Hogwarts feasts never tired of giving her too much incentive to eat way too much, something Maggie always seemed to forget the moment she sat down at the Ravenclaw table. Not once before her six years here, back when she had been in 2017 instead of the fucking 90's, did Maggie ever taste food more exquisite. Pulling her long, strawberry-blonde curls into a bun that was only slightly less messy up than down, Maggie salivated at the long line of food down her table.

The feast was nearly over, but Maggie always had room for dessert, and that treacle tart was looking absolutely divine.

Before she could even take a bite, though, all the food disappeared back to the kitchens, signaling the end of the feast. Fork hovering just above the empty space where her third tart had previously sat, Maggie pouted with a sigh. Just like usual, no one quite noticed, as though she were just another talking painting. It always took quite a bit for people to actually notice her – like how she had met Tom, for example, back in '89, crying in the Alley entrance behind the Leaky Cauldron at three in the morning.

Looking up towards the head table, Maggie watched as Headmaster Dumbledore rose to his feet for the second time that evening.

"So!" he said, seeming to make eye contact with everyone but her, smiling. "Now that we are all fed and watered, 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."

Maggie might actually do that, if only to see cranky old Mrs. Norris. Animals had no trouble noticing her, after all.

"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."

Oh good lord, Maggie thought to herself, gaping. Quidditch was the only goddamn sport she actually liked and followed! It was… It was practically synonymous with Hogwarts!

All around her, her fellow students and Housemates were aghast, some shouting and some, like her, gaping in shock. Cho Chang, Maggie noticed, had half-risen to her feet in fury. The younger girl had, after all, had to fight so hard to be on the team.

"This is due," continued Dumbledore, "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-"

Thunder roared overhead as the enchanted ceiling showed lightning streaking across the sky. The Great Hall's doors slammed open in a noise that deafened the clouds above them, making Maggie jump and flinch away from whoever had done that. Heads swiveling towards the entrance, every student looked to the figure who stood in the doorway, shrouded in a ratty black cloak. Face illuminated in the light of lightning strikes above, Maggie felt her gut turn over and a chill sweep through her.

The last time she had felt this great of trepidation had been in her third year when she made saw Professor Quirrell for the first time. The man rumored to be in kahoots with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that Harry Potter defeated over the Philosopher's Stone.

Maggie decidedly did not like this man. Fortunately for her, just like everyone without cause to truly note her, his eyes (even the glass one moving wildly about) swept over her as though she were under a Notice-Me-Not. With a dull, contradictively-resonating thunk of his peg-leg prosthetic, the wizard limped forward with purpose, regular eye focused on the Headmaster whilst the glass one roamed on. Walking right between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables, he passed Maggie close enough to touch.

His face was covered in scars, not an inch left untouched. She leaned far away from him, nearly becoming one with the table. Unbidden, her hand reached into her pocket to grasp her wand tightly. Maggie wasn't confident in her ability to win in a duel against such a battle-scarred man, but she would die trying.

Despite her fears, though, the man did not so much as breathe out of turn as he passed her.

After shaking the Headmaster's hand, he sat down at the head table – in the DADA Professor's chair. Maggie closed her eyes as the Headmaster began to speak.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Dear God why was it always DADA? This didn't start until Harry Potter was fucking sorted, I blame him. "Professor Moody."

Maggie's eyebrows rose. In the summer of '90 she had been devouring news and history books like a fiend with the cops on their tail. She had thirsted to understand the history of her new home now that she finally accepted her place in it, however temporary. Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody. Ex-Auror, WWW veteran, as well as having an Order of Merlin, First Class, under his belt in the '70-'81 war against Dark Lord No-Name. She had been right in thinking she'd loose in a duel against him.

How in the hell was he their DADA teacher?

"As I was saying," Headmaster Dumbledore interrupted her internal monologue, jolting her into awareness. "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," shouted one of the Weasley twins over at the Gryffindor table.

The tense atmosphere broke under the boy's voice, and Maggie burst into laughter at the sheer hilarity of the situation, like many other students. The only ones who didn't were most of the Professors.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," the Headmaster continued, "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 decidedly, glaring at the Headmaster, who chuckled.

"Er – but maybe this is not the time… no…" he said. "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."
Maggie did, in fact, know of it. And it gave her a brilliant idea.

For as long as she'd been in this world, she'd been tried desperately to get peoples' attentions. Whatever magic had brought her here, though, had left it terribly hard to get even a friendly conversation with someone at a bus stop. Her teachers only noticed her enough to grade her essays and homework and comment on her high standing in castle rankings. She had long hoped that, perhaps, she would gain the attention of someone of knowledge of time-travel like her's, but had long given up on such a notion.

But that prize, she thought as she listened carefully to the Headmaster. She could use those galleons to do so much. Pay Tom back for everything he had done for her, buy more spellbooks to learn from, maybe even put towards rent of an apartment of her own… She turned seventeen for the second time, according to her own guessing on dates, on September 22.

But, as the Headmaster dismissed the student body for the night, Maggie drooped. All around her, every student no matter were they of age to compete, were whispering of entering. Very few seemed impartial to the idea. With the odds of numbers stacked against her, along with the cosmic Notice-Me-Not, Maggie doubted she had a snowball's chance in hell of actually being chosen as the Hogwarts Champion.

Best to put it out of her mind.

Chapter Two

Maggie Wolfe enjoyed her mornings in Ravenclaw Tower, enjoyed the eccentricity of her Housemates, and especially enjoyed how no one saw a problem with her lounging about the dorm room in white, lacy lingerie covered only by a robin-egg blue, chunky sweater that reached down her thighs and covered her finger tips, reading a text on experimental transfiguration in offensive and defensive contexts. Marlon Wells, she decided, had aptly titled his book; Transforming Protection: The Art of Transfiguration in Duels was nice, but a bit lengthy.

Lately, her already large interests in using magic in all its capacity had doubled. She had first started learning how to defend herself with magic in her fourth year, when the Chamber of Secrets was open and she – either a Muggle in a weird situation or a Muggleborn, displaced out of time no matter – was at great risk.

DADA this year did not help.

Professor Moody had started every class, despite grade levels, with a dark-sort of 'entertainment;' the Unforgivables, all used on a spider. And the next class period? Practice with throwing off the Imperius curse.

Maggie shivered, remembering that cold voice in her head, demanding her body and her actions. She had only been able to throw the curse off after the twelfth go-around. Looking at her book, she realized she'd not read a single word in three pages and quickly flipped back.

Yes, Maggie was suddenly incredibly more interested in her own defense. She just had a terrible feeling that she would regret it if she didn't learn.

(It was decidedly not because she wanted to duel someone in the tournament, not even a smidge.)

Her classes, outside of DADA, were going as well as usual. In Transfiguration she continued to soar above and beyond Professor McGonagall's expectations, absorbing the knowledge of changing the shape of reality with a feverish intensity. It was the most magical thing, aside from Potions, that Maggie had known of before the whole cosmic-time-displacment business, and quite fascinating regardless. Herbology was no longer a must for her, but she still enjoyed the study hall she took in the greenhouses, amongst the safer vegetation.

Potions was perhaps her second favorite class, despite how hard-won all points from Professor Snape were got; sometimes she caught the greasy-haired Professor staring at her as though seeing someone else entirely, and she wondered who he thought of. Clearly someone of great importance to him, as he seemed to avoid her table all-together, and when he did take points from her, it was always quietly, as though he didn't want another soul to hear. (This was the same with giving points, as well.)

Charms was about as well as usual, her grades good through sheer force of will as the technicalities of the craft had Maggie suffering. Astronomy was cold but beautiful, Ancient Runes was fascinating, Arithmancy was as close to math as she could get, and her Magical Art class was riveting with colors.