( 𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖎𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓 ) — the triwizard tournament
The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term fest. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in mid-air. The four long house tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils.
The doors to the Hall opened, and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first-years along the room, who appeared to have swam across the lake rather than sailing. A;; pf them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the current students.
She placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the eleven year olds and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty, and patched wizard's hat. A tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke 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 these 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 been yet wrong,
I'll have a look inside your mind
And tell where you belong!
The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished. Professor McGonagall was 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 told the children. ''When the Hat announces your house, you will go and sit at the appropriate table.''
''Ackerley, Stewart!''
A boy walked forward, visibily trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on and sat down on the stool.
''Ravenclaw!''
Stewart Ackerley took of the Hat and hurried into a seat at the blue and bronze table, where everyone was clapping for him.
''Baddock, Malcolm!''
''Slytherin!''
The green and silver table erupted with cheers, whilst Fred and George hissed at Malcom Baddock as he sat down.
''Branstone, Eleanor!''
''Hufflepuff!''
''Cauldwell, Owen!''
''Hufflepuff!''
''Creevey, Dennis!''
A very small boy staggered forward, wrapped in Hagrid's moleskin overcoat, which he tripped over.
''Gryffindor!''
The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moving, one by one, to the stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall passed the ❛L❜'s.
''Pritchard, Graham!''
''Slytherin!''
''Quirke, Orla!''
''Ravenclaw!''
And finally, with ❛Whitby, Kevin!❜ (Hufflepuff!), the Sorting ended.
Professor Dumbledore had got to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome.
''I have only two words to say to you — tuck in.''
The empty dishes filled magically before her eyes. She listened to the other teacher's conversing as she ate, all gossiping about the latest drama. Apparently, Peeves had been hacked off about something, and wreaked havoc and mayhem in the kitchens. Evangeline could only hope Pinky hadn't been too scared given it was the first day of her new job, whilst the became increasingly aware of the pairs of eyes shooting towards her seat.
Rain was drumming heavily against the high, dark windows. A clap of thunder shook the glass, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminated the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings.
When the sweet treats, too, had been demolished, Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.
''So! Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.'' Dumbledore started, smiling. ''Mr Filch has asked me to tell you that the list 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 comprises 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 the old wizard's mouth twitched. ''As ever, I would like to remind you all that the Forbidden Forest 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. This is due to an event that will be starting next month, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teacher's time and energy — but I am sure you will enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts we are welcoming a former student, Professor Rosier, who will be taking over as the Charms teacher whilst Professor Flitwick focuses on his duties at Ravenclaw House.''
She stood anxiously, straightening out her knitted, form-fitting maxi dress. A polite applause ensued over the Great Hall, and whilst Evangeline couldn't blame the students, she was not surprised. During her years at Hogwarts, she was a different person — especially during exams week. Ironically, the Slytherin table seemed the least pleased, given the fact the news of her disownment had definitely spread by now.
''Joining Professor Rosier, please welcome—''
At that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors to the Great Hall banged open. A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black travelling cloak. Every head swivelled to the stranger, suddenly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, flaxen hair, then began to walk up towards the teacher's table.
A dull clunk echoed through the room on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily towards Dumbledore.
Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling, throwing the man's face into sharp relief. He looked as though he had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces were supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. His mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of his nose was missing, yet it was his eyes that made him frightening.
One of them was small, dark, and beady, The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The larger eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye — then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all everyone could see was whiteness.
He reached Dumbledore, reaching out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it whilst muttering. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded, and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.
''May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,'' Dumbledore spoke brightly into the silence. ''Professor Moody.''
None of the students or staff clapped except for Dumbledore and Hagrid — everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.
Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached into his travelling cloak, pulled out a hip-flask, and took a long draught from it.
Dumbledore cleared his throat again. ''As I was saying, we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which 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!'' Fred exclaimed.
The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.
''I am not joking, Mr Weasley. 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 cleared her throat loudly. ''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.''
''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.''
Evangeline's anxiety didn't seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly with each other.
''There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the Tournament, none of which have been very successful. However, our own Departments of International Magic Co-operation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that, this time, no champion will find himself of herself in mortal danger. The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders next month, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money.''
At every house table, students were either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or whispering fervently to their neighbours with their faces lit in enthusiasm.
''Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Trizwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age — that is to say, seventeen years or older — will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious. ''This is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the Tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is still highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion. I therefore beg you to not waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.''
''The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October, and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!''
Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet, and swarmed towards the double doors into the Entrance Hall. Evangeline joined the crowd shortly, making her way to her living quarters.
The walls were a powdery blue, paneled with a rich gold. A great, gilded mirror hung over the ornate fireplace, on top of which stood candlesticks and a dove grey bust sculpture of Hecate. On either side stood bright white display cabinets, embellished with the same metallic detailing, filled to the brim with books and potions.
A chandelier, opulent and handsome, shone to capture all the attention in the room. It's crystals dropped down like acid rain, backscattering bedazzling glints of light over the room like a hundred cracked fragments of glass. Across, there was a royally blue bed, fit for a king or queen, a velvet canopy draped over the rich silk sheets.
In the center of the room, there were two button-tufted couches opposite each other, a delicate cornflower shade. The small, decorative pillows matched, adorned with auric stitching which complimented the coffee table. Evangeline paused; there was a note between the small clock and a Witch Weekly magazine that had not been there before she left. The brunette plucked it from it's place, reading over it curiously.
Evangeline,
I had overheard how fond a certain professor was of you last year. It has come to my attention that upon his resignation, he has found himself in quite a dreadful state — much like before he agreed to the teaching position at Hogwarts. I am currently unable to offer anything myself, so I have deducted that you are my best hope. He is much too proud to ask for assistance, which is why I am informing you.
You will find him at Lupin Cottage, Yorkshire Moors.
P.S. Chocolate is his favourite.
P.P.S. I see my younger self in you.
Yours Sincerely, Snuffles