The screams and cheers of the spectators rang in Mason's ears, they were cheering for him, and his school, and of course the other eleven champions around him, but he was being cheered for. The quiet, nerdy Ravenclaw was being cheered for, when no one had bothered to give him a passing glance for the past five years. Sonny suddenly felt disgusted. That putting his life on the line for a competition was the only way to get noticed, apparently. Yet his eyes were focused on the official, giving him the tools to survive and his goal to get in and out of the forest as fast as possible.

Mase appeared calm and collected, and part of him was, but the other part of him was screaming for him not to go into the forest, and not be attacked by whatever creatures lurked in the dark woods.

A Snidget

Mason was never interested in Care of magical Creatures and now wished he'd taken the class briefly, all he knew was that they were endangered, once used for quidditch, and wicked fast and damn near impossible to see. The only reason Sonny ever went to quidditch games was because Chloe dragged him along and he read in the stands during the game, he'd barely even stepped on a pitch.

Now, as the golden cages and silver compasses floated down the the champions, Mason's positive energy was obliterated and replaced by complete and utter dread, knowing that there was no way out once he put his hands around the compass. He grabbed it from the air, the frozen bezel cutting through the warmth of his fingerless gloves. He draped the chain around his neck and clutched the pointer near his heart, as if it was the only thing keeping him from passing out on the spot.

The potions only heightened his anxiety. Potions were not his strong point, and the small vial was begging to be uncorked. He hoped it was liquid luck or something that would help him from falling on his face. He rolled the vial in his palm for a moment, then uncorked the glass tube and threw his head back, the glimmering concoction sliding down his throat.

Sonny wished he had his hat to cover his hair from the frozen rain as it drizzled into his curls. He ran a hand through his unruly mane and looked up at the official, hoping for the best.

There was only so much training one could do, even when partnered with such beautiful cohorts. As he stared up towards the speaker, however, he wondered if he could have fit more in somewhere. Then he heard their task, and he momentarily lost his composure as his eyes darting briefly towards his fellow Durmstrangers, frowning with a raise of an eyebrow. Catch a snidget? Long enough for a breath, his face slipped back to a blank, almost bored stare.

Where were the dragons? Lyov focused on the words once again, eyes taking in the ministry official. He still wasn’t sold on how Forbidden the Forest was, but he supposed he was about to get the opportunity. A shoulder rolled while flickering his gaze to the birdcages being lifted.

Once the compass started moving, Lyov stiffened briefly as it hovered in front of him. His hand clasped it, glancing over the face of it momentarily before carefully pocketing it. No sense in losing it, after all.

Next came the potion. Lyov hesitated only momentarily before taking it, allowing a light sniff from a good distance away before toasting it towards his fellow ‘team,’ followed by the tipping of it in his mouth. The liquid ran over his tongue and down his throat, encouraged on by a hearty swallow before he focused once again on the ministry official. A small grimace had settled across his mouth; he wasn't the biggest fan of not knowing what was going on, but assumed attempting to tap into the official's mind was off-limits.

"Snidget... tha' sounds dodgy" Phillip said with a stroppy frown. "Wha' the bloody hell is a snidget?" he whinged with his arms flailing around his body. Knowing his luck, might as well be some rabid scally of a monkey with its mind on detaching his clemmies from his body. Phillip let out a small whimper at the thought and took his hands reflexively to the front of his pants. Bird might make more sense, however, seeing the cage landing at his feet."Birds... Madferit. Minging bloody feathered shed heads" he muttered to no one in particular with all the hate he could summon. Phillip hated birds. Or, for that fact, anything that could land a turd on yer knapper. "I'd rather go and cut down the mightiest tree in the forest with a herring" he mumbled and crossed his arms over his chest.

He sighed in relief, seeing that Hawkins got the compass. They were doomed with 'aving him anyway. But Phillip with a compass might as well be game over before the—thing even started. Everyone was off their trolley for even letting him in this darn tournament... And then he got a facefull of potion and he jumped one feet behind. "Warn a fella, will ye?!" he shrieked with a cracked voice and hand splayed on his heart, willing the barmpot to go back into his chest. He eyed the potion with skenny eyes and huffed. He grabbed the phial and took a sniff. It was oddly familiar, but just on the tip of his tongue. He took it to his lips, then stopped. He wasn't one for thinking 'bout consequences and it wasn't like they'd kill 'em before the task actually started... Right? "Does it have to be alive? The snidgy—snidget thing, I mean..." he shouted in the direction of the ministry lady. What? It wasn't like they specified. He shrugged and downed the phial and then—someone turned off the lights. Or something.

This post is just describing what the champions are experiencing as the potion is ingested. You may still post a response if you wish. Follow the links below to each team's challenge within the Task! Champions, check your Inbox!

As the potions were drunk, the effects began to kick in. It was a sleeping potion! Carefully brewed for specific affect. As each Champion grew drowsy they would first lean back, then sag to their knees, and slowly fall to the ground without hurting themselves. The potion was not to hinder the Champions before the Task--course not! Their wits and reflexes would be tasked tonight.

Once all the champions had been sent to sleep, to them they would awake as if they had merely blinked, although minutes had passed. Some would awake to a section of the forest overrun with fungus[1], others to a snow cleared copse[2], still others to a thicket of tall firs[3] and the last set of Champions in a soggy spot with gnarled roots and a great spiderweb[4].

All the champions were in place in their teams of three.

1.	Natural Corruption
2.	Rise Against
3.	Creep Factor
4.	Phantasmic Tribulations

"Et tu," Corey returned to his classmate with another reassuring nod. He knew that his cohorts this time around were much more amiable than the first task. And he was glad for that. Perhaps their school had a chance to really do well this time if they were truly on the same team

There was little time to continue chatting as the ministry official stood to move the ceremonies along. When she announced their simple task, Corey's brow furrowed deeply. He was familiar with the lore of the golden birds but like many, he was aware of their rareness due to the hunting that had nearly caused their extinction. In his travels, Corey almost once visited the Modesty Rabnott Snidget Reservation, but other venues has called to his interests instead. Now he wished he had. Still, he did remember reading that the birds were very fragile and that would likely hinder their quest even further.

Sighing, he watched as the birdcages and compasses made their way towards the group of champions. Surprisingly, one of the latter ended up just within his grasp. He reached up to take it just as the official sent the vials of potion towards them as well.

Like the others, the Beauxbatons boy was wary of what it contained, but he was fairly certain those planning the tournament would not give them anything to bring them harm -- at least not right at the start of the task. And certainly if they were all being prodded to do so, there was little cause for alarm, right?

Taking the potion in his free hand, he glanced around at the spectators and the rest of the champions. Holding the container up as if making a toast, he called out, "Santé!"