The whole of Gryffindor house was gathered in the common room, crammed into the squashy armchairs before the hearth or else milling around impatiently. There was an excited buzz in the air as the pupils discussed why they had been summoned here.
"I've heard Dumbledore's got a pet dragon he wants us to meet!" Neville called out gleefully, his face shining expectantly.
Hermione sighed. "Honestly, don't be stupid, Neville. Dumbledore would never take that kind of risk with his students."
Neville made to protest, but was silenced as the portrait hole burst open and Professor McGonagall climbed in, looking round at the students gathered there. She had a disgruntled expression on her face, and was holding a long piece of parchment. Clearing her throat, she began,
"The Quidditch Tournament has been cancelled," she stated, attempting to ignore the cries of protest that met this news.
"WHAT!"
"You're joking!"
"That's outrageous!
"You can't-"
"I'm afraid it's not up to me, Potter," McGonagall snapped irritably. "Professor Trelawney insists that she sees 'grave accidents' for the Quidditch teams of Hogwarts if they are to go ahead and take part in the tournament this year. Professor Dumbledore, most unwisely if you ask me, has chosen to take her advice and cancel the tournament."
"Please, Professor," Hermione chimed in, "What are we going to do instead then?"
"Ah," McGonagall's face went dark, and her lips tightened. "This is where it gets rather preposterous, you see. Each teacher is to set their own 'mini tournament' for all students of all ages to take part in. One student will win each subject's tournaments, adding points to their respective houses. The house with the most points, wins."
"But – well, Snape's obviously gonna be unfair and let someone from Slytherin-"
"I know, Potter. But there is nothing I can do about it."
"Can't believe this," Ron grumbled at breakfast the next morning, smashing his pumpkin juice down so hard it sloshed onto Hermione's toast. "No Quidditch, and instead we have to do more work. That's what it will be, isn't it? Learning new spells and all that…"
"Well," Hermione piped up, brandishing her wand at her sodden toast, "I, on the other hand, think it'll be a great learning experience," she went on, ignoring Ron's rude muttering and Harry's sniggers. "I mean, if we're to sit our NEWTs next year we'll have to have as much practical experience as possible."
"Yeah, just because you're going to win all the subject tournaments. Except potions maybe… I reckon that'll go to Malfoy, bloody teacher's pet." Ron snapped.
Just before Hermione could round on him once more, Dumbledore stood up at the staff table and cleared his throat. Although it wasn't a loud gesture, the Hall fell silent immediately.
"As you all know, students and teachers alike, a different kind of tournament shall be taking place this year at Hogwarts." He beamed down upon them with a twinkle in his eye, apparently unaware of the reluctant groans and whisperings that received his words. "I hope you shall all find this to be a beneficial learning experience-"
"See!" Hermione hissed.
"-and an entertaining task at the same time. You shall be briefed of your tasks in your respective lessons. And to ensure there is no cheating, each student shall perform their own individual task."
An even louder groan echoed through the Hall as the students exchanged pained looks with their friends.
"This is going to be awful. Bloody awful." moaned Ron, swigging down the last of his pumpkin juice in dismay.
Charms class was silent as Harry, Ron and Hermione filed in that morning to find each and every pupil watching Professor Flitwick eagerly. Clearly, Hermione wasn't the only one looking forward to the subject tournaments.
"Ahem," Professor Flitwick squeaked, his tiny body swaying on the pile of books that allowed him to see his seated students at eye level. "Your first task. Yes. I shall call each one of you to accompany me in the empty classroom next door in alphabetical order to receive your briefing. The rest of you will kindly wait patiently… Now, first… Hannah Abbott, if you will please follow me…"
Soon it was Hermione's turn to stumble nervously out of the classroom and return, red-faced and flustered, refusing to tell a word.
"Professor Flitwick said if I tell anyone about my task I'll get disqualified." She stated resolutely.
Ten minutes later, Parvati returned to the classroom and informed Harry that it was his turn. Surprisingly nervous, Harry strode out the door and into the empty classroom.
"Ah, Mr Potter," Flitwick squeaked, beaming at Harry. "Take a seat, take a seat. Now… your first task… Hmm. Oh yes! Should be interesting… you must put a Cheering Charm on Professor McGonagall tomorrow morning at breakfast. Off you go now! Please tell-"
"But Professor… that's… impossible!"
Flitwick winked mischievously. "I'm sure you'll find a way, Mr Potter."
At the end of the lesson, Harry, Ron and Hermione quickly gathered up all their books and made their way down to the dungeons for Potions.
"I've got to levitate Snape's goblet of pumpkin juice tomorrow morning without him realising it's me. Honestly, I doubt I'll make it past this first task alive!" Ron complained loudly as they swept down their third flight of stairs.
"Ron! You could get disqualified-" Hermione began.
"Good! Save me the trouble!"
When they finally arrived down at the dungeons, half the class were there, but not seated. Instead the students had formed an orderly line with an arm's distance between them. Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry as he entered but could not reprimand him for lateness because Malfoy hadn't arrived yet. A feeling of dread began stewing in Harry's stomach – Flitwick's task was going to look like a piece of cake in comparison to whatever Snape had in store for him.
"Silence!" Snape snapped, even though nobody had been talking. "Join the line and spread out. I will inform you of your tasks in turn and give you the required apparatus to carry them out. You first, Potter." Snape's mouth had curled into a twisted smile, and the feeling in Harry's stomach worsened. Snape bent over, his face inches away, his hooked nose almost touching Harry's and breathed in a voice full of venom,
"Love potion," he whispered, handing Harry a vial full to the brim of swirly pink liquid. "You will find a way to slip it to Millicent Bulstrode tomorrow night. And you will not be able to give her the antidote for three days. Is that clear?"
Harry opened his mouth to protest – Millicent Bulstrode was a Slytherin nobody liked to cross at the worst of times. Butch, unfriendly and evil-tempered, Millicent was the last person Harry wanted to fall head over heels for him – but Snape silenced him with a look that could kill. Fuming, Harry pocketed the potion.
That night, Harry, Hermione and Ron were seated comfortably around the warm fire in the Gryffindor common room, discussing (well, Harry and Ron were) their tasks.
"Millicent Bulstrode…" Ron shook his head, grinning, "And I thought I'd got it bad, mate. All I have to do is slip Goyle a Shrinking Solution… at least mini Goyle won't be able to beat me up though… Imagine Millicent in love!"
"It's not funny!" Harry insisted, over Ron's howls of laughter. "How am I going to manage this? I kind of want this… just because Quidditch is off, doesn't mean Gryffindor aren't in with a chance of winning-"
But at that moment he was interrupted by a shout of surprise from upstairs. Hermione, who had been dozing off with Crookshanks in her lap, sat bolt upright as thundering footsteps brought Neville into the common room, clutching in his hand…
"Neville, why are you holding a badger at 12 o'clock at night?" Ron asked sleepily.
"He was in Trevor's tank! I reckon Trevor's got magic powers!" Neville exclaimed excitedly, waving the furry black and white lump in Harry's face.
"Oh – I'm so sorry, Neville. That was me – my Transfiguration task was to turn Trevor into a badger… must have forgotten to turn him back – might as well tell you now. Here." She waved her wand and in the badger's place returned Trevor, croaking loudly. Neville looked crestfallen, and Harry could have sworn he heard a sniff as he made his way slowly back up to the boys' dormitories.
"We'd better get to bed too. I mean, need some sleep if I'm going to get murdered by Snape at breakfast tomorrow…" Ron yawned, and off they went.
Harry awoke early the next morning feeling utterly carefree. After a few minutes, he remembered the events of the day before, and the tasks that were in store for him today, and felt a knot tighten in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't the only one – Ron was lying in bed, practicing levitating his Chudley Cannons figurines, while Neville seemed to be attempting to turn his bed curtains purple. Frowning slightly, Harry felt for his glasses then got ready to go to breakfast, a plan slowly forming in his mind.
"Professor," Harry was standing by Professor McGonagall at the staff table, clutching a piece of parchment. "I really don't understand this essay, should we describe inter-Animal transfigurations or just give examples…"
"Potter, now is really not the time! I am trying to eat my breakfast in peace thank you very much-"
Harry pointed his wand at the unhappy Professor discretely and murmured the incantation under his breath. Professor McGonagall burst into a fit of giggles that was so out of character even Professor Sprout, who was seated next to her, looked round, shocked. Harry shrugged at Sprout's questioning look and made his way back to the Gryffindor table, grinning. He caught Flitwick's eye on the way, and received an approving nod.
Just as he was about to take his seat next to Ron, a furious shout from the staff table brought silence on the dining students. Snape, his black eyes flashing furiously, was pointing his wand at a goblet high up in the enchanted ceiling. It came whizzing back down, and Snape cast his eye round the Hall, as though expecting someone to stand up and exclaim that they did it.
"Whoever did that," he snarled, his voice echoing in the silent Hall, "will regret it."
Dumbledore chuckled heartily. "Now now, Severus. I'm sure it was just a task. No harm done, eh?"
Snape did not reply, but slowly lowered himself back down, disgruntled.
Flitwick winked at Ron, who turned to Harry with a queasy expression.
"Got a bit carried away… nerves, you know… he knows it was me, I can tell!"
"Don't be daft, Ron. Like Dumbledore said, no harm done." Hermione chirped over her issue of the Daily Prophet.
"Try telling that to him!" Ron nodded at Snape, who was still glaring at each student in turn.
That evening, Harry had succeeded in slipping a few drops of love potion into Millicent Bulstrode's pumpkin juice on his way past the Slytherin table. Full of dread, he returned to Gryffindor tower, Ron still grumbling about how mini Goyle had been harmless, full-sized Crabbe not so much. A brilliant purple bruise was forming around his left eye.
Exhausted, Harry flung himself onto the nearest armchair and began discussing Millicent's possible approaching tactics. He had barely had time to relax, however, when a pounding on the portrait hole and a familiar drawling voice startled him upright. Hermione was first off the mark, and, pulling the portrait of the Fat Lady aside ("such rude manners! In my day you would knock and wait…") raised her eyebrows at the sight of Malfoy in black silk pyjamas, with a grin stretched from ear to ear.
"Harry!" Malfoy exclaimed at the sight of Harry, and attempted to clamber through the portrait hole.
"Woah, stop right there Malfoy," Ron attempted to hold Malfoy back, but he shoved him aside impatiently.
"I knew you'd be here, Harry… we're made for each other!"
"Well of course I'm here, Malfoy, it's Gryffindor tower, and – wait, what?" Realization dawned upon Harry's face, and he planted his face into his palms.
"Nooo…. I put the potion in the wrong goblet…!" he groaned.
Ron let out a wild howl of laughter at the sight of Malfoy attempting to get closer to Harry, but Hermione frowned.
"You're lucky, Harry. My Potions Task was to slip Cho Chang some Hate Potion, but Snape gave me more than the necessary amount. Seeing as Malfoy already hates you – well, usually – then I don't expect its effects to be any different to normal Draco. Accio Hate Potion!"
A tiny vial half full of deep black liquid came zooming out of Hermione's schoolbag.
"Here, er, Draco, drink this," Harry pressed the bottle into his hands.
"Anything for you, Harry!" Malfoy said excitedly, keeping his gaze on Harry as he swigged down the potion. The effects were almost instant. Malfoy's face went from flushed pink to a sickly green, and his blue eyes narrowed to slits.
"If… any of you… breathe a word…" he gasped, and turned on his heel and fled.
Even Hermione managed giggle when they discussed the matter later that night, but, on a more serious note, Harry realised something.
"Well, this means I've failed, doesn't it? I'm out of the Potions tournament."
"I wouldn't consider that a bad thing!