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I fell in love with a world through her eyes.
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The appearance of the Triwizard Tournament sign in the Entrance Hall had a marked effect upon the occupants of the castle.
Betelgeuse found herself crossing the massive stone arch that delimited the entrance of the Astronomy Tower in the early hours of Friday.
She had soundlessly wandered around the dormant castle like a Wraith.
Silent and unnoticed.
There was something so utterly compelling in taking a step back, escaping the flow of time and space and observe the World around.
She had seen the castle many a time, in various sorts of conditions.
Crowded, full of raucous laughter, quiet, abandoned, placid, yet nothing could compare it to the thing she perceived at that moment under the archway of the Astronomy Tower. The sconces had torches inserted into them, bathing the round chamber in an eerie and faint light.
As Betelgeuse followed the tongues of light that stretched out like black snakes on the stone floor, her molten grey eyes settled on the lone figure perched on the parapet as a beacon of splendour.
A surprisingly rumpled mop of white-blond hair reflected the glow of thousands of stars, resembling the cold grey colour of the eyes that Betelgeuse could already envision regarding her with tired eloquence.
She frowned.
Draco was a slender boy, but his shoulderblades looked too protruding for her liking, and the tall Black did not approve of his hunched posture.
Something tugged at her heart for the lonely pureblooded young man.
Unsufferable, Muggle-hating, slur-loving twat.
She unhurriedly strolled towards her cousin, pausing once she had reached the stone parapet.
"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves".
She spoke, redirecting her eyes from the dotted canvas of darkness above and startling the younger pureblood.
"Bel! You scared me," Draco exclaimed, clearing his throat under the amused gaze of his cousin. "And what are you going on about?"
"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars but in ourselves," Betelgeuse cryptically replied and refrained a smirk at Draco's exasperated expression.
"Salazar, why even bother!" Draco grumbled, raking his hand through his hair. "You always speak in riddles, and I can't understand you half the time."
"You speak an infinite deal of nothing," Betelgeuse aloofly returned, not bothered at all by the boy's quip.
Draco fixed her with his pale grey eyes slightly widened and his mouth agape. "I can't believe you," he breathed out. "I can't believe Theodore! How can he fancy an eccentric nutter like you."
Betelgeuse arched a delicate eyebrow, interested. If she was not entertained by the state of complete exasperation of Draco, she would have felt offended by the insult.
She was not a nutter. Eccentric, yes.
Uncommonly whimsical? Of course.
Charmingly unique? Definitely.
A nutter? Not at all.
Draco groaned as he noticed an arrogant smirk enrich Betelgeuse's elegant face.
"Theodore?" She inquired, leaning against the parapet with an air of proud ease. Draco buried his face in his hands and groaned again. "Nott?" Betelgeuse continued, unperturbed. "Tall, green-eyed, bookish Theodore Nott?"
"Yes," Draco replied with aggravation.
Betelgeuse hummed in pretended consideration. "Such a fine specimen. Such profound forest green eyes and full alluring lips — Oh, and do not let me neglect, dear cousin, the broad shoulders of his —"
"Blast them all!" Draco howled, throwing his hands in the air. "You summoned me here to mock and aggravate me. What would your long-haired Weasel say if he heard you decant the praises of Theo?"
"When he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the World will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun."
Betelgeuse declared, staring up at the lustrous night sky.
"That was actually — acceptable," Draco commented, a ghost of a smile appeared on his pale face. "Disgustingly corny, but acceptable."
"I thank you, dear cousin," Betelgeuse returned, beaming softly. Draco returned her radiant smile with a dim one of his own. "Do you desire to address —" She began.
"No!" Draco nearly shouted. "No," he continued with a more neutral tone as he noticed the annoyed look on his cousin's visage. He racked his brain about a tolerable topic of conversation. "What do you think about the Triwizard Tournament? It's a bummer I'm not old enough. Can't believe those Half-blood and Muggle low-class knob heads didn't know about it."
Betelgeuse fully recognised what Draco attempted to accomplish by using such derogative slurs in her presence. He craved to ward off her attention from his previous predicament. She obliged him.
"I am glad you are not grown enough to enter, Draco. Morgana knows how I am already worrying about the twins."
"The twins? The Weasleys?" Draco asked with nothing but disgust laced in his voice.
"Yes."
"So, Fred Weasley?"
"Yes."
"Are congratulations in order?"
"No."
Draco slowly raised his brows.
"I may hold in my heart something akin to love for him."
"For real, Bel? A Weasley? He's such a —"
Betelgeuse's grey eyes dangerously narrowed on him.
"Er — a pleasant gentleman."
Betelgeuse nodded to herself, looking up at the burning quasars that battled the blackness of the night.
"What about your uncle? Sirius? I didn't have the chance to talk to him. I can't imagine living with an ex-convict. He seemed — delightful?"
Betelgeuse grinned at Draco's attempt. "He is, indeed. What about your chatty female companion?"
"Pansy?" Draco asked, confused by the sudden change of topic.
"Ah, yes," Betelgeuse hummed. "Such a delight she was. Have you come to terms with your potential attraction to her? Or, perhaps —"
She paused, enjoying the slight discomfort Draco had plunged in.
"Perhaps, your affection lays somewhere else. You can be totally unrestricted and frank with me, Draco dear. Your secret is safe with me if you fancy Theodore or —"
"Bloody bonkers you are!" Draco yelled, sporting a raging blush on his pale visage. Betelgeuse let out a pearl of laughter, capturing the embarrassed young man with her arms.
"I am merely jesting, Draco," Betelgeuse calmly declared, a ghost of a grin still visible on her noble face.
"Hilarious," Draco grumbled.
The two cousins observed the sky begin to brighten in the silent cocoon of the Astronomy Tower.
Draco had a tired but genuine smile on his face, despite his cousin teasing.
Betelgeuse still had her arm on her cousin's shoulders, confining him, grounding them both.
They were content and free of worries for once.
☆☆☆
During the following week, solely one topic of conversation hovered among the stone walls of the enchanted castle no matter where Betelgeuse turned her head.
The Triwizard Tournament.
Rumours darted from student to student like extremely contagious bugs, like Rita Skeeter's gossip column in the Daily Prophet.
Evermore buzzing and vexing.
Speculations flew on who was going to try for Hogwarts Champion, what the tournament would include, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves.
Betelgeuse found the entire new atmosphere too much disagreeable. The heir of House Black had even jinxed an overactive third year Ravenclaw because he had perseveringly followed her from her Potion class in the Dungeons to the seventh floor, where she would have attended her Alchemy class.
The chatty boy had talked Betelgeuse's head off about the upcoming tournament and the statistics he had done on Hogwarts' victory.
The raven-haired sixth year had attempted to block the Ravenclaw's voice and his thoughtlessness, succeeding in ignoring his raving speculations until he had pulled out a long parchment he had filled with indecipherable signs and symbols.
At that point, Betelgeuse had taken out her wand and hit him with The Stickfast Hex. It was her first time casting that particular jinx, and she had felt a deep satisfaction upon seeing the obnoxiously loud boy trip on his shoes as he had attempted to follow her.
The Black had enjoyed a highly engaging Alchemy class. She had had even the time to notice that the castle seemed to be undergoing an extra thorough cleaning as she walked down the multiple stone corridors before a stern-faced Professor McGonagall had hauled her to her office for detention.
Betelgeuse did not atone for the actions.
The boy had not shut his mouth even once.
Not even to catch his breath.
Minnie had not been impressed.
Yet, Fred and George had uncorked a bottle of Strongbow from their hidden reserve. It was a Muggle brand of alcoholic cider the trio had found among the selection of alcoholic beverages served at The Hog's Head Inn.
The twins wanted to celebrate the first detention of the year as if it was an exclusive event. And in a way it was; Betelgeuse had managed to pip them to the post, as George had so eloquently stated.
☆☆☆
When the three best friends went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, they found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House.
Red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers' table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms, lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter 'H'.
"Filch outdid himself with the decorations," Lee commented as he looked around.
"I doubt he did all of this to himself, that scowling old minger," Fred replied as he frowned at the thought of the angry caretaker.
"Fred!" Betelgeuse inconspicuously admonished with a barely contained smirk on her fair visage.
As Betelgeuse watched the three boys argue about the new chaser of The Montrose Magpies, her thoughts went back to the feast the twins had organised for celebrating her sixteenth birthday.
The Gryffindor Common Room had been transformed into a whirlwind of music, refreshments and laughter.
Cascades of red draperies unrolled along the high walls of the Gryffindor Tower, golden embroidered lions magically roared and pranced on the carmine red background. Music had sinuously moved around her as she had noticed Butterbeers, bottles of Gillywater and glasses of Dragon Barrel Brandy, glassfuls of Blishen's Firewhisky and Bungbarrel Spiced Mead float around the room.
The frequent night sneaks with the twins to The Hog's Head Inn had provided a broad knowledge about beverages, liquors and spirits to the Black heir, and she had immediately identified the blood-red liquid that indolently had sloshed inside the chalice Fred had handed to her.
Superior Red.
It was a brand of red wine produced, matured for a thousand years and distributed by the Malfoy Apothecary. Betelgeuse had been vastly impressed in the twins' ability to obtain such fine drink.
The night had been pleasant and merry, the music loud and catching, the laughter booming and uncontrolled, and spirits light as feathers in the morning breeze and high as the sun that had greeted Betelgeuse as she rested between Fred and Geoge.
There was an agreeable sense of anticipation in the air that day that invested even the stoic Black.
Nobody was quite attentive in lessons, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang; even Betelgeuse found herself paying less attention to Potions that day.
When the bell rang early, Fred, George and Betelgeuse hastened up to Gryffindor Tower, dropped their bags and books as they had been instructed, pulled on their cloaks, and hurried back downstairs into the Entrance Hall.
The Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines.
"Weasley, straighten your hat," Professor McGonagall snapped at Ron. Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair." The stern Head of Gryffindor ordered. "Follow me, please," Professor McGonagall instructed. "First years in front — no pushing —"
They filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling, and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest.
During her one-hour-long detention, Professor McGonagall had explained to Betelgeuse her duty as a Prefect, and so the pureblood found herself directing students on their spots. After she had helped a pair of first years to reach their places in the front row, she stood next to her friends, waiting.
"Nearly six," Lee announced, checking his watch and then staring down the drive that led to the front gates. "How d'you reckon they're coming?"
"The train?" Alicia suggested.
"I doubt it," Angelina replied, looking over Katie's shoulders.
"How, then? Broomsticks?" George proposed, glancing suspiciously to Betelgeuse. She barely grinned.
"A Portkey?" Fred asked, narrowing his eyes to the Black. He was about to address the secretive girl when Dumbledore called out from the back row where he stood with the other teachers —
"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"
"Where?" Many students questioned eagerly, all looking in different directions.
"There!" Fred hollered, pointing over the Forest.
Something large, much larger than a broom, indeed, a hundred broomsticks — was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time.
"It's a dragon!" One of the first years shrieked, causing an unnoticeable smile to blossom on Betelgeuse's lips.
"What in Merlin's pants is that?!" Lee cried out.
The massive black shape soared over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it. They saw a gigantic, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a great house, gliding toward them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant.
The front three rows of students drew backwards as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed — then, with an almighty crash, the horses' hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery, red eyes.
"Magnificient," Betelgeuse breathed out as she looked at the dignified Abraxans.
She just had time to see that the carriage door bore a coat of arms with two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars before it opened.
A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully.
Then Betelgeuse observed a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage — a shoe the size of a child's sled — followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman she had ever seen.
The size of the carriage and of the horses was immediately resolved.
A few people gasped.
"What a woman," Fred murmured beside Betelgeuse.
She had only ever seen one person as large as this woman in her life, and that was Hagrid; she doubted whether there was an inch difference in their heights. Yet, somehow, this woman seemed even larger.
As she stepped into the light flooding from the Entrance Hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face, large, black, liquid-looking eyes, and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was clothed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.
Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman.
Her face relaxed into a gracious smile, and she walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it.
"My dear Madame Maxime," he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts."
"Dumbly-dorr," Madame Maxime replied in a deep voice. "I 'ope I find you well?"
"In excellent form, I thank you," Dumbledore stated.
"My pupils," Madame Maxime announced, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.
Betelgeuse noticed about a dozen boys and girls had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes appeared to be made of fine silk, and none of them was wearing cloaks. A few had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads as the heir of House Black examined the new Hogwarts' guests with rapt attention.
"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Madame Maxime asked.
"He should be here any moment," Dumbledore replied. "Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"
"Warm up, I think," Madame Maxime said. "But ze 'orses —"
"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them," Dumbledore informed, "the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other — er — charges."
"My steeds require — er — forceful 'andling," Madame Maxime remarked, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. "Zey are very strong —"
"I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job," Dumbledore assured, smiling.
"Very well," Madame Maxime accepted, bowing slightly. "Will you please inform zis 'Agrid zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey?"
"It will be attended to," Dumbledore agreed, also bowing.
"Come," Madame Maxime stated imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.
"How d'you reckon Durmstrang will arrive?" George inquired as he dashingly smiled at a passing Beauxbatons student with pretty green eyes. Betelgeuse witnessed the fleeting interaction and the deep flush on the French student and sent a smirk towards the younger twin.
"Georgie boy," she indolently drawled, "you, rake."
Fred threw his head back and laughed as George feigned an expression of utter distress.
"You wound me, my lady," he said, taking Betelgeuse's hand and bowing to kiss it. "I would never."
"Morgana," Betelgeuse breathed out as she eyed her best friend with a smirk. "What has gotten into you?"
"Certainly not me," Lee scornfully muttered beside the girl. The grey-eyed beauty imperceptibly raised her brows in light surprise at her friend's remark but did not comment on it.
They stood, shivering slightly, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive. Most people were gazing hopefully up at the sky. The silence was broken only by Madame Maxime's huge horses snorting and stamping. But then —
"Can you hear something?" Angelina spoke suddenly.
Betelgeuse listened; a loud and strangely eerie noise was drifting toward them from out of the darkness: a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner were moving along a riverbed.
What strange contraptions were vacuum cleaners —
"The lake!" Lee yelled, pointing down at it. "Look at the lake!"
From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, they had a clear view of the flat black surface of the water — except that the surface was suddenly not smooth at all. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the centre; large bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the murky banks — and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake's floor —
What appeared to be a long, black pole started to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool — and then —
"It's a mast!" Betelgeuse heard Harry Potter holler.
Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strikingly skeletal appearance about it, as though it was a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and started to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows.
People were disembarking; they could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship's portholes. They were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted wool. But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort. It was sleek and silver, like his hair.
"Dumbledore!" he heartily called out as he walked up the slope. "How are you, my dear fellow. How are you?"
"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replied.
Betelgeuse's eyes widened upon learning the stranger's last name.
Karkaroff.
In his younger days, Karkaroff had been a Death Eater and acquaintance of her father. Betelgeuse knew that Karkaroff had helped Antonin Dolohov and the Lestrange brothers torture Muggles and non-supporters of Lord Voldemort during the First Wizarding War. Igor Karkaroff had been eventually captured by Alastor Moody the night of Evan Rosier's murder and spent a short period in Azkaban.
Her father had recounted the events in great details and with profound uneasiness.
Her uncle, Sirius, had commented on how many people Karkaroff had put into Azkaban in his place, remembering his cruelty and lack of remorse.
Betelgeuse now found herself remembering the stories reported by the older Blacks as she studied the former Death Eater.
He was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee did not entirely hide his rather weak chin. When he reached Dumbledore, he shook hands with both of his own.
"Dear old Hogwarts," he said, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth were rather yellow, and Betelgeuse noticed that his smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shrewd. "How good it is to be here, how good— Viktor, come along, into the warmth — you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold —"
Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed, Betelgeuse caught a glimpse of a prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows.
It was Victor Krum.
Betelgeuse diverted her eyes towards the twins; they had left her side and sneaked behind Ron and Harry. She shook her head in amusement as their boisterous shouts filled the Entrance Hall.
"There's no one like my Krum —" Fred began in a roaring voice.
"— He's like a bird the way he rides the wind —" George continued as Ron flushed a raging bright red.
"— He's more than an athlete —" Fred hollered as he danced around Ron. The poor younger Weasley tried to wiggle away from the twins as George threw an arm around his shoulders, succeeding in blocking Ron's escape.
"HE'S AN ARTIST!" The red-haired twins finished their mockery, surrounded by laughing students and confused ones.
"Detention, Weasley, the both of you."
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