It was the Welcome Feast of October 30th, when the method of choosing the champions for the Tournament would be revealed.
The teachers had decorated the Great Hall overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House. Behind the teachers' table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms.
Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were probably a little overwhelmed.
The two schools had arrived this morning — Beauxbatons in a flying-horse-drawn carriage the size of a large house, and Durmstrang in a massive ship from their very own lake.
The students of Beauxbatons sat with the Ravenclaws, while the Durmstrang students made their way to the Slytherins. Viktor Krum was among them, and Graham Montague fainted when the Bulgarian Seeker sat next to him.
A concerned Krum had tried to wake him up, but was interrupted when Malfoy leant forward and began to obviously smarm up to him. "My name's Draco Malfoy, you may know my father..."
"He's embarrassing us," Drew moaned, wishing Pansy would get the ferret to shut his mouth.
Wilby shrugged, "At least Krum can see straight through him."
Drew studied the Seeker and tried to figure out why people were so obsessed. Okay, maybe she'd care more if she'd actually seen the Quidditch World Cup — Cyndee had gotten tickets — but things had evidently not gone according to plan this summer.
Anyway, Drew wasn't as enthusiastic about the sport anymore. She'd really only tried to join because she was in her violent competitive phase and wanted to make a point, but she didn't feel the need anymore. Now she just wanted prize money.
Drew finished eating quite fast, restless for the Feast to end so that the Tournament would officially open.
"The Beauxbatons students are stealing all the French dishes," Millicent said tartly. She indicated with her head a girl with long silvery-blonde hair who was marching to their table with a determined expression.
She was unnaturally beautiful, and Drew had to tear her eyes away to avoid looking creepy like half the Slytherins were. She was reminded of Eliza, which made her uncomfortable.
Gracelyn was in the aisle Rennervating her younger brother, and the blonde girl impatiently tapped her shoulder, "Excuse me." It was clear she wanted to pass.
The prefect nearly dropped Graham into a plate of Swedish meatballs, but he woke up just in time.
"Sorry," Gracelyn squeaked to both her brother and the girl, dashing back to her seat next to Xavier. She elbowed him severely, "Look at her — she must be a veela. Xavier, look —"
Irritated, the Head Boy pushed her arm away, "I'm taken. Not my type. Stop it."
Drew turned to Cyndee, "What's a veela?"
Cyndee waved her fork around, "They're semi-humans that dance to entrance you, and when they're angry they grow wings and throw flames at you. They're Bulgaria's mascots."
Drew frowned, "That's not fair."
"She's not one though — not pretty enough. But it's definitely possible that she's related to one."
" 'Not pretty enough'," Drew muttered, watching the possible veela take a platter of blancmange from their table. Cyndee's standards were a little high.
Wilby's were probably too low, because he was looking at Drew instead.
* ° * ° *
The Goblet of Fire was placed in the Great Hall with an Age Line drawn around it to prevent underage students from submitting their names. Drew had twenty-four hours to succeed.
Fred and George had already failed epically and grown long white beards to prove it. Ha, as if Dumbledore's magic could be fooled by a potion.
There were two easy solutions to it. The first was to simply throw it in.
Drew stood just outside the line, her friends and some other students watching her. She aimed her crumpled up piece of parchment and tossed it.
It was a sure hit until the paper burst into flames halfway through. Her friends let out sighs of relief.
Blaise snorted rudely, "As if the Headmaster wouldn't have thought of that."
Drew pulled another slip of paper from her pocket and gave it to Wilby. "Levitate it over there. Do it now."
"It's not going to work," Wilby said, but he did it with the same result.
"It was so simple," Drew muttered dejectedly, "I thought he wouldn't have thought of it."
Wilby tried to drag her back, "Welp, that didn't work. Let's go back."
"Later," she said, "because there's still the obvious solution: get someone else to do it for you."
"Nobody's going to do it," Cyndee shook her head, "everybody despises you."
Drew crossed her arms, "You know, of all people, I kind of assumed you'd be okay with this. You love finding clever ways to cheat the system."
Cyndee looked at war, "Yes, but the Tournament is genuinely dangerous. It's a binding contract —"
Her words fell on deaf ears, because Drew was looking around, searching for someone who did not hate her guts. Aha. Morfinus, perhaps.
He was talking to Jacques, who Drew didn't know actually had friends. And a Gryffindor one no less.
It was Morfinus who saw her first. "No thanks. I know what you're going to ask, and I'd rather not risk it — no, put the money back. I'm honourable and can't be bribed."
Jasper snorted. "Honourable."
Morfinus glared at him. "And what's wrong with that? I've got principles."
Drew turned to Josué, "What about you, Joaquin?"
The Slytherin prefect scowled, "My name is Jack. J-A-C-K. It is literally four letters. Where did you get Joaquin?"
Drew held up her paper, smiling winningly.
He slapped it away, amused. "Leave me alone, Daniel."
"It's Drew."
"It's Dan," he mimicked.
"Never mind."
With Wilby following, Drew strolled off to the common room, where she found Xavier wearing a green T-shirt and lying on the rug like he had been two hours ago. He was reading a mystery novel and dead to the world.
"Hey Columbus, why are you always on the floor now?" she asked, kicking him in the leg.
He muttered something discourteous about her. "It's where I go when I'm depressed. What do you want?"
She amped up the dramatics. Perhaps if she annoyed him enough he'd do it. "I desperately need your help," she lamented, bringing the back of her hand to her forehead. "The Goblet of Fire has been begging me all day to put my name in, but alas, I am only fourteen, and I cannot. I can't bear to disappoint it. Please, Xavier, you're my only hope."
"You sound like Caro," he complained sullenly. Usually he said it like an insult, but today he just sounded wistful. "I have no friends and only ungrateful children like you to look after."
"I'm not a children — I mean child. Are you going to enter?"
"No. I'd rather not have Rita Skeeter digging into my love life. Could be bad for employment."
"Oh. That's really sad. Anyway, I don't have a love life, so...can you help me enter?"
Xavier held out his hand, and Drew waited for it to become a rude gesture. "What?" she asked finally.
He beckoned, "The paper."
"You're going to toss it in the fireplace," Drew accused, but since she had a lot of copies, she gave it to him.
Xavier seemed to find burning it very tempting, but he pocketed it. "No, I'll put it in the Goblet tomorrow at breakfast."
Drew thought she'd misheard. "Are you joking? I haven't even paid you yet."
He laughed, "You're not getting picked, so why not? Maybe your disappointment will brighten my day."
"Hey now —"
"It's going to be Cedric," he said, putting his book on his face so he wouldn't be able to see her.
Drew tried to place the name. "The...Hufflepuff Seeker? How do you know?"
"Because he's a prefect and I've worked with him. He's one of the few people I tolerate, which means he is a very good wizard, definitely worthy of being the Hogwarts champion. Now shoo." He made a shooing motion in her general direction.
Drew went to an unoccupied sofa, "It is now my life goal to be called a 'very good wizard' by Xavier, instead of 'what have you done' or 'less-handsome Satan'."
Wilby frowned, sitting down next to her. "That's going to be hard. You should aim lower."
"Maybe. We should bring Quentin back though. We all thought he'd be extra grumpy, but he's just sad."
"I'm not sad!" Xavier yelled from the carpet. "I'm just rethinking my purpose. And my value. Also, I hate everyone in this room."
Drew smirked, "The Grinch arrives."
The next morning, to her absolute disbelief, Xavier actually did as he'd promised. After showing the same piece of parchment to her as proof, he walked straight through the Age Line and put it in for her.
His lack of faith in her abilities was very insulting.
"I'm going to tell Quentin that you're bullying me!" Drew fumed as he went back to his seat.
The Head Boy rolled his eyes, "Go ahead."
* ° * ° *
The Halloween Feast wasn't all that great compared to the Welcome Feast, and of course, there was all the anticipation of who the Goblet was going to pick.
Wilby's birthday was tomorrow, so Drew gathered a few cakes and guarded them selfishly, snapping at whoever tried to take one.
Eventually, the time came. The first two were chosen — Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour.
Dumbledore read the third slip of parchment, "The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory!"
As the Hufflepuffs burst into euphoric applause, Xavier shot Drew a smug look, like what did I tell you?
She acted like she didn't see him. At least the Tournament would be interesting — though it'd be more interesting if she was in it — a Bulgarian Seeker, a semi-veela, and another Seeker were all compelling competitors.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, 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 —"
The Headmaster suddenly stopped speaking. The Goblet, which had been blue-white, flashed with red flames once again. Sparks shot out.
Drew perked up as the Hall went silent. There was more drama? "How much do you want to bet that this has something to do with Harry Potter?"
"It better not," a nearby Hufflepuff muttered.
A long blaze had shot suddenly into the air with a piece of parchment. Automatically, Dumbledore reached out and seized it. He stared at it for a drawn-out moment, before clearing his throat, "Harry Potter."
She observed the Boy Who Lived across the Ravenclaws. He was stunned as he addressed the open-mouthed Gryffindors, "I didn't put my name in. You know I didn't."
Honestly, Drew felt like the guy deserved a break.
* ° * ° *
Dragons. Of course the First Task was dragons.
Drew and her friends sat in the stands watching the champions try to swindle a golden egg from four different dragons.
They didn't know the other champions well, so they ended up cheering for Harry Potter. It was kind of hard, since a lot of the Slytherins in their year were wearing badges that said "POTTER STINKS".
"You're taking this a little far," Drew had told Malfoy when she'd first seen it, barely containing her exasperation. "I think he feels pretty terrible right now."
"I don't care what you think, Mudblood."
So much for a truce. Drew had ripped the badge from his robes and shoved it in his mouth.
* ° * ° *
In early December, the Slytherins of fourth year and older gathered in a large empty classroom in the dungeons for a mandatory meeting. The floor had been Transfigured from stone to shiny wood, and they chatted amongst each other, wondering what it was about.
Millicent speculated that they were in trouble. Malfoy thought it had something do to with the Second Task, and Pansy agreed with him because that's all she knew how to do.
When Snape entered the room, he was positively miserable. "Professor McGonagall has gotten the thought into her head that in preparation of the...Yule Ball," he winced like there was a knife in his back, "the Heads of House should teach their respective students how to dance, so as to make a good impression on the other schools. And..." he scowled mutinously, "...the Headmaster agrees."
The Slytherins quietly took this in with a mixture of fear and anticipation.
"I will not be doing so," Snape declared. He stared around the room with beady black eyes, "I will have someone else do it. Let's see..."
Panic-stricken, the students shrank back.
"If either of us gets chosen," Drew whispered urgently to Wilby, "the other fires a Cracker Jinx and we both escape." He nodded resolutely.
"Xavier," Snape decided, and relieved heads swivelled to the boy in question. "As Head Boy, you should teach —"
"Sir," the seventh year interrupted frantically, "I can't dance. I don't think I'm the best person to choose."
Drew bet that he was lying.
"Neither am I, sir," Gracelyn put in quickly. The other prefects all joined in to voice their inadequacy. José had especially vigorous head shakes.
"Oh very well." The professor narrowed his eyes, scanning the rows of teens. Drew refrained from making eye contact. "Does anyone in this room have an inkling on how to dance?"
Nobody replied.
Duncan Torcher's arm went up. His red-dyed hair was bright in the dark room, and his eyes were hopeful. "I can breakdance, professor."
Snape ignored him.
"Severus!" a stern female voice called from the doorway. "Are you making the students teach themselves? Come now, you know how to dance!"
It was Professor McGonagall, and Drew laughed at Snape's horror. "Pick a student," the Head of Gryffindor urged wickedly, "go on, they need a demonstration."
"Sir," Duncan waved his arm in the air in a near impression of Hermione, "I can breakdance."
Snape quickly averted his eyes, and they landed on Gracelyn. She squeaked and dived behind Xavier, so once again Snape was looking at the humourless Head Boy. And to save his hide, Xavier leaned forward and shoved Duncan, who stumbled to a stop in front of Snape.
Drew snickered, "Okay, I want to see this."
The red-haired boy beamed, "Alright, sir, I'm ready."
"This is ballroom dancing," Snape glowered, left eye twitching violently. "Not...'breakdancing'."
"Eh," Torch shrugged, "it's still dancing, sir. I can learn."
Snape stared at McGonagall almost desperately, but she was casually leaning against the doorframe, watching the show and smirking.
"Hold out...your left hand..." Snape mumbled, in pain.
Duncan did so, standing on his tiptoes as to be almost as tall as the teacher. Snape slowly clasped their hands, and put his other on Duncan's waist, agonizingly instructing him to put his other hand on his shoulder.
It went on like this for a while, and the Slytherins were actually learning something, until Duncan suddenly couldn't take it anymore, and he slipped away and started spinning around the floor on his back.
"Mr. Torcher," Snape bit out through gritted teeth, hands still held up awkwardly. "Get up."
"Watch this, guys," Duncan did a headspin, which was honestly really impressive. Some students started clapping, and Professor McGonagall muffled a chuckle at the door.
Duncan got to his feet, steadying himself quickly. "Sir, I could teach you."
The class erupted into laughter, imagining Snape greasing up the floor with his head.
Snape pointed at the corner of the room, steam practically coming out of his ears, "Go...over...there."
Duncan shrugged, only mildly disappointed, "Okay, sir."
"And never dye your hair that colour again," Snape's face had nearly turned into a tomato.
Getting his hair insulted was a common occurrence he'd long gotten used to, so Torch just shrugged again and ambled to the corner.
The Potions professor again searched for a target, and everyone's eyes went in different directions, staring everywhere but him.
Snape's dark tunnel-like eyes only narrowed further, and with a swish of his robes, he stormed out of the room, apparently having given up. Professor McGonagall let him pass, a tiny smile on her thin lips.
"Well," she announced, "I shall take over. Come back, Mr. Torcher. Your hair is fine." She spun and scanned the Slytherins for another victim. "Ah, perfect! Mr. Malfoy! Come over here."
The ferret was alarmed, and he hastily took off his POTTER STINKS badge and threw it at Goyle. The teacher went up to him and pulled him by the sleeve to the middle of the classroom.
Malfoy still tried to protest, "I-I er, my arm still hurts from...the hippogriff...you know."
"Nonsense! That was more than a year ago!"
"I...I...w-wait..."
Professor McGonagall arranged his hand on her waist, and the Slytherins guffawed as his cheeks turned redder and redder with mortification.