The owl flies into my room early in the morning. We Apparated out of the campsite after the chaos was over. The owl holds my subscription to The Daily Prophet.
Opening it, I read the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP. It's complete with a twinkling, black and white photograph of the Dark Mark over the tree-tops. I scan the article. "Ministry blunders...culprits not apprehended...lax security. Dark wizards running unchecked...national disgrace..."
I continue reading till the bottom of the article. "If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged sometime after the appearance of the Dark Mark, alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen." I stop reading.
Several bodies. Allison was in the forest. Probably near where the Dark Mark was. No, she's probably fine, I tell myself, they're just rumours, after all.
***
"Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man's such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riff-raff. But mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defence stuff we do. If we don't know what we're trying to protect ourselves against, how are we supposed to do it properly?" I say to my friends when we're on the Hogwarts Express.
Later on in the day, I make my usual trip to Potter's compartment. "We saw him right up close, as well," says Weasley. "We were in the Top Box -"
"For the first and last time in your life, Weasley," I interject.
The three of them, Potter, Weasley, and Granger, turn to look at me. "Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy," says Potter coolly. I ignore him.
"Weasley...what is that?" I ask, pointing to an owl's cage where something made of mouldy lace is dangling. He moves to stuff it out of sight, but I'm too quick. I seize it and pull.
"Look at this!" I exclaim in ecstasy, holding up what appears to be very old and worn dress robes. I show them to Crabbe and Goyle. "Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean - they were very fashionable in about 1980..."
"Eat dung, Malfoy!" says Weasley. His face is now the same colour as the dress robes. He snatches them back out of my grip and stuffs them out of view. I howl with derisive laughter.
"So...going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know...you'd be able to afford some decent robes if you won..."
"What are you talking about?" Weasley snaps. "Are you going to enter?" I repeat. "I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?" I ask, disdain dripping from my voice.
"Either explain what you're on about or go away, Malfoy," Granger says testily over the top of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four.
A gleeful smile spreads across my face. "Don't tell me you don't know?" I ask delightedly. "You've got a father and a brother at the Ministry and you don't even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago...heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry...maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley...yes...they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him..."
Laughing once more, I beckon to Grabbe and Goyle, and the three of us disappear back to our compartment.
***
The Great Hall looks its usual splendid self, decorated for the start of the term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleam by the light of the hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in mid-air. The four long house tables are packed with chattering students and at the top of the hall staff sit along one side of a fifth table, facing us.
Professor McGonagall places a three-legged stool on the ground before the first years. On top of it is an extremely old, dirty, patched wizard's hat. The first years stare at it. So does everyone else.
For a moment, there's silence. Then, a tear near the brim opens wide like a mouth and the hat breaks into song:
"A thousand years or more ago when I was newly sewn,
There lived four wizards of renown, whose names are still well known:
Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor, Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,
Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad, Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.
They shared a wish, a hope, a dream, they hatched a daring plan,
To educate young sorcerers thus Hogwarts School began.
Now each of their four founders formed their own house,
For each did value different virtues in the ones they had to teach.
By Gryffindor, the bravest were prized far beyond the rest,
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest would always be the best,
For Hufflepuff, hard workers were most worthy of admission,
And power-hungry Slytherin loved those of great ambition.
While still alive they did divide their favourites from the throng,
Yet how to pick the worthy ones when they were dead and gone?
'Twas Gryffindor who found the way, he whipped me off his head,
The founders put some brains in me so I could choose instead!
Now slip me snug about your ears, I've never yet been wrong,
I'll have a look inside your mind and tell where you belong!"
The Great Hall rings with applause as the Sorting Hat finishes.
Professor McGonagall is now unrolling a large scroll of parchment. "When I call out your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool," she tells the first years. "When the Hat announces your house, you will go and sit at the appropriate table.
"Ackerley, Stewart!" A boy walks forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picks up the Sorting Hat, puts it on and sits down on the stool. "Ravenclaw!" shouts the Hat. Stewart Ackerley takes off the hat and hurries into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where they're all applauding him.
"Baddock, Malcolm!"
"Slytherin!" Our table erupts with cheers.
"Branstone, Eleanor!"
"Hufflepuff!"
"Creevey, Dennis!"
"Gryffindor!" the Hat shouts.
The Sorting continues. Boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces move one by one to the three-legged stool. The line dwindles slowly as Professor McGonagall continues down the list.
"Pritchard, Graham!"
"Slytherin!"
"Quirke, Orla!"
"Ravenclaw!"
And finally, the Sorting ends. Professor McGonagall picks up the Hat and the stool and carries them away.
Professor Dumbledore gets to his feet. He's smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome. "I have only two words to say to you," he tells us, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. "Tuck in."
Rain drums heavily against the high, dark windows. Another clap of thunder shakes the windows and the stormy ceiling flashes, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanish and are replaced, instantly, with puddings.
When the puddings have been demolished and the last crumbs have faded off the plates, Albus Dumbledore gets to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceases almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain can be heard.
"So!" says Dumbledore, smiling around at us all. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the lists of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprised some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."
The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitches. He continues, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."