Chapter 1: I Receive the Worst Kind of News
The morning is brisk, a cloudy day that serves as a transition from a warm summer to a colorful autumn. As always, the train station bustles with life, full of wizards ready for another year at Hogwarts. I am breathless amidst the crowd, my father by my side as I eagerly scan the crowd in search of my friend, Cedric.
"Do you see Cedric?" I ask, glancing at my dad.
"Hey, at least pretend you still care about your old man," my dad says and grins, holding his arms open for me.
"I do care," I protest and hug him tightly. "I'm just excited."
"I know, sweetie. I'm teasing. Go on, get a compartment. Be safe."
"I will, thank you, dad. Tell Nat I'll miss her."
"Of course," he says and leans to peck my forehead, releasing me with a small smile.
I smile at him and push into the crowd, my trunk behind me. I continue searching for Cedric. He really shouldn't be so hard to find given his height.
I scoff to myself when I don't see him, vouching to leave him behind. He can find me for a change.
As I prepare to board the train, I'm startled by a pair of hands covering my eyes.
"Guess who," Cedric's voice is playful in my ear.
"Don't be a jerk," I laugh and elbow him. "I've been looking for you."
"I've been looking for you," he says in mock exasperation. "Hurry before all the compartments are taken."
Cedric and I board the train through our bickering about who was looking for who, and who was the problem. Of course, it was him. (It's always him!)
"You know, I think we should protest," he says and pushes into one of the compartments, hoisting his trunk into the overhead bin.
"Yeah? What about?" I ask and hand him my trunk when he gestures for it.
"We should get some adults on the train to keep the students in line. I mean, really! Do they think I'm going to break up fights or stop people from throwing things around? I was doing the same thing until I became a prefect," he says and pushes my trunk beside his.
"It seems like the problem is that you're a prefect," I tell him and sit down beside him as he collapses into his seat.
"You are too," he grunts.
"Yes, but I don't complain about my responsibilities."
"What's the point of doing things you don't want to do if you can't complain?"
"Merlin, Ced, you should be a philosopher," I say. "Look at it this way: at least we don't have to go to the prefects' cabin anymore!"
"Your optimism is the only thing that keeps me going, I swear," he says and tilts his head back to rest against the wall of the compartment.
"I'd bet."
"I have more to complain about. My dad heard a rumor that there's no quidditch this year," Cedric says and sits up.
"No quidditch?" I exclaim and turn to face him. "That's ridiculous."
"It's true."
"Why would they do that? We should organize a coup."
"We should. First, get rid of train patrols. Second, reinstate quidditch."
"I'm serious, Ced," I whine and swat at his arm when he tries to lay it across my shoulders. "Why would they get rid of quidditch? I was so close to breaking the record."
"I know. It sucks."
"Is it permanent?" I ask.
"He says it's just for the year so far."
"Oh, that's so not fair," I whine.
"Maybe my dad was wrong," he suggests with a shrug. "I just don't want you to have a conniption if it's true and you hear it at the feast or something."
"I would not have a conniption," I scoff.
"You would definitely have a conniption," he says with a chuckle.
"Maybe I would have," I relent, "but I won't now that I'm prepared. You really can't judge me. Even if there is no quidditch this year, you still have next year to play. This is my last year."
The train begins to pull away from the station in a gentle lurch.
"I know. I was looking forward to you breaking that record," he says and smiles earnestly. "I'm really sorry, killer."
"I guess it doesn't matter," I say and sigh. "It's just school quidditch. Not a big deal."
"It was a big deal to you, though."
"I don't really want to talk about it, Ced," I say.
"Of course. We don't have to," he says and grabs my hand, hauling me from my seat. "Come on, killer, let's do our rounds."
The entire train ride passes without incident. The students don't often do anything that warrants our involvement. Once, Cedric has to ask a kid to stop dancing in the aisle, but it's more to keep him from embarrassing himself rather than to prevent danger. Of course, we only have to patrol for a small portion of the train ride. The rest of time, Cedric and I chat about our summers. That is until he goes and falls asleep. Then, naturally, I draw on his face with a pen. He's a heavy sleeper, so I take my time on my little masterpiece.
I'm glad when we arrive at Hogwarts, happy to stretch after being cooped up in the train for so long. Cedric, the other prefects, and I have to wait until all the other students leave the train before we're allowed to.
"Cedric... you have a little something..." Marcus Turner says as we wait, gesturing to his face.
"Huh? Something on my face?" Cedric asks, wiping his face obsessively.
"It's, uh... it's a mustache. But... the ends have little hearts. And on your cheeks—"
"Y/N, I'm going to kill you!"
***
I've always found the sorting ceremony to be quite boring. It's the same thing every year. I always pretend to be involved while my stomach growls, and I clap when everyone else does, but I always spend the entire time lost in my thoughts. Mostly about quidditch this year.
Cedric was right about my record being a big deal. To me, at least. I had always loved quidditch, and I was only a few points away from being the first Hufflepuff chaser to score ten thousand points in their school quidditch career. Not the biggest accomplishment ever, but it would have been for me. Quidditch was one of the things that kept me sane throughout the school year, and I struggled to remember how I pulled through without it before I was on the team.
I didn't understand how the school could just get rid of it.
I clap when everyone else does, stirring myself from my thoughts when Cedric elbows me. Just in time, too.
"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch cup will not take place this year," Dumbledore speaks. I look to Cedric, who quirks an eyebrow at me.
"This sucks. I'm dropping out," I whisper to him, and he chuckles before nudging me. I turn my attention back to Dumbledore, who begins to explain himself until the doors slam open. I jump and watch as a man hobbles in and seats himself at the teachers' table. He looks around at all the eyes that were upon him and my mouth goes dry when I see his eye swiveling around wildly. No, not his eye...
"What is happening?" Cedric murmurs in my ear.
"I have no clue," I whisper back as I watch the man take a swig from a flask. "Is he drinking on school grounds?"
Cedric squints. "Is that Mad-Eye Moody?" he asks as his face drops into a mask of reverence.
"Who's Mad-Eye Moody?"
"Alastor Moody," he corrects himself. "He's the most famous Auror of all time."
"Never heard of him," I mutter and look at him. His eye still sweeps around the room. The sight makes me queasy. "He's creepy."
"He's famous," Cedric counters, seemingly starstruck.
Dumbledore regains control over the room, harnessing and taming the murmur that rolls through the room as students speculate about the happenings of the evening, from the lack of Quidditch to the apparently-famous Auror who is now seated in the front of the Great Hall.
"This year, Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore says and, once again, the room erupts into a cacophony of murmurs.
Now that, I know about. The Triwizard Tournament is like the muggle Olympics, but better and much more dangerous. It was outlawed in the eighteenth century because of the perilous tasks. During the final tournament, there was a mishap that resulted in a lot of casualties, including a few of the judges.
"Did you hear that?" Cedric asks and nudges me. I nod, completely enraptured with the possibility of competing in the Triwizard Tournament. My father and I had always loved learning about the tournament, and according to Dumbledore, there is prize money involved.
It's like a dream.
Not only do I have a chance to participate in the tournament, but if I win, the money could go towards a new apartment for my family. I know that my father is looking for one, but he and my stepmother can't afford anything but what we have.
And we really need a new apartment. It's good for them when I'm away at school, but when I'm home... we struggle to all fit in the little apartment together. There's only one bathroom and the kitchen is tiny. There's a kitchen island in lieu of a dining room, but we can only fit two stools at it, which means that my dad eats standing up when I'm home. It's far from ideal.
As soon as I return to my dormitory, I grab a piece of parchment and a quill. I bite down on my lip and begin my letter, asking my dad for permission to compete in the tournament.
Three days later, I receive a letter with his approval inside.
Welcome to 'Chasing You'! Updates are going to be on Fridays and (for those who celebrate) happy early Christmas!!
also my dumb ass thought i was being clever with the title 'chasing you' because i thought viktor was a chaser for a moment there. it's fine though. we will remedy the situation or we will perish, whichever comes first.