“That dragon got you good,” you murmur lightheartedly, pressing a damp cloth to the boy’s bare chest. You examined his wounds: they weren’t too deep but, while they appeared to be quite painful, he insisted that he’d come to you.

And so he did, and for the past half hour he’d been rambling to you about the the Triwizard Tournament— the Swedish Short-snout, Harry Potter, and the upcoming events. You could only sigh, a warm smile gracing your features as you met his silvery eyes.