The Mudblood

Chapter 38 : Year 3

"I can put your name in, if you want, Fitz," Fred joked as we approached the trio. I shook my head, laughing.

"No, that's quite all right."

"Done it," Fred said in a triumphant whisper to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I rolled my eyes at the three of them as Ron's face twisted in confusion.

"What?"

"The Aging Potion, dung brains," Fred replied.

"One drop each," George said, rubbing his hands together with glee. "We only need to be a few months older."

"They're absolutely mental," I mumbled to Ron as Lee went on about the large sum of money they were sure to win.

Grinning broadly, Fred pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and hurried over toward the Goblet. George followed swiftly behind him, as Fred stood nervously at the tip of the age line, ready to dive in as every eye in the room fixed on him.

"Oh, I hope it doesn't kill him," Hermione moaned. "I told them—"

But, before Hermione could worry any longer, Fred had jumped into the circle, seemingly unharmed. My face gleamed with excitement as George jumped in after his twin, but the high spirits were short lived because almost immediately a loud sizzling sound erupted, and both twins went hurdling out of the circle. They landed with a thud on the cold, stone ground, and with a loud popping noise, they suddenly sprouted long, grey beards.

The Hall erupted with laughter as the twins—also laughing—got to their feet and examined their new beards.

"What do you think, Fitz?" Fred asked, stroking his beard.

"Attractive, really," I replied sarcastically through my giggles. Lee was doubled over because he was laughing so hard, and even Hermione had cracked a smile.

"Why don't you try, Lainey?" George suggested. "You'd look great with a beard."

I rolled my eyes as I walked over to the two old men. "C'mon, let's take you two to the hospital wing—"

"What's wrong, Fitz? Afraid of a little facial hair?" Fred teased as he took the end of his long beard and tried to wiggle it in my face. I flinched back, scrunching my nose in disgust.

"Ew—I don't want your old man beard in my face—c'mon," I grunted, grabbing his arm and nearly dragging him out of the Great Hall. People were still snickering as we hurried out, and Lee followed quickly behind us, howling the entire time.

"Boy—am I glad I didn't try that," he panted as we hurried up to the third floor.

"At least we know we'll still be good looking when we're old," George commented.

"All you have right now is beards—just wait until you get all wrinkly and saggy and gross," I retorted, my nose twitching in a repulsed manner.

"Well, Fitz, if the three of us don't stand a chance, who will be the champions?" Fred questioned, glancing at me sideways.

I eyed him, trying to stop my lips from curling. "What makes you think that I know?"

"Oh, come off it," George scoffed. "We know you know. You've been far too calm about all of this."

"Well, I do know, but I don't plan on telling any of you. You'll just have to wait until this evening, just like everyone else," I replied coolly. None of them seemed too pleased by my answer, but surprisingly none of them pressed on. I suppose they enjoyed the suspense of it—something I certainly missed. The moment that each of the three champions put their names in, I was given the revelation that the Goblet would choose them. However—for some odd reason—I felt the looming sense that there would be a fourth champion, although I didn't know whom. That prediction had to be wrong, though, didn't it? Only three champions could compete...