Standing outside the great red doors of Simtarai's central hall, Sayyid Maghur listened to the cheering and stomping coming from inside. This was the day the students of Simtarai left for Hogwarts, the day the quad-wizard tournament officially began. The humid air buzzed with anticipation, even the wind roared with the energy of the day as rain blasted against the lattice windows of the hallway. The weather at Simtarai always seemed to reflect the mood of its students; that was one of the first things Sayyid had noticed in his first few days there all those years ago. It was the same weather the night before the older students left for the previous tournament at Beauxbatons five years ago: howling wind and violent rain, with intermittent flashes as bolts of lightning pierced the sullen sky. Back then Sayyid was only in his second year, just another member of the clamouring masses trying to catch a glimpse of that year's hopefuls as they shaved their heads for good luck. Now, in his seventh year, it was finally his turn to feel the razor's sting.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the heavy doors. The cheering stopped as soon as he did so and a silence fell across the hall. Students parted before him as he strode forwards, a few reaching out to get one last touch of his hair, as if the magic would rub off onto them. Ahead of him stood Zaida Shamekh, the love of his life. In her hand she held an ornate curved blade, and around her feet lay piles of hair. As head girl it was she who had the honor of shaving the heads of the hopefuls, for which Sayyid was incredibly grateful. If he was letting anyone near him with a deadly blade, he'd prefer it to be his girlfriend. Zaida stood on a raised platform in the centre of the circular hall, half way between the doors Sayyid had come through and the crescent-moon-shaped teacher's table at the opposite end. In the centre of the platform sat a solitary chair: Dark wood, carved with ornate patterns and with red velvet cushioning the seat and back. Simtarai's central hall was a magnificent structure; a great cylinder with deep crimson walls, adorned with delicate vines carved from sandstone, snaking in between the vast pillars that held up the domed roof. With the weather outside so gloomy the room was lit by the flickering torches lining the walls, their light reflecting off of the gleaming scalps of the Quad-Wizard hopefuls. The smooth headed students stood beside Zaida, keeping their hands behind their backs and their eyes looking staunchly ahead. Sayyid was the last to be shaved; as head boy and the favourite for champion, Professor Halim thought that it would be more dramatic to end with him.
As Sayyid came close to the podium, Zaida raised one arm towards him expectantly, presenting the back of her hand to him. When he reached her he took her hand in his and bent down, crossing one foot behind the other in a deep, ceremonial bow. He couldn't resist stealing a glance at her as he bowed - she was smiling in the dry way she did when she was in control and loving it. When he came back up, she reciprocated his bow with a polite curtsey, then led him by the hand to the chair and sat him down.
"Are you sure about this?" She whispered in his ear as she leaned in close, "I mean, you know people at Hogwarts will think you're..."
"I know who I am." Sayyid snapped. Like most people, he'd read the papers and he knew what a shaved head had come to mean in the rest of Libya. But at Simtarai, it meant good luck. Students, pureblood or otherwise, have shaved their heads in preparation the Quad-Wizard tournament for centuries. He wasn't going to let some fringe group take a tradition from him.
Whispers broke out amongst the crowd as Zaida scraped off the first clump of hair. It was impressive how sharp the blade still was; it was the same blade that had been used since the time of the original tournament before its cancellation in 1792. To think it had been so well kept for over a century between then and the tournament's revival in the twenties that in 1963 it would still be as sharp as ever… Sayyid was proud to be a part of a school which so valued its history. With Sayyid being the last hopeful, once his shaving was complete it would be time to travel to Hogwarts. Of the four schools, Simtarai had the shortest journey: Hogwarts students had travelled to previous tournaments over earth by train, Durmstrang over water by ship and Beauxbatons through the air by carriage. Simtarai students, fittingly, travelled through fire. As such, the journey was a simple matter of choosing a fireplace in the Hall Of Fire, throwing down some floo powder and stating your destination. It was over as fast as you could say "Hogwarts". This meant there was no long journey to kill their buzz. They'd all go straight from the shaving to Hogwarts, all of them still bristling with excitement, their heads filled with thoughts of glory and valour. Zaida finally scraped the blade one last time along Sayyid's scalp and then wiped off his now smooth head with a towel. The ritual was complete. Sayyid stood up, pumped his fist in the air and shouted:
"Simtarai!"
The audience responded in kind, stamping rhythmically on the ground and chanting "Say-yid, Sim-ta-rai, Say-yid, Sim-ta-rai"
The storm outside intensified as stomping, shouting students piled out of the great doors. Thunder rolled through the hall and lightning cut the sky; the wind was so strong that the shutters on the windows threatened to come off of their hinges. Something big was coming, Sayyid could feel it.