T O U R N A M E N T S & N E W S T U D E N T S
"But Mione, where's the fun if there isn't a bit of risk?"
THROUGH THE GATES, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale. Leaning against the window, Aurora could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as their carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps.
People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Aurora, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville jumped down from their carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when they were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.
"Blimey," Ron said, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, "if that keeps up the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak — ARRGH!"
A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron's head and exploded. Drenched and sputtering, Ron staggered sideways into Harry, just as a second water bomb dropped — narrowly missing Aurora Hermione, it burst at Harry's feet, sending a wave of cold water over his sneakers into his socks. People all around them shrieked and started pushing one another in their efforts to get out of the line of fire. Aurora looked up and saw, floating twenty feet above them, Peeves the Poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he retook aim.
"PEEVES!" an angry voice yelled. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"
Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and head of Gryffindor House had come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop herself from falling.
"Ouch — sorry, Miss Granger —"
"That's all right, Professor!" Hermione gasped, massaging her throat.
"Peeves, get down here NOW!" Professor McGonagall barked, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upward through her square-rimmed spectacles.
Aurora couldn't help but let a laugh escape her mouth. Peeves was already starting the term off great!
"Not doing nothing!" Peeves cackled, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!" And he aimed another bomb at a group of second-years who had just arrived.
"I shall call the headmaster!" Professor McGonagall shouted. "I'm warning you, Peeves —"
Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely.
"Well, move along, then!" Professor McGonagall said sharply to the bedraggled crowd. "Into the Great Hall, come on!"
Aurora, Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped and slid across the entrance hall and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face.
The Great Hall looked its usual splendid, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. 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.
It was much warmer here. Aurora, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost.
Pearly white and semitransparent, Nick was dressed tonight in his usual doublet, but with a particularly large ruff, which served the dual purpose of looking extra-festive, and insuring that his head didn't wobble too much on his partially severed neck.
"Good evening," he said, beaming at them.
"Says who?" Harry said, taking off his sneakers and emptying them of water. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving."
The Sorting of the new students into Houses took place at the start of every school year, but by an unlucky combination of circumstances, Harry hadn't been present at one since his own. Aurora had only been to one, which was last term. Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice called down the table.
"Hiya, Harry!"
It was Colin Creevey, a third year to whom Harry was something of a hero.
"Hi, Colin," Harry said warily. He looked over at Aurora who was ready to start laughing. Hermione jabbed her in the ribs, with her elbow and gave her a stern look. A little cackle escaped her mouth.
"Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!"
"Er — good," Harry said.
"He's really excited!" Colin said, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?"
"Er — yeah, all right," Harry said. He turned back to Aurora, Hermione, Ron, and Nearly Headless Nick.
"Brothers and sisters usually go in the same Houses, don't they?" he said. He was judging by the Weasleys, all seven of whom had been put into Gryffindor.
"Oh no, not necessarily," Hermione said. "Parvati Patil's twin's in Ravenclaw, and they're identical. You'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?"
Aurora looked up at the staff table. There seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the entrance hall floor, but there was another empty chair too, and Aurora couldn't think who else was missing.
"Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Hermione said, who was also looking up at the teachers.
They had never yet had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. Aurora's favorite by far had been Professor Lupin, who had resigned last year — now he was Uncle Moony. She looked up and down the staff table. There was definitely no new face there.
"Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" Hermione said, looking anxious.
Aurora scanned the table more carefully. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway gray hair. She was talking to Professor Sin- istra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side was the sallow-faced, hook-nosed, greasy-haired Potions master, Snape — Aurora's least favorite person at Hogwarts.
Aurora's loathing of Snape was matched only by Snape's hatred of her, a hatred which had, if possible, intensified last year, when Aurora had helped her father escape right under Snape's overlarge nose — Snape and Sirius had been enemies since their own school days.
On Snape's other side was an empty seat, which Aurora guessed was Professor McGonagall's. Next to it, and in the very center of the table, sat Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, his sweeping silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons.
The tips of Dumbledore's long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. Aurora glanced up at the ceiling too. It was enchanted to look like the sky outside, and she had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it.
"Oh hurry up," Ron moaned, beside Harry, "I could eat a hippogriff."
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened and silence fell.
Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. If Aurora, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were wet, it was nothing to how these first years looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of 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 rest of the school — all of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair, who was wrapped in what Harry recognized as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat.
The coat was so big for him that it looked as though he were draped in a furry black circus tent. His small face protruded from over the collar, looking almost painfully excited. When he had lined up with his terrified-looking peers, he caught Colin Creevey's eye, gave a double thumbs-up, and mouthed, I fell in the lake! He looked positively delighted about it.
Professor McGonagall now placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty, patched wizard's hat.
The first years stared at it. So did every- one else. For a moment, there was silence. Then a long 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 favorites 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 rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished.
"That's not the song it sang when it Sorted us," Harry said, clapping along with everyone else.
"Sings a different one every year," Ron said. "It's got to be a pretty boring life, hasn't it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one."
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 first years. "When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table.
"Ackerley, Stewart!"
A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on, and sat down on the stool.
"RAVENCLAW!" the hat shouted.
Stewart Ackerley took off the hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him.
"Baddock, Malcolm!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
The table on the other side of the hall erupted with cheers; Aurora could see Draco, Atlas, and Theo clapping as Baddock joined the Slytherins. Aurora wondered whether Baddock knew that Slytherin House had turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other. Fred and George hissed Malcolm Baddock as he sat down.
Aurora then saw someone new sitting next to Atlas. Aurora squinted her eyes and heart dropped when she saw who it was. It was the boy who was with Atlas and Draco on the night of the attack at the Quidditch World Cup. She suddenly realised who one of the new students were.
"Branstone, Eleanor!" "HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Cauldwell, Owen!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Creevey, Dennis!"
Tiny Dennis Creevey staggered forward, tripping over Hagrid's moleskin, just as Hagrid himself sidled into the Hall through a door behind the teachers' table. About twice as tall as a normal man, and at least three times as broad, Hagrid, with his long, wild, tangled black hair and beard, looked slightly alarming — a mis- leading impression, for Aurora, Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew Hagrid to possess a very kind nature. He winked at them as he sat down at the end of the staff table and watched Dennis Creevey putting on the Sorting Hat. The rip at the brim opened wide —
"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted.
Hagrid clapped along with the Gryffindors as Dennis Creevey, beaming widely, took off the hat, placed it back on the stool, and hurried over to join his brother.
"Colin, I fell in!" he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. "It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!"
"Cool!" Colin said, just as excitedly. "It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"
"Wow!" Dennis said, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and pushed out of it again by a giant sea monster.
"Dennis! Dennis! See that boy down there? The one with the black hair and glasses? See him? Know who he is, Dennis?"
Aurora saw Harry looked away, staring very hard at the Sorting Hat, now Sorting Emma Dobbs.
The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moving one by one to the three-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall passed the L's.
"Oh hurry up," Ron moaned, massaging his stomach.
"Now, Ron, the Sorting's much more important than food," Nearly Headless Nick said as "Madley, Laura!" became a Hufflepuff.
" 'Course it is, if you're dead," Ron snapped.
"I do hope this year's batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch," Nearly said Headless Nick, applauding as "McDonald, Natalie!" joined the Gryffindor table.
"We don't want to break our winning streak, do we?"
Gryffindor had won the Inter-House Championship for the last three years in a row.
"Pritchard, Graham!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Quirke, Orla!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
And finally, with "Whitby, Kevin!"
("HUFFLEPUFF!"), the Sorting ended. Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and the stool and carried them away.
"About time," Ron said, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate.
Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome.
"Before we dig into the feast, I would like to confirm that we do have two fourth year students joining the school. Please welcome Ophelia Lloyd and Leo Riddle." The whole great hall burst into chatter.
Aurora's heart dropped. A Riddle?? How could Dumbledore let the son of Voldemort at the school? Aurora thought in panic. She looked over at Harry, Hermione and Ron. They had the same thoughts.
And this Ophelia person? Where they friends? It had to be a coincidence right? None of this made sense.
"Now I have only have two words to say to you all now," he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall, as the chatter faded out. "Tuck in."
"Hear, hear!" Harry and Ron said loudly as the empty dishes filled magically before their eyes. It was like they had completely forgotten the moment before. Aurora couldn't help but smile at them two.
Nearly Headless Nick watched mournfully as Aurora, Harry, Ron, and Hermione loaded their own plates. They didn't speak at all about the two new students. Everyone else was, but not them. Aurora just didn't want it to be true.
"Aaah, 'at's be'er," Ron said, with his mouth full of mashed potato.
"You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know," Nearly Headless Nick said. "There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."
"Why? Wha' 'appened?" Harry said, through a sizable chunk of steak.
"Peeves, of course," Nearly Headless Nick said, shaking his head, which wobbled dangerously. He pulled his ruff a little higher up on his neck. "The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast — well, it's quite out of the question, you know what he's like, utterly uncivilized, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghost's council — the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance — but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down."
The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin ghost, a gaunt and silent specter covered in silver bloodstains. He was the only person at Hogwarts who could really control Peeves.
"Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something," Ron said darkly. "So what did he do in the kitchens?"
"Oh the usual," Nearly Headless Nick said, shrugging. "Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits —"
Clang.
Hermione had knocked over her golden goblet. Pumpkin juice spread steadily over the tablecloth, staining several feet of white linen orange, but Hermione paid no attention.
"There are house-elves here?" she said, staring, horror-struck, at Nearly Headless Nick. "Here at Hogwarts?"
"Certainly," Nearly Headless Nick said, looking surprised at her reaction. "The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred."
"I've never seen one!" Hermione said.
"Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?" Nearly Headless Nick said. "They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning . . . see to the fires and so on. . . . I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?"
Hermione stared at him. Aurora had a bad feeling that this conversation was about to get worse.
"But they get paid?" she said. "They get holidays, don't they? And — and sick leave, and pensions, and everything?"
Nearly Headless Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck.
"Sick leave and pensions?" he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it once more with his ruff. "House-elves don't want sick leave and pensions!"
Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from her.
"Oh c'mon, 'Er-my-knee," Ron said, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding.
"Oops — sorry, 'Arry —" He swallowed. "You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself !"
"Slave labor," Hermione said, breathing hard through her nose. "That's what made this dinner. Slave labor."
And she refused to eat another bite.
The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings.
"Treacle tart, Hermione!" Ron said, deliberately wafting its smell toward her. "Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!"
But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up. Aurora smiled at the two.
When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.
"So!" Dumbledore said, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered,"
("Hmph!" Hermione said)
"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 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 Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on 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."
"What?" Harry gasped. He looked around at Fred and George, his fellow members of the Quidditch team. They were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak. Though she hated Quidditch, she couldn't help but feel bad for her friends.
Dumbledore went on, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy — but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts —"
But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.
A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers' table.
A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione gasped.
The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any Aurora had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel.
Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's 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 blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye — and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all they could see was whiteness.
The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words Aurora couldn't hear. 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.
The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark gray hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat.
His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.
"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Dumbledore said brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody."
It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students clapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.
"Moody?" Harry muttered to Ron. "Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?"
Aurora turned her head slightly to them. She didn't like this Moody person. He looked like he could kill you at any moment. Though, Aurora kept that to herself.
"Must be," Ron said in a low, awed voice.
"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered. "What happened to his face?"
"Dunno," Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination.
Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and Aurora saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot.
Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that 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 said Weasley loudly.
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," he said, "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 . . ." said Dumble- dore, "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."
"Death toll?" Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. But her anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly to one another, and Aurora herself was far more interested in hearing about the tournament than in worrying about deaths that had happened hundreds of years ago.
"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation 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 or herself in mortal danger.
"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, 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."
"I'm going for it!" Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, Aurora could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more.
"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "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. This"
— Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious — "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 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."
His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to 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 toward the double doors into the entrance hall.
Aurora could hear mixed conversations. Some about the Tri-Wizard tournament and some about the two new students.
"They can't do that!" George Weasley said, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"
"They're not stopping me entering," Fred said stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"
"Yeah," Ron said, a faraway look on his face. "Yeah, a thousand Galleons . . ."
"Come on," Hermione said, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."
Aurora, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George set off for the entrance hall, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament.
"Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?" Harry said.
"Dunno," Fred said, "but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George. . . ."
"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," Ron said.
"Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?" Fred said shrewdly. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."
"People have died, though!" Hermione said in a worried voice as they walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase.
"But Mione, where's the fun if there isn't a bit of risk?" Aurora said, backing the twins up. Hermione narrowed her eyes at Aurora.
Aurora had to agree with the twins. There shouldn't be a dead line. If you enter, your putting your life at risk. You've made the decision. Aurora personally would take that risk.
"Yeah," Fred said airily, "but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, Ron, what if we find out how to get 'round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?"
"What d'you reckon?" Ron asked Harry. "Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older. . . . Dunno if we've learned enough. . . ."
"I definitely haven't," came Neville's gloomy voice from behind Fred and George. "I expect my gran'd want me to try, though. She's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honor. I'll just have to — oops. . . ."
Neville's foot had sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. There were many of these trick stairs at Hogwarts; it was second nature to most of the older students to jump this particular step, but Neville's memory was notoriously poor. Harry and Ron seized him under the armpits and pulled him out, while a suit of armor at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked, laughing wheezily.
"Shut it, you," Ron said, banging down its visor as they passed. They made their way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, which was concealed behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress.
"Password?" she said as they approached.
"Balderdash," George said, "a prefect downstairs told me."
The portrait swung forward to reveal a hole in the wall through which they all climbed. A crackling fire warmed the circular common room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables. Hermione cast the merrily dancing flames a dark look, and Aurora distinctly heard her mutter "Slave labor," before bidding them good night and disappearing through the doorway to the girls' dormitory.
Aurora asked Neville if he was ok, for the hundredth time, before going up to her dormitory. When she entered, she was greeted with a warm sensation. Her dormitory was her third home. It was a place she felt safe in. The fire crackled in the centre of the room and everyone was unpacking their stuff.
She found Llewelyn sitting at the end of her bed, curled up into a ball. She smiled at him and gave him a scratch behind the ear, before starting to unpack her stuff.
Half an hour passed by and everything felt like home. Her books were all neatly set on her shelf, her clothes were put away, and her school books were in one neat pile. Soon enough, it wouldn't be this clean.
Aurora turned to her bed and found a note sitting there, further away from Llewelyn. It had Atlas's hand writing. She hadn't seen an owl come into the dorm, so her confusion grew even more.
When she looked around the room, everyone was asleep. Aurora silently opened the letter.
𝓐𝓾𝓻𝓸𝓻𝓪,
𝓜𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓶𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓐𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓸𝓶𝔂 𝓽𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻 𝓫𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓶𝓲𝓭𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽. 𝓦𝓮 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓪 𝓵𝓸𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓬𝓪𝓽𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓾𝓹 𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓸.
—𝓐𝓽𝓵𝓪𝓼
Aurora stared at the letter. She had a feeling that this catching up had a lot to do with Leo Riddle and the Death Eater attack.
***
A/N:
Andddd that's chapter 38 done !!!
Eeee!! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter.
This is only the start to what I have planned....
WC: 5879
"This is how betrayal starts...not with big lies, but with small secrets..."