instantly rewarded with a spring-like lightness. He bounced easily on balls of his feet, grinning. He switched his wand from one hand to the other, cast a sticking charm into the palm of his right, then transferred his wand back. Sure, he'd have to get someone to unstick it after the challenge, but at least now he wouldn't drop it if suddenly attacked.

Maybe there was more he should do, but Erin couldn't think of it now. He wanted to dart into that darkness and start kicking some spider arse. Planning wasn't really his strong suit, but by Merlin, was he good at starting fires and blowing up bits of things and punching other things in the face. He planned to do just that.

There was nothing obvious in the first branch. Barely pausing to consider Erin went right, running in great fast bounds like a gazelle on steroids.

The first trap registered as barely a blip on his progress. One foot came down, the trap door sprang open, and without thinking Erin caught himself on the lip and pushed, Quidditch-toned arms propelling him easily forward where he rolled into a crouch and then started running again.  Erin didn't even realize he should've been sweating until behind him an orchestra of angry screeches and clicks exploded from the pit. He wasn't scared of the acromantulas and was in fact quite looking forward to fighting one, but the nightmare symphony of thwarted spiders put a little extra speed in his step of the "holy-shite-I-almost-fell-into-that" variety.

He reached the next trap in record time. The glossy berries on these vines didn't catch his attention - the pony-sized spiders bursting out of them did. "Incendio!" Erin roared, and a split-second later, "Petrify! Petrify! Er, incendio plutifus!" Fire crackled from his wandtip like a wide-lashed whip, catching where it touched and then spreading to where it hadn't. The spiders sizzled and screamed as they burned, and Erin started to run again. Funny, though. The berries didn't burn.

Without thinking he veered left, though both potential corridors looked clear. When he reached a place where webs blocked the path, strung from one side to the other, he felt another flare of excitement. It stood to reason that more traps meant he was going the right way, yeah?

He cut through them with jets of fire again, watched the webs curl in the heat and drop in ragged strips to the ground. Erin was full to the brim with white-hot energy, bouncing in place as he waited for the flames to clear a path ahead, and though the clicking from the webs reached a frenzied pace he'd nearly died of anticipation by the time the first spider sprang out at him.

There were more of them this time, but Erin had an endless supply of brute strength and a manic light in his eyes. He threw off offensive spells like they were going out of style, whirling in place, shouting himself hoarse, and grinning the whole time. He spun, cast, spun again, attempted to leap backwards to avoid another spider's stab and accidentally catapulted himself into the wall. His panicked jerk away sent him bouncing over another spider's head. Okay, so he'd really never used this speed spell for anything other than running in straight lines.... but Erin was, if anything, adaptable, and flipping in the air like an acrobat was extraordinarily fun. He flung himself under another spider's clicking mandibles, stomped a foot hard into the ground, and shot straight up through the tangle of vines overhead. For an instant, he was above the whole mess. The crowd was just a roaring blur - the rest of the Pitch unrecognizable, unhelpful, no clear obvious routes from above except a great domed space at the end. Erin dropped after the split-second view into a seething nest of spiders.

But even they struggled to bite the teeth-baring Champion who seemed more wriggling eel than boy. Erin leapt about like a madman and always seemed to dart just out of the way. He forgot himself a little in the excitement and rained left-handed punches down on hairy carapaces, which confused the spiders more than hurt them. They flinched back from his flames but clicked their mandibles in annoyance when he started to vocalize short sharp shouts of joy. Erin was having so much fun he hardly knew what to do with himself. Was there a time limit on this thing?

Eventually the ones that were left withdrew, leaving the path ahead charred and spotted here and there with twitching spider forms. The space smelled acrid, and Erin, sweating and dazed, bounced in place. Had he actually killed them? Or were they just stunned? Best not to stick around to find out, though he kicked one happily on his way past.

There weren't any obvious spiders at the end trap he came across, but webbing blocked the way once more. Erin stood at a distance and cut through swatches of webbing with fire again, since it'd proved so helpful before. Faint clicking came from around him, but nothing showed itself as he burned the trap down.

Or its shielding, anyway. With the webs over it gone there was nothing at this end of the tunnel but a dirt wall and a deep pit. Though he stood well away from the pit, Erin felt a distinct sinking sensation. If it'd taken him this long to fight to a dead end, how long would it take for him to backtrack?

Cursing, he turned to run, and that was when the acromantulas struck again.


He fought off a slew of them, but it'd taken its toll in a way the first charge hadn't. Drenched in sweat, smeared with dirt and spider guts, and scraped up all over from several close calls, Erin jogged back the way he'd come. He was slower now, muscles locking up on him from exertion, breath rattling over his lungs, and he nearly screamed in frustration when he came across the trap he'd demolished just before. The path still smelt of smoke, the brambles were still blackened, but nebulous trails of webbing already strung themselves across the path as the spiders rebuilt. Tearing it down again cost him time, more time, and he'd already wasted so much. Merlin, he must have demolished most of the course by now. Though he could take at least a little pride in that, Erin's thoughts were full of anger and frustration by the time he met the Mother. He snarled at her where she loomed enormous over his box, and she hissed back.

He stomped closer, trailing a string of curses that would make a dragontamer blush. Erin favored his left leg, and as he approached made sure to drag it. Mutter, drag. Mutter, drag. The great spider watched him with suspicion.

"Can't see why I couldn't have a bloody broom," he finished, and finally in range the acromantula struck. Erin's head jerked up, his arm lashed out, and he snapped, "Incendio plutifus!" The whip of flames struck the Mother in the face; she recoiled with a high squeal, and Erin dropped the lame act and darted to the side. He dove under her great belly. With all the strain and concentration he put into that moment when it was just him and the Snitch, he flung out a hand. His world narrowed to the box and the box alone, and he hooked it by the corner just as something snagged the leg of his trousers. Erin felt a tremendous pressure in his shin, a burst of heat and pain. He heard the triumphant scream of the Mother spider. But by then he'd touched the box, and the tell-take hook of a portkey grabbed him and took him far away from 8-legged death and the sour trepidation of last place.

He appeared in the Champion's tent, arms locked around the box and his face grey. Blood trickled from his leg and he felt numb around the edges as the poison sunk in, but he'd finished the Task now and no one would mind very much if he passed out. Bollocks to this. Representing his school was hard.

Corey was one of the last -- maybe the very last -- of the champions to enter the pitch. Since he had spent most of the time in the Champions tent in his own little world trying to block everything else out, he had not noticed who had come and gone.

As soon as the tent flap closed behind him and the darkness settled in, Corey slowly crouched down so he could take a moment and get a feel for his surroundings. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness -- which was not unlike what had been found in the Forbidden Forest when he and Advisor Gries had toured during the previous month -- and he started to see the clues as to what he wad going to encounter in this task: Acromantulas.

A mixture of feelings coursed through him as he recognized that his knowledge of magical creatures -- and even muggle creatures (like the Acromantula's many spider cousins, for what boy didn't have a pet spider in his youth?) -- was going to be quite useful. But perhaps because of this knowledge, Corey also knew that his job was not necessarily going to be any easier. The large beasts were every bit as formidable as his beloved dragons and the famed Nundus. Corey decided that while the other Champions might see this as their chance for fame and doing their part for school glory, he was going to use this to further his experiences in working with magical creatures.

Corey allowed himself a moment more of considering what should be done next before he took his wand and aimed it at his standard issue Beauxbatons boots, which were broken in a great deal more for this kind of strenuous activity than those worn by others at his school. Even so, he swallowed a chuckle as he remembered words exchanged between himself and Étienne earlier in the month. The other boy's declaration of "If I wish not to make any noise, there are easier ways to mute footsteps than to tiptoe." As he cast the spell, Corey silently thanked his classmate for being ornery about such things.

Standing from his crouched position, Corey also did something that others might not have immediately considered: he lit his wand with the rather simplistic Lumos. Neither spell was going to keep him completely safe from the arachnids, but as soon as Corey began to walk down the left path, he felt comforted that at least he could see his enemy before they pounced.

As he continued down the left path, Corey eventually approached what appeared to be yet another divergent path. To the left was a dense wall of webs. He slowly moved his wand hand back and forth in front of him and caught sight of what looked to be irredescent sparkles reflecting back from deep within the brambles, signaling the presence of his predators lying in wait.

Bonnes araignées, he thought to himself, in an effort to keep his mind calm. He felt as if every part of his body were on fire with anxious anticipation and it was this response that he knew he had to keep in check -- the one that would likely make a rash decision.

Corey knew though that he needed to give the Acromantulas in hiding a reason to pounce. Since that appeared to be the mindset of those who devised the task -- to force a confrontation between Champion and magical beast -- Corey felt he might as well give them what they wanted and meet the challenge straight on. Provoke them so that it was at least their attack was his terms. 

Like Teodosio had done before him, Corey hacked away at the web with his wand, but unlike his classmate, Corey knew what to anticipate in doing so. He steadied his wand and sent a jet of flames to a thick patch of brambles nearby, effectively creating the illumination he would need to work that would be lost without the use of lumos. He turned just in time to see one of the spidery creatures leap from its hiding place -- dark eyes now flickering with flame light -- and seemed to fly towards him.

Corey aimed his wand and almost instinctively thundered a French equivalent of Concusso directly at the oncoming threat. Knowing that this would not harm any other attackers, Corey turned again, wand at the ready. Quickly considering the anatomy of the spider kin, Corey sent stunning spells to the area of several oncoming Acromantulas that consisted of the head and thorax. This essentially rendered them immobile, though it wouldn't permanently damage them like a puncture to the area would. Still, for the time being, Corey would be able to get away and continue on the path before him.

The path seemed to darken again and instead of lighting the way as before, Corey attempted to navigate this stretch more on instinct. Unfortunately, his instincts wouldn't help much in what appeared to be a dead end.

Or was it?

His eyes attempted to focus in the darkness, zeroing in on the large pit or, in spider-verse -- burrow -- to see a sole silky white caccoon. Corey thought he saw the remnants of a face, that of his classmate, Teodosio. He almost looked dead. Or peacefully sleeping.

Corey's head whipped around as he heard the sounds of oncoming Acromantulas. Quickly, thoughts flooded his mind. Did he try to free Teo? Or was it a trap? Surely if he did, it would set off another onslaught of attackers...in a dead end. Did he have time? Could he afford to get stuck here?

But what if he didn't save Teo? What if that too was a test? Previous tournaments had rewarded such actions and gained favor in the minds of the judges. Wouldn't that be the decent thing to do?

Just as Corey was starting to contemplate how his foreign competitors would react or what Teo or Séraphin would do, the choice was made easier for him as he heard the clicking sounds of the Acromantulas jaws closing in.

Corey took off, his long legs carrying him back in the direction from which he just come. He continued to fire off stunning spells at any of the oversized spiders he encountered and when he reached the juncture he had previously pondered, he took the other path this time.

He was met with more of the spiders waiting and this time Corey aimed for their "feet". If they caught fire and the spiders managed to stamp it out, they might at least lose the traction on their legs so vital in being able to get around and sense.

Continuing forward, Corey was grateful for the thickness of his jacket that covered his midsection. These tunnels of brambles seemed a bit more snug, catching on the sleeves of his thermal shirt. It didn't take long before Corey recognized them as Bayberry, with its scent filling his nostrils.

Barely thinking, Corey grabbed for some of the berries and barreled on ahead.

He practically stopped short when the domed lair of the mother Acromantula came into sight. He racked his brain for what he could do next.

And then he looked down at the berries in his hand. And then to his hand with his wand.

In a mere second's time, Corey shrugged off his jacket and then barely registering how it might look to the onlooking crowd, he tore off his undershirt as well. Before he dropped it to the pitch floor, he wiped his brow. Then, putting his wand in his mouth to hold temporarily, he used both his hands to crush the berries before he slathered their juices all over his upper body.

Corey hoped that the sweet scent would mask his own scent as he approached the mother spider.

Taking firm hold of his wand again, Corey crept forward. The looming figure of the Acromantula inched towards him as well, away from the nest and thus the coveted box. She seemed to regard him curiously at first, almost considering if he was a threat. Corey used this to continue moving in on her territory.

And then she reared up in to threat posture. Clearly she didn't believe his masked scent or the idea that he wasn't a threat. Corey anticipated the the movement of her two front legs slapping down towards him. One caught him on his left side, sending him flying - thankfully closer to the nest.

She then moved to attack again and Corey knew this time she would not be kind in what she did. Her fangs were bared and coming straight towards him. Corey rolled onto his stomach and crawled (proudly) like a baby, towards the nest.

He had to make a decision. He knew that he would not be able to make it quick enough to the box before she descended on him. But Corey also knew that if he acted with the last weapon he had, it would cause the mother Acromantula considerable damage. It was a split second decision.

The spell he used was something he had learned during his travels by a naturalist who had worked extensively with the magical beasts. Corey, of course, had never considered he'd need to use it. But the wizard had made him practice anyway -- just in case.

The spell essentially mimicked the effects of some naturally occuring spider repellents, which essentially stripped away the waxy outer layer from their exoskeleton and caused the beast to dehydrate.

Corey winced as the hex left the tip of his wand. As it struck the mother Acromantula, he heard a screech and regrettably knew that it would be potent enough to at least cause her harm so he could complete the task.

But not without the beast suffering.

Gritting his teeth, Corey reached the box and closed his hands around it.

And then the next thing he knew he was back on the floor of the Champions Tent. After looking around to the others, he flopped over on his back and stared up at the tent ceiling. The last thing he thought about before closing his eyes was how mentally and physically exhausted he was. And then, somewhere in the depths of his mind, music began to take over...

Séraphin was one of the last to leave the Champions Tent, dressed in the pale blue robes of the mighty Beauxbatons. Every inch of cloth represented a hundred years of prestige and repute, every fold of fabric was an expectation. He was the former Minister’s son, a celebrity in his own right, and the needs and desires of countless adults fell upon his shoulders. Mr and Mrs Olivier expected their youngest son to succeed, as did Madame Bisclavret – a woman that hid a dragon’s snarl behind a perfect set of pearly whites.

The flap of the tent shut behind him, leaving Séraphin in a world of darkness and Acromantulas. The Hogwarts Quidditch pitch (a feeble attempt at an arena, if he did say so himself) had been transformed, and the French golden boy was feeling a lot less confident. Gripping his wand, teenage trembles were curtailed by an instant employment of unabashed masculinity. He was a man, and he needed to prove such strength – he needed to win. He was born to win.
He immediately careered left, almost sprinting in an attempt to swiftly end this whole affair. Being champion was a glorious honour, that was true, but celebration only came with great achievement. Looking cautiously ahead, the click of Acromantula teeth and the rustle of spidery legs were nowhere and everywhere – he’d yet to see one of the fabled beasts but their presence was undeniable.

Coming to a crossroads in the labyrinthine pitch, Séraphin looked to his left. A wall of spiderwebs, thick, glistening and completely unappealing. Ahead, a narrow but relatively unassuming corner. He could breeze through and tackle the trap head-on, or he could seek another less dangerous route. Circling the crossroads and weighing up his options, Séraphin swallowed. Hard. Despite his reputation as a rule abider, a paragon of Beauxbatons perfection, he made a far less bolder decision. The trap ahead could wait.

Séraphin quickened his pace, his feet stamping into the dirt as his breath grew heavier and heavier. And his heart pounded ferociously, immediately entering another trap. Acromantulas straight ahead. The French teenager began to tremble, the wood of his wand shaking. “Uh…” the sound escaped his lips, and the attention of the vicious beasts was soon on Séraphin himself. His handsome face, usually kissed with a bronze olive hue, quickly drained. There were bushes everywhere, strange berries adorning their branches, but they seemed of little use. Probably a habitat for the Acromantulas, a pit for them to drag Séraphin inside as they closed in.

"Uh..." he stammered once more, numb front teeth biting a quivering bottom lip. Was he, the great Séraphin Olivier, to fall at the first hurdle? Succumb to an unmeasured fear that he had never encountered before? Let down not only his parents, not only Bisclavret, but his entire school?

Of course not.

"Incendio!" he roared, wand pointed at the Acromantulas and shrubbery. One unfortunate creature felt the brunt of the explosion, its lifeless body tossed against a nearby rock face as the bushes went up in flames. The crackle of burning wood soon followed the heartstopping boom, and Séraphin took a step back as the Acromantulas screeched and broiled in the flurry of fire and smog. Séraphin shielded his face, coughing unavoidable as burning plants billowed clouds of lung-wrenching smoke. "Ugh..."

An Acromantula managed to stagger towards the Beauxbatons student, every single hair on its putrid body decorated with a dancing blaze. Séraphin cried out, his wand barely inches from the thousand eyes that peered ferociously. "Flipendo!" The Acromantula was flung back, landing on the bonfire that was verging on the gargantuan. Realising that his chances of getting through this one sole route were getting slimmer by the second, Séraphin felt his stomach drop. There was no other option. Wrapping his robes across his face, tucking bronze fingers inside fabric, he sprinted towards the blaze, diving through as the heat unbearably intensified. Letting out a cry of immediate pain, the searing temperature soon dropped as Séraphin rolled onto the other side, dirt and earth soon extinguishing any signs of immolation. He staggered to his feet, glimpsing back at the fire as he soldiered on, the boy's face stained and brushed with mud and cuts.

A dome soon came into view, a vast construction of silken web and terrifying in size and mystique. The Mother's Lair. Gazing in fear that Séraphin had never experienced before, his legs quaked but still carried him on regardless. He was almost there - he had to do this. Entering the bloodcurdling palace, Séraphin froze at the sight of the Goliath creature. It was insane. "You have no place here," it hissed, "I can literally smell your fear." Séraphin gulped as the it towered over him, mandibles the size of cauldrons soon to be his end.

A large leg soon stamped down towards Séraphin, causing the young wizard to dive out of the way, a cloud of disturbed earth erupting under the sheer force of the Mother Acromantula. Seeing the box, his prize, at the rear of the dome, he immediately set out for it. Olivier's legs carried him at a speed he was unaware was even possible, teeth clenched together as victory came closer and closer. His fingertips inches from the box, Séraphin cried out in pain as he was swept sidewards, the Mother's leg smashing the Beauxbatons champion in the hip. Pinned to the floor, Séraphin roared as the Mother lowered it's mandibles. Saliva dripped onto his face. The stench was gut-wrenching. He closed his eyes. Arm raised.

It was this or nothing.

"Reducto!"

The Mother screeched as it's underbelly was attacked by an explosion of flesh and blood. The creature staggered backwards, and Séraphin broke free, limping towards the box. Another searing pain flashed across his back, and the battered and bruised Beauxbatonite felt a hot liquid run quickly and dangerously down his back, robes becoming heavy and soaked with blood. Almost lifeless, he fell onto the box, eyes closed as he vanished back inside the Champions Tent.

Hanging over his new-found prize, Séraphin forced out a smile, his words barely audible: "Vive le Beauxbatons..."

A final triumphant laugh, and the great Olivier soon blacked out.