When all the students had entered the Hall and settled down at their House tables, the staff entered, filing up to the top table and taking their seats. Last in line were Professor Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime. Dumbledore remained standing, and a silence fell over the Great Hall.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and — most particularly — guests," said Dumbledore, beaming around at the foreign students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.
"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," said Dumbledore. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"
The plates in front of us filled with food as usual. The house-elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of me than I had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign.
"What's that?" said Ron, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stood beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding.
"Bouillabaisse," I responded.
"Bless you," said Ron.
"I—" I opened and closed my mouth, laughing at his little joke.
"It's French," said Hermione, "I had it on holiday summer before last. It's very nice."
"It's alright if you eat it with lemon," I shrugged.
"I'll take your word for it," said Ron, helping himself to black pudding.
The Great Hall seemed somehow much more crowded than usual, even though there were barely twenty additional students there; perhaps it was because their differently coloured uniforms stood out so clearly against the black of the Hogwarts' robes. Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were revealed to be wearing robes of a deep blood red.
At that moment, a voice said, "Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?
It was the girl from Beauxbatons who had laughed during Dumbledore's speech. She had finally removed her muffler. A long sheet of silvery-blonde hair fell almost to her waist. She had large, deep blue eyes, and very white, even teeth.
Ron went purple. He stared up at her, opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out except a faint gurgling noise.
I tried not to laugh as I picked up the dish and went to go hand it to her, "yeah, you can have it."
"You 'ave finished wiz it?"
Before I could respond, Ron breathlessly answered, "yeah, it was excellent."
"You alright there, Ron?" I muffled a laugh. Ron was still goggling at the girl as though he had never seen one before. Harry started to laugh. The sound seemed to jog Ron back to his senses.
"She's a veela!" he said hoarsely to Harry.
"Of course she isn't!" said Hermione tartly. "I don't see anyone else gaping at her like an idiot!"
"Actually, she is— well, half," I nodded, taking a sip of my juice. "Watch," I pointed towards her. As the girl crossed the Hall, many boys' heads turned, and some of them seemed to have become temporarily speechless, just like Ron.
"I'm telling you, that's not a normal girl!" said Ron, leaning sideways so he could keep a clear view of her. "They don't make them like that at Hogwarts!"
I snapped my fingers in his face to get him out of his trance, "stop drooling like a dog. If you heard anything I said, you should have heard that I said she's half."
"Half what?" Ron scrunched his brows.
"Oh, brother," I rolled my eyes.
"When you've both put your eyes back in," said Hermione briskly, "you'll be able to see who's just arrived."
She was pointing up at the staff table. The two empty seats had just been filled. Ludo Bagman was now sitting on Professor Karkaroff's other side, while Mr Crouch was next to Madame Maxime.
"What are they doing here?" said Harry in surprise.
"They organized the Triwizard Tournament, didn't they?" said Hermione. "I suppose they wanted to be here to see it start."
"That they did," I hummed.
Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A pleasant sort of tension seemed to fill the Hall now.
"The moment has come," said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and Mr Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.
"Mr Bagman and Mr Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore continued, "and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts."
At the mention of the word "champions," the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed everyone's sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr Filch."
Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the hall, now approached Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old.
"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr Crouch and Mr Bagman," said dumbledore as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year and they will test the champions in many different ways... their magical prowess — they're daring — their powers of deduction — and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."
At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.
"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore went on calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."
Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames. Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.
"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," said Dumbledore. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.
"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," said Dumbledore, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.
"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."
"An Age Line!" Fred called out. "Well, that should be fooled by an Aging Potion, shouldn't it? And once your name's in that goblet, you're laughing — it can't tell whether you're seventeen or not!"
"But I don't think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance," said Hermione, "we just haven't learned enough..."
"Speak for yourself," said George shortly. "You'll try and get in, won't you, Harry?"
"I don't think he will," I muttered.
Since the next day was Saturday, most students would normally have breakfasted late. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, were not alone in rising much earlier than they usually did on weekends, and didn't allow me to sleep in either. When we went down into the entrance hall, we saw about twenty people milling around it, some of them eating toast, all examining the Goblet of Fire. It had been placed in the centre of the hall on the stool that normally bore the Sorting Hat. A thin golden line had been traced on the floor, forming a circle ten feet around it in every direction.
"Anyone put their name in yet?" Ron asked a third-year girl eagerly.
"All the Durmstrang lot," she replied. "But I haven't seen anyone from Hogwarts yet."
"Bet some of them put it in last night after we'd all gone to bed," said Harry. "I would've if it had been me... wouldn't have wanted everyone watching. What if the goblet just gobbed you right back out again?"
Someone laughed behind me. Turning, I saw Fred, George, and Lee Jordan hurrying down the staircase, all three of them looking extremely excited.
"Oh no," I sighed.
"Done it," Fred said in a triumphant whisper to us. "Just taken it."
"What?" said Ron.
"The Aging Potion, dung brains," said Fred.
"Guys, I don't think it's going to work," I warned. "Dumbledore has thought this through. Especially with years of dealing with you three."
"Don't fret, Charlie," Fred ruffled my hair. I frowned at the nickname.
"This isn't a good idea."
Fred, George, and Lee all ignored me.
I watched, fascinated, as Fred pulled a slip of parchment out of his pocket bearing the words Fred Weasley — Hogwarts. Fred walked right up to the edge of the line and stood there, rocking on his toes like a diver preparing for a fifty-foot drop. Then, with the eyes of every person in the entrance hall upon him, he took a great breath and stepped over the line.
It took a second until George jumped in, thinking they had tricked the Age Line. They both let out a yell of success, but I knew better. As quick as their success came was as quick as they were shot out of the ring. They landed painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor, and to add insult to injury, there was a loud popping noise, and both of them sprouted identical long white beards.
"I told you!" Hermione and I chorused.
"I did warn you," said a deep, amused voice, and everyone turned to see Professor Dumbledore coming out of the Great Hall. He surveyed Fred and George, his eyes twinkling. "I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours."
As the day dragged on, cheers could be heard throughout the Hall. Warrington, from Slytherin, placed his name in the Goblet in the morning before everyone had awoken. Cedric Diggory, from Hufflepuff, also placed his name in, but during the day. And the only girl that, I noticed, put her name in was Angelina Johnson who was a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team.
Instead of waiting around all day, to see who does and doesn't put their names in the Goblet of Fire, Harry suggested we go give Hagrid a visit.
"Let me get my S.P.E.W buttons! I haven't asked Hagrid yet," Hermione ran off to the common room.
I waited around for Hermione to come back while Harry and Ron talked about Fleur, the Beauxbaton veela, when something caught my eye. White blond hair passed through the crowd of people.
"I'll be right back," I told the two boys who didn't listen and follow the blondie. Right outside of the crowd, I finally caught up to him and tapped on his shoulder. "Hey," I called.
Draco stopped walking and turned, causing his two goons to also stop walking as well. They gave me an odd look, but Draco's face stayed blank.
"Did you need something?" blurted Draco.
The small smile that laid on my face quickly fell, "oh, uh— I just—"
"Did you want to ask where Viktor Krum is so you can continue to fawn over him like you did yesterday?" he spat.
"What? No. I just wanted to apologize for being rude to you the other day, but nevermind. Forget I said anything," I scoffed. "Then you wonder why everyone is mean to you."
"Shut up, Mudblood," said Crabbe.
My jaw set angrily as I narrowed my eyes at him. Never had he spoken to me, but now he does— only to insult me.
"Crabbe, Goyle, go to the common room, I'll be there soon," Draco commanded. Like robots, both boys turn away and walk towards the Dungeon.
"By all means, go," I said sourly.
"I'm sorry, I snapped," Draco apologized.
"You're only sorry because no one is around," I scoffed looking around at the empty corridor.
"No— I— listen, I didn't mean to be rude or have those two prats say anything to you," explained Draco.
"Why're you so mean?" I asked. "Genuinely, please tell me: Why do you feel the need to be rude to others?"
Draco's face scrunched up in confusion, "I– No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are. You always pick on people, throw their books, instigate fights. Why?"
His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, only for his eyes to narrow into two little slits, "you act as if you've known me for years! I'm not as mean or rude as you claim me to be."
"Everyone would beg to differ. Except to me– you're nice to me. Why?"
"Everyone here are cowards and nowhere as talented or smart as they should be," scoffed Draco. His cold eyes softened slightly, letting down his walls, "but you, you're kind and have been kind and smart since I first met you on the train."
"Am I?"
"You should have been placed in Hufflepuff with all the other softies, or Ravenclaw with the slightly talented yet smart people. But here you are Gryffindor."
"Tell me something," I laughed dryly. He hummed in response. "Tell me, Draco, what's my name?"
Draco looked dumbfounded at my question, "y-your name?"
"Yeah, simple answer. You seem to know so much about me," I nodded. "it's not hard. I'm not asking you what goes into a potion or what charm does what– just my name."
"Why your name?"
"Why are you avoiding the question? Just a simple answer and I'll accept your apology and we can talk about whatever you wanted to talk about."
"Y-your name is... Scarlett?" Draco says slowly.
"Goodbye, Malfoy," I sighed. "For knowing me so well, you don't seem to know the first thing about me."
"No, come on, you've never told me your name before," he tried to save.
"You never asked," I answered causing him to pause in his step. Turning away from him, I noticed Hermione running this way with her box full of S.P.E.W badges.
"L-Look, I'm sorry! It never came up," Draco tried to excuse himself.
"Regardless, I have to go. My friends are coming," I rolled my eyes. Turning away from Draco, I smiled at Hermione, "Hey, Hermione."
"Hey, Lottie, where— everything okay?" she asked once she saw Draco.
"Everything's fine," I linked arms with Hermione and raised a brow at Draco, "now you know."
Pulling Hermione along, I walked back into the crowd and looked for Harry and Ron.
"What was that about?" Hermione asked.
"He's being a real arse, that's what that's about," I laughed. "Tell me how he kept trying to talk to me and apologize, yet didn't know my name."
Hermione gasped dramatically, "how dare he? But actually, he tried to apologize to you? For what?"
"He did. And for Crabbe calling me a Mudblood," I shuttered.
"Wait, he apologized for Crabbe?"
"Who did?" Ron asked once we got to him.
"No one," I squinted at him. "This is girl talk time. Continue talking about your imaginary veela girlfriend, shh. But yes, he did," I answered Hermione.
"Interesting!" Hermione mused.
—:—
At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone.
"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them to please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along with the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" — he indicated the door behind the staff table — "where they will be receiving their first instructions."
He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting. A few people kept checking their watches.
The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. The next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it — the whole room gasped.
Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.
"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."
"No surprises there!" yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. I watched as Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along with the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.
Everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. The second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"
"It's her, Ron!" Harry shouted as the girl who so resembled a veela got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.
And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip, Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.
"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"
The uproar from the next table was too great to hear Ron's disappointment. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. My heart dropped knowing his fate by the end of this year.
"Well," Dumbledore started we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —"
But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking. The fire in the goblet turned red again. Sparkers flew out of it and a long flame shot suddenly into the air. Another piece of parchment.
"Oh no," I whispered to myself.
Automatically, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the same written upon it. He stared at the paper in awe, almost as if his eyes were deceiving him. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read the name aloud:
"Harry Potter."