In Bloom ━━ Harry Potter

ii. HUBBA HUBBA

"... Moody's a legend," Ernie Macmillan is explaining to Justin Finch-Fletchley in a low whisper. And of course Ernie would know because he knows everything. "Half of Azkaban's cells are full because of him."

Oh. That. Marguerite doesn't know much about her paternal grandfather — like she said, her father never talks about him or the rest of his family — but she's pretty sure that the guy who sent Orestes Blumenthal to Azkaban was an Auror named Moody. She glances around the room, catching Violet's eye at the Ravenclaw table, and from the look on her face, she knows her eldest sister is thinking the same thing.

Dumbledore clears his throat, drawing the room's attention back to him. "As I was saying," he continues with a cheery smile, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" Someone yells from the Gryffindor table and the room bursts into laughter.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore says with a chuckle. "Though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar ..." Professor McGonagall clears her throat, sparing them the anecdote. "Er — but maybe this is not the time ... no ... Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament ... well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely."

And this — this must be the surprise Marguerite's dad had been hinting at all summer.

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities — until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

Her eyes widen with alarm. "I'm sorry," Marguerite hisses, jabbing an elbow into the back of the person in front of her — a boy in her year named Zacharias Smith. "Did he say death toll?"

Zacharias just shrugs.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continues blithely, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt." So that's how her dad knew so much about it. "We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger."

Marguerite wants to be reassured by that. She wants to think that hey, my dad is a fairly smart guy, so this has gotta be safe but ... death toll? Even as a kid, Marguerite was something of a Nervous Nellie. She's always been the type to sweat the big stuff ( climate change, the dwindling bee population, world hunger ) and the small stuff ( stepping on cracks, monsters beneath her bed, the fringe she's still trying to grow out after she cut her hair herself when she was stressed about exams ) — and this tournament definitely sounds like something worth sweating over. She presses her fingers to her temple, wishing for the umpteenth time that she had been born a squib who could attend a normal school with normal kids and normal teachers — teachers that don't collaborate with the government to host international competitions for their students that have literal death tolls attached to them.