Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.
A/N: We begin at the Welcoming Feast at the beginning of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Dumbledore has just begun to give the announcements...
"So," said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered" ("Hmph!" said Hermione) "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 in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students.
"It is also my painful duty to inform you that Hogwarts has been placed under a quarantine with regard to owls. Until further notice, no owls may enter or leave the castle grounds."
"What?" Harry gasped. Around the Great Hall, murmurings and mutterings had erupted. Harry turned frantically to Ron and Hermione. "Hedwig isn't back yet! I sent her to Sirius."
Ron winced sympathetically. Hermione bit her lip. "I'm sure it's just temporary, Harry. I'll look in the library tomorrow and see whether this has happened before."
"Why d'you reckon they did it, though?" Ron asked.
Throughout the Great Hall, the same question was being asked. One small Ravenclaw was crying, apparently overcome by the notion that he wouldn't be able to contact his parents. Ernie Macmillan could be heard loudly lecturing those nearest him at the Hufflepuff table; Harry distinctly heard the word "plague."
He turned to his friends, intending to laugh off the idea, but Ron was looking worried. "It makes sense, if they're sick."
"I'm sure they're not sick," Hermione said, glaring at Ron. "And if they are, Hedwig's outside. She's not in any danger."
This made Harry feel rather better, and he turned his attention to the dais again as Dumbledore held up a hand for silence.
"I am aware that this news is distressing to many students, and I wish to assure you that I and the rest of the staff are working as hard as we can to restore normal communications. Those with questions—"
But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors to the Great Hall banged open. A petite man strode in, followed closely behind by Professor Snape. The stranger was, oddly, dressed in Muggle clothing: a black overcoat flapped dramatically behind him, and underneath it a closely-tailored suit was visible. Lace could be seen to spill from his collar and cuffs in the sudden bright illumination as a fork of lightning flashed across the ceiling. His face was young and pinched beneath a greasy black mane. He looked, Harry thought, rather as though he were imitating Snape's hairstyle.
The stranger made his way to the dais. He did not look at the students to either side of him, but kept his sharp eyes trained ahead. A storm of whispers followed him as he ascended the steps and extended a hand to Dumbledore.
"John Mandrake," he said in clipped tones, loud enough that it was obvious he intended everyone in the Great Hall to hear. "I've come from the Ministry of Internal Affairs to inspect this school."
Snape was right behind him. He spoke more quietly; Harry had to strain to make out the words. "I offered to escort him to your office, Professor, but he insisted on seeing you at once."
Dumbledore nodded and gestured for Snape to sit before turning his steely blue gaze on the stranger. The students fell silent. "Mr. Mandrake," Dumbledore said, his tone pleasant. "A most excellent dramatic entrance. We shall of course be happy to comply fully with your inspection. I will answer any questions you have, just as soon as the Welcoming Feast has concluded. Please, have a seat."
To the disappointment of the eager spectators, Mandrake sat obediently in the empty seat to Dumbledore's right. "Snape's livid," Ron whispered happily, and Harry saw that it was true—Snape's face was thunderous.
"Shh!" Hermione eyed them sternly as Dumbledore began to speak again.
"Lastly, I fear I must announce that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
Harry looked around at Fred and George, his fellow members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. They were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak.
"This is due to an event," Dumbledore continued, "that will take up much of the teachers' time and energy—but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. The details are currently being worked out and I will provide further information shortly.
"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 Professor McGonagall. Hermione was frowning.
"House-elves again?" Ron asked, rather nastily.
Hermione didn't seem to notice. "Where's the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"
"What about Quidditch?" Harry asked as they stood with the rest of the student body and began to move toward the doors. "Hey- do you reckon this is what Percy was going on about?"
"Must be," Ron said. "It had better be good, that's all I can say. Or Fred and George might actually kill someone."
Hermione was frowning. "Something seems off about this event, don't you think? The teachers were all exchanging looks when Dumbledore mentioned it."
"Not to mention this Mandrake bloke," Ron said. They had reached the corridor in which the Fat Lady hung now, and joined the queue of Gryffindors waiting to climb through the portrait hole. "I've never heard of any Ministry of Internal Affairs."
Harry could not understand why they cared about school inspectors and mysterious events in the face of a serious crisis. He could not imagine going an entire year without Quidditch.
"Cheer up, Harry." Hermione smiled at him. "This is an opportunity, really. You can try a different club! Who knows, maybe you'll find you really like something else."
Harry had a sudden nasty vision of himself spending his free afternoons shut up in a dusty classroom, learning new and complicated spells 'for fun'. "Er, maybe," he said, trying to sound sincere. "Or maybe I'll spend some time practicing on my own, you know, keeping up my skills…"
They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Password?" she asked.
"Balderdash," George said from behind them, "a Prefect downstairs told me."
The portrait swung forward, revealing a circular hole, which they climbed through. A crackling fire warmed the common room, which was full of tables and squashy armchairs. Hermione cast the merrily dancing flames a dark look, and Harry distinctly heard her mutter "slave labor" before bidding them goodnight and disappearing through the doorway to the girls' dormitories.
Neville joined Harry and Ron as they climbed the spiral staircase to their dormitory. There, they all got into pajamas and climbed into bed. Harry placed his glasses carefully on his night table.
"Internal affairs," Ron said musingly. "I might write to my dad, see if he knows anything…"
"Can't," Harry said glumly. "Quarantine, remember?"
"Oh, yeah…"
"What about this event, though?" Neville sounded nervous. "Think it'll be some sort of test?"
Harry had not thought of this. For a moment his thoughts of Quidditch receded, to be replaced by the image of endless History of Magic exams, all filled with complicated essay questions that he couldn't begin to answer, and Hermione saying brightly, "Cheer up, Harry, this is an opportunity, you know…"
And then, without his ever quite realizing that he had slipped into dreaming, he was looking at an overcast sky (the storm, it seemed, had blown itself out overnight) through the dormitory windows and Ron, already dressed, was shaking him awake and telling him that he had to get up now, or he'd miss breakfast…
A/N: I'm very excited about this project. Thanks for reading!