Chapter 2
The mouth-watering smell of roasted potatoes and turkey sandwiches that floated past the double doors of the Great Hall invited the travel-worn children to come inside.
If possible, the place seemed more stunning than ever. The high ceiling twinkled with the illusion of the night's sky, and the floating candles gave the room a homely glow. Bernadette soaked up the magic of it, enchanted.
Of course, her perception of the feast was biased due to the summer spent at her parents' house (locked bedroom doors, labeled takeaway at the bottom of the fridge, and withering side-glances, were bound to make even an abandoned McDonalds charming.)
The crowd parted towards their respective house tables. Sitting with your house was only obligatory for the first and last feast of the year. Throughout the term, table arrangements were largely ignored. This was one of the first changes headmistress McGonagall had instated when assuming her post as a way of encouraging inter-house friendships and cooperation. The healthy competition for quidditch matches and the House Cup was allowed, but Hogwarts would no longer admit segregation and animosity.
The wizarding world had seen enough of that.
Waving to her plethora of relatives, Rose made for the Ravenclaw table pulling her friend along, eager to find a spot close to the pudding. She frowned at the mingling students in their way – no good loiterers – and wove around them.
"Must – get – food," she panted.
Finally, they found an empty stretch of the bench and seized it, plopping down with a sigh in front of an assortment of treats.
"Oh, apple pie." The redhead closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
Bernadette restrained a laugh and shook her head. While Rose Granger-Weasley had inherited her mother's unbound curiosity and academic dedication, her stomach was undoubtedly her father's. She had an insatiable appetite and a penchant for sweets.
"We haven't even gone through the sorting, Rose. You can't inhale the food."
"But – it's not fair," she grumbled. "They can't put plates and plates of sweets in front of me and expect me to just look at them."
"Now, now," Bernadette tutted. "Such a bright witch, so little self-control."
"Shut up, Birdie."
A sharp clap of hands brought the room's attention to the marble podium, where the headmistress rested her elbows. The buzz of voices hushed, and the remaining busybodies took their seats.
McGonagall announced the beginning of the sorting ceremony, motioning for the Sorting Hat and stool to be brought up onto the dais. The once black hat, now worn and frayed, was placed on the first student's head.
"Hufflepuff."
Cheers and claps followed the decision of each child's house, and the Great Hall was soon buzzing with excitement and laughter. But as the sorting proceeded, it became clear to Bernadette that the Sorting Hat was drained. Whereas on her first feast it had sung and bantered for an hour, tonight it drooped pitifully and droned the house names.
"Something is wrong," Rose whispered.
Bernadette scanned her friend's bitten nails and tapping fingers, and she frowned. "Maybe its enchantment is coming undone," Bernadette offered, though she was more concerned with her friend than the hat. "It is ancient, after all. It deserves a break."
Rose shook her head, "I mean the headmistress."
The witch stood regally by the marble podium, hands twined and a clean expression marking her features. Bernadette was about to ask her friend what she was on about when she saw it – a tiny twitch of the headmistress' forehead. Almost imperceptible.
Yes, there was an edge to the older witch's posture that didn't quite fit in, and her expression was too careful to be relaxed.
Bernadette's hand shot under the table and squeezed her friend's fingers, dread trickling into her lungs like poison, burning.
"Something is wrong," Bernadette echoed.
Anything that made McGonagall tense was worth worrying over.
"Thank you, children. That concludes our sorting ceremony." McGonagall shifted on her feet, unusually agitated, while the first years settled down. "I have one final announcement – your attention, please."
Bernadette bit her lip at the cold shiver that slithered down her spine. Something was off.
Rose sensed it too, their hands were still firmly clasped on the bench between them.
"This year, the International Committee of Wizards met to analyze the performance of wizarding schools all over the world." McGonagall's face was drawn, she looked much older than normal. "They concluded that we have significantly distanced ourselves from one another, both in method and communication, since the war."
The remaining smiles in the room faded and confused glances were exchanged. Only now, the other students tasted the odd spark in the air.
Rose held her breath.
"The last decades have been trying and dark, I need not remind you." The corner of her lips trembled. "In light of that, the Committee has decided that our schools are the ideal place to foster unity in the wizarding community. Therefore, a Triwizard Tournament has been ordered-"
The headmistress' words were swallowed by an uproar of shouts, questions and general mayhem.
"Didn't someone die in the last one?"
"Voldemort!"
"Harry freaking Potter, dude…"
Rose exhaled, stunned, her face a dangerous shade of green. She was crushing Bernadette's fingers in her grip, but the other girl didn't care. She barely felt it.
On the other side of the room, Albus was stupefied, an alarming dash of panic in his green eyes. Being the son of a war hero wasn't easy, and being the son of The Chosen One, the wizard who ended the Dark Lord, could at times be absolute torture. The name 'Harry Potter' hung over him in any given situation, just waiting for the opportunity to crash down.
Like it did now.
His brother was saying something in his ear, pulling on his shoulder, but Albus didn't budge. She felt a tug in her gut, a need to go over and place a hand on Albus' shoulder. Maybe smooth down his hair and tell him it would all be over soon.
Except, it wouldn't.
"Silence," McGonagall's voice rang over the cacophony in the hall, magically amplified by her wand.
Not one peep defied her command. Everyone was shocked mute.
"The schools were separated into groups of three," she continued, hands fisted together on the podium. "Hogwarts will be hosting our friends from Beauxbatons and Castelobruxo. This tournament is comprised of three trials that will span the space of four months to determine a champion. Detailing of the rules, tests and accommodation arrangements will be shared in the following week by the Head of each house."
Squirming was quelled by a steely gaze from the headmistress. She was scared but not cowering, her tone was hard as rock when she said, "Years six and seven are allowed to enter their name for the chance to represent our school. No one else. This competition is meant to unite us and encourage the remembrance of our past. Safety is everyone's priority, rest assured."
With that she wrapped up her speech, initiating the feast and returning to her seat mechanically. Her lips remained a thin line throughout, not a fork of food left her plate, which was unencouraging.
Rose, likewise, had lost an interest in eating and sat in silence until they were called away to bed, at which point she gave Bernadette's hand a final squeeze and darted into the crowd to find her relatives.
Under normal circumstances, it would have hurt to be ignored by her friend. But tonight, even Bernadette yearned to pat down the boys and wrap them in a blanket.
With a parting glance at pale Albus and his gathered family, Bernadette made for her dorm in the west tower.
Bernadette woke up, for the first time in months, unhurriedly.
The tallest room in Ravenclaw tower had been her haven ever since she'd stumble in, six years ago, wiping away rebellious tears and was greeted by a jumpy, beaming redhead – her only roommate. This room was smaller than others, under the low hanging ceiling there was only space for two beds.
Two people.
It had its perks. Distance from noise and distraction, a plus when studying for finals. A marvelous view of the grounds. A skylight. Rapunzel-esque vibes. And only one roommate.
She sat up slowly and blinked the sleep from her eyes. The blue bedsheets pooled in her lap as she ran a hand through her knotted hair, wondering whether Rose had decided to spend the night in one of her relatives' room.
The matted curls decorating the bed on the other side of the room answered her question. Rose's soft sleepy mumbling made the corners of Bernadette's mouth quirk up, despite herself.
She was home – finally.
The brunette padded silently to the bathroom, unwilling to disturb her friend just yet. She brushed her teeth and rubbed the bags under her eyes, annoyed at their reminder of McGonagall's speech – the reason she had trouble sleeping.
A dangerous tournament. Dark magic.
Death.
She shook her head, sending droplets of toothpaste flying in various directions.
Not now, she pleaded. Try to enjoy your first day.
But words flitted adamantly in her mind.
Newspapers she'd accidentally stumbled upon while in the library, doing research for History of Magic. Headlines that turned from excited and praising to terrified, confused and heartbreaking. Moving pictures of a frazzled boy with a lighting scar clutching a lifeless body. A father in inconsolable tears. Sirens. Dragons. A maze.
Worst of all, she couldn't shake the memory of a frosty Christmas night when screams had woken her up. It was the first and last time she gave in to Rose's pleas to leave Hogwarts and spend the holidays at the Potter-Weasley home. The screams made her heart pound, she pressed her ear to the thin walls and heard someone babbling about a Cedric, killing curses and scars hurting. She'd pulled away, instantly ashamed for intruding on a private and sensitive moment. She knew the Potters were in that room.
It hadn't all made sense then, but she had pieced the story together since, from books, articles, and a few gossiping mouths at the Three Broomsticks.
The Triwizard Tournament was the catalyzer of the war, it was the return of the Dark Lord and his threat to wizardkind. A champion had been killed. Harry Potter had been kidnapped and seen Voldemort rise. No one had believed him.
And now, the International Committee of Wizards was digging it up again, shoving it in everyone's faces and forcing them to relive this tragedy.
And for what? Unity? Remembrance?
Bullshit.
The cruel, unfeeling bastards got a kick from rubbing salt into someone else's wounds.
"Birdie?"
Bernadette, startled, dropped her brush in the sink and nearly swallowed the paste in her mouth. "Shit," she said under her breath. "Yeah, Rose? I'm almost finished, I swear!"
While she waited for her friend to freshen up, Bernadette hurried about the room and unpacked her trunk, although most of her belongings had stayed at Hogwarts. Her clothes, new school supplies, and Kiwi's empty cage were soon set in their proper places and she stood, proudly examining them, before stuffing her hand in her pillowcase to extract her wand.
Oh, how she'd missed her wand!
The comforting tickle of magic spread from her fingers to her toes as she spelled both sets of sheets clean and tidied the beds with a flick of her wrist.
Rose entered the room with half of her hair in a braid and the other half sticking up like she'd been playing with a fork and a toaster. Her skin was a shade too pale and her lids droopier than usual, but other than that the witch had concealed the effects of a bad night's rest with cream and some well-applied spells.
"Come on, it takes forever to reach the Hall and I'm already starving!"
"When are you not?" Bernadette rolled her eyes, smiling, and held the door open.
It took them fifteen minutes to climb down from their room to the Great Hall – the downside of living in the tallest room of the tallest tower. By the time they arrived, the tables were buzzing with chatter and kids gulping down pancakes and cherry scones.
Bernadette moved toward the Ravenclaw table, but Rose caught her wrist with slightly shaking fingers.
"I'm gonna sit with Al, James, and Lily," she said, nodding towards the loudest table – Gryffindor – where her brother, squished between Lily Potter and Fred Weasley, spread jam on toast.
Bernadette was used to Rose sharing her mealtimes between both tables. In light of recent news, the girl had already expected Rose to choose her family this morning. She nodded quickly, unsure whether and how to offer comfort and advice, but before she could pull away Rose's grip tightened.
Rose's eyes pleaded silently, "Do you want to come?"
Normally, Bernadette would say no to such an invitation. Diving into Potter and Weasley family-time was a sure way to spiral into self-pity and jealousy, which she absolutely loathed doing. Except… normally, Rose wouldn't ask because she knew her friend didn't feel good about it. For her to do so –
She really needed support now.
As much as the thought of discussing the Triwizard Tournament in a table full of Gryffindors made her stomach turn, Bernadette sucked it up and forced herself to smile.
"Sure."
Rose pulled Bernadette into her mess of relatives and sat next to Lily who was tapping her fingers absently, unaware that her gray-and-yellow Hufflepuff tie was swimming in cereal.
The brunette, mouth dry, quickly plopped into the first vacant space she found and started stacking pancakes to keep her hands busy.
"That's what I call a healthy appetite," Albus said, the lightness of his tone not quite reaching his eyes.
It was only then that she realized she'd sat right next to him. And that she had ten pancakes wobbling precariously on her plate. Her ears burned.
"Yeah, because uh, I mean," she let go of the fork, eyes wide and feet tapping, "food is fuel, and eating is important."
Eating is important?
What?!
Where was that prized Ravenclaw wit when you needed it?
The corner of his lips tipped up in the beginning of a smile, it was enough to erase the frown-lines on his forehead. The shift was minimal but made his face regain some much-needed levity. That, alone, made the embarrassment and regret toasting her insides a little more bearable.
"You're right about that, Birdie."
She exhaled in relief and, with steadier hands, picked up her utensils. She wasn't the right person to talk to him about wizarding tournaments and family trauma, but she could try to inject his morning with some habitual teasing and, perhaps, a semblance of normalcy.
"The concept of 'don't play with your food' is a mystery to you, is it not?" she motioned to the shredded, uneaten bacon on his plate.
"So, I like mauling my breakfast." He shrugged. "Let a guy live."
His eyes glinted playfully. To her surprise, he picked up his fork and took a bite of the bacon. Her heart pattered with relief and something warm.
A sob pulled both of their attentions to Lily and Rose, who sat across the table. The latter pulled Lily in a one-armed hug and smoothed down her hair.
"There, there," she hushed, staring down the students who dared intrude on her cousin's vulnerable moment.
Hugo, Fred, and James crossed their arms and raised their chins. All passing students quickly found somewhere else to look.
"She's not going to send you home, Lil," Rose promised.
Bernadette frowned, turning to the boy beside her only to see his mood had crumbled. His shoulders were bunched up, head hung down. He wouldn't meet her gaze.
"McGonagall sent them a – a letter, Rosie." Lily wiped her cheeks furiously with her sleeves, tears competing with anger on her face. "My dad flipped, he owled saying he wants us out of here – that it's not safe. McGonagall agrees with him. Last night's talk was bullshit. She's scared, he's scared, and-"
More tears ensued.
The Potters were leaving?
Bernadette's eyes trailed to Albus of their own accord. The only indicator that he was listening were his increasingly white knuckles and reddening face. She knotted her hands in her lap to keep from running them down his back in soothing circles.
Breathe, she wanted to tell him. Breathe, you moron.
"Lily," Rose said, holding down her cousin's hands. "Lily Potter, shut up."
The girl gaped as tears gave way to affronted brows, but she did stop talking.
"You will not miss a year of school, none of you will. Your dad is just scared. Scared people panic, and panicked people say crazy stuff. Things will cool down," she silenced Lily's beginning of a protest with a tut, "they will, sugar. I know for a fact Aunt Ginny won't agree to this, she'll talk sense into him."
"Yeah, Lily." James gave his sister a reassuring smile. "It's not like we're entering our names in the competition. We're not stupid. Dad will see that eventually, he'll calm down and everything will go back to normal."
Albus snorted like the prospect of normal was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Bernadette couldn't blame him.
"See? Nothing to worry about." Rose put on a brave smile for her cousin.
The bench scrapped loudly as Albus shot up, startling Bernadette and the others, and stalked towards the exit without a word.
James frowned at his brother's back, gingerly patting a crying Lily's hand.
Normally, Bernadette would have stayed put. Her relationship with Albus Potter was delicate, and founded on occasional arguing. They'd never comforted one another or discussed feelings. In fact, they were barely friends. She had no obligation to follow him out and see if he was alright.
Normally, she would bolt in the other direction, glad to evade Potter-Weasley drama and shenanigans.
But today was already irreparably atypical.
What the hell? Do it.
She heard Rose calling her name, but she didn't want to waste time turning back and explaining herself. She wouldn't be able to anyways. Threading through students, Bernadette made it out the double doors in time to shout his name over the crowd and see him pause and turn on the stairs, but then a hand on her shoulder turned her around and towards a grim Scorpius.
"Bernadette, we need to talk," he said.
"Not now," she cried in frustration, breaking out of his hold. But when she faced the stairs again, Albus was gone.
"Yes, now," he pressed.
The fear in his eyes was the only thing that made her pause where she normally would've bitten his head off for being an imposing jerk.
She'd never seen him openly scared before.
"We need to talk."
She nodded, crossing her arms and letting him lead her away from the Great Hall.
She'd resigned herself to the fact that today would not be a normal day.