Chapter 2: The Gryffindor Champion
The next two days passed without great incident. The event that had ocurred between Neville and Professor Trelawney was still fresh in Neville's mind. He was still confused about what she said and why she said those words to him. He tried not to think about it while he was in least favorite class; Potions. Which happened to be taught by his least favorite Professsor, Severus Snape. At this moment, Neville was brewing a potion aimlessly to himself, trying not to look at the Professor that was encircling the classroom. `He was working at a table alone. He suddenly turned around for only a couple of seconds, and when he turned back, his cauldron start to hiss and then it began to melt. All Neville could do was stare in horror.
"Another zero, Longbottom," Snape spoke, appearing out of no where. He swished his wand, banishing the melting cauldron. Neville looked around, seeing some snickering Slytherins that consisted of Crabbe, Nott, and Goyle. For the rest of the class, Neville was made to disembowl a barrel full of horned toads.
After Potions, Neville began to make his way towards his Defense Against the Dark Arts class with the new professor, the ex-auror, Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. He entered the class room, which was mostly full, taking a seat near the back since most of the seats in the front were taken. He sighed and pulled out his copy of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. A minute later, Moody clunked into the classroom still looking strange and frightening, making his way towards the front of the class.
"You can put those away," he growled, stumping over to his desk and sitting down, "those books. You won't need them."
People murmured excitedly, putting their books away.
Moody scanned over the entire class, his magical eye whizzing around. "I've been told that you haven't had any real professors that have taught you defense magic - "
"Professor Lupin was a good teacher!" Ron Weasley blurted out.
"Ah yes, Remus," Moody said, "His is a good man. With the exception of Remus," he continued on. "However, the way I see it, you lot are very behind in your defense against the dark arts. Now, I've got one year to teach you lot as much as I can about defensive magic.
"Alright, now, let's get straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to find another place to put your chewing gum besides under your desk Mister Finnegan!"
Seamus jumped, looking up as everyone was turning to look at him. His hand was under his desk as if he was putting gum under it. They all glanced at Moody. Apparently Moody's magical eye could see through solid wood, as well as out of the back of his head.
"So… do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?" Moody asked. A couple of hands shot up. "Yes, you. Miss Bones!"
"The...the Killing curse," she said quietly.
"Yes!" Moody said with a nod. "The most deadliest of all curses. One hit, and you drop to the floor, dead!" he shouted at the end, causing a few students to jump in their seats. Mood opened a drawer on his desk, pulling out a jar of spiders. He pulled on out and sat is on the desk, pulling out his wand, pointing it at the spider and cried, "Avada Kedavra!" A sickly green curse shot out towards the spider, striking it instantly and killing it. Neville stared at the dea spider, feeling strange about the color of the curse. "The Killing curse," Moody said. "No one has ever survived a killing curse. Not one person. Nor is there any countercurse for it. The only way to survive it, is to move out of the way. Now, what else?" A few more hands shot up. "Yes, Mister Weasley."
"Er," said Ron tentatively, "my dad told me about one… Is it called the Imperius Curse?"
"Ah, yes," said Moody appreciatively. "Your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse." Moody turned, reaching back into the jar of spiders, gabbing one and placing it in the palm of his hand. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, "Imperio!"
The spider leapt from Moody's hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing backward and forward as though on a trapeze. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a back flip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs and went into what was unmistakably a tap dance.
Most of the class was laughing except Ron, Neville, and Moody.
"Think it's funny, do you?" he growled. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?" The laughter died away almost instantly.
"Total control," said Moody quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats…"
Ron gave an involuntary shudder.
"Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse," said Moody. "Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will.
"The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barked, and everyone jumped. Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar. "Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"
Neville did know of a curse. He had never seen it before, but it was all his family talked about when the topic of his parents came up. He slowly raised his hand. "Yes, Mister Longbottom," Moody said sulkily.
He stood, staring directly at Moody, "The Cruciatus Curse," he said with confidence.
"Yes!" Moody exclaimed. "Yes, correct!" He turned to the jar, pulling out a third spider and placing it on his desk. "The Cruciatus curse, also known as the torture curse." Neville waited and watched, his hands clenched into fists. Moody raised his wand again, pointed it at the spider, and muttered, "Crucio!"
At once, the spider's legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it. Neville stared at the spider. His hands clenched harder, his eyes wide with horror, and his heart began to pace very quickly. But something else was ignited insde him. And then Moody released the spell.
"Pain," said Moody softly. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse… That one was very popular once too. It was heavily used in the last War, mostly to get information. Sometimes, the results of long-lasting of the torture curse will cause one's mental stability to turn into chaos."
His heart was racing so fast, he felt like he was going to faint. Neville turned, knocking his chair over, causing everyone to look at him. He saw the stares. He was breathing heavily, strangely on the verge of tears. He quickly grabbed his things and left the classroom. Neville ran. He didn't know where he was going, he didn't care. He just ran away.
Minutes later, Neville was sitting inside the Astronomy tower, on the balcony, looking out towards the Forbidden forest. It was the cruciatus curse the took his parents away. That turned his parents minds into mush. Everytime he went to see his parents, he knew they would never know who he was to them. At the moment, Neville leaned his head back, his eyes getting heavier, suddenly falling asleep.
It was dark, but the moon was full, giving some light to where he was. He couldn't really make anything out, so, he began to walk around the unfamiliar area. He seemed to be at the bottom of a hill, and when he looked up, he saw a House. It stood on a hill, some of its windows boarded, tiles missing from its roof, and ivy spreading unchecked over its face. He began to make his way up the hill, but halfway there, he slipped, and began to fall and roll down the hill.
A minute later, he stopped when he hit a wall. He groaned as he stood up, looking at what had stopped him. He was stunned to see that it was a statue and monument. It was tall, cloaked with wings and a scythe. It reminded him of death. Neville turned around, and his heart jumped in fright. He was in a graveyard. Something passed behind him. He turned around and didn't see anything or anyone. Neville began to step backwards, reaching into his pocket, but his wand wasn't there.
Suddenly, there was movement. To Neville, it sounded like cement or stone being dragged against more stone. Neville shrieked when it was the statue behind him was moving and it was the scythe the moved and clutched him up by the neck, pinning him against the rest of the statue. He groaned and struggled against the scythe. Suddenly, the wind around him began to pick up. Neville looked up and saw it. A cloaked figure stand mere twenty feet away from him. He couldn't see its face, but he could see its red eyes. It slowly began to move towards Neville.
"You," it said, raising a skeletal hand towards Neville. "Death Comes For You!" It shouted, suddenly grabbing Neville by the throat, raising its other hand which was holding a knife. "No such thing as destiny!" It then brought down the knife.
"Arg!" Neville shouted, waking up, struggling with his cloak that had him bound to the ground. He moved around, pulling it off and tossing it aside. He was breathing heavily. The dream had seemed so real, but what was it about.
Over the next couple of months, there had been a definite increase in the amount of work they were required to do this term. Professor McGonagall explained why, when the class gave a particularly loud groan at the amount of Transfiguration homework she had assigned.
"You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education!" she told them, her eyes glinting dangerously behind her square spectacles. "Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer —"
"We don't take O.W.L.s till fifth year!" said Dean Thomas indignantly.
"Maybe not, Thomas, but believe me, you need all the preparation you can get! Miss Granger remains the only person in this class who has managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion. I might remind you that your pincushion, Thomas, still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!"
At that moment, Neville was looking at his pincushion, which still had the face of a hedgehog. He sighed, laying his head down in front of it where it began to lick his nose. He wasn't very good at Transfiguration. He had a feeling that he was going to fail this OWL next year.
Meanwhile Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic, had them writing weekly essays on the goblin rebellions of the eighteenth century. Professor Snape was forcing them to research antidotes. Neville had to take this seriously, as Snape had hinted that he might be poisoning one of them before Christmas to see if their antidote worked. Professor Flitwick had asked them to read three extra books in preparation for their lesson on Summoning Charms. Which Neville hadn't minded. He was pretty good at Charms.
Even Hagrid was adding to their workload. The Blast-Ended Skrewts were growing at a remarkable pace given that nobody had yet discovered what they ate. Hagrid was delighted, and as part of their "project," suggested that they come down to his hut on alternate evenings to observe the skrewts and make notes on their extraordinary behavior.
Neville sighed as he left his Care of Magical Creatures class, and continued up to the castle. When he arrived in the entrance hall, he found that he was unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all milling around a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Neville gazed over the students and read the sign.
TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT
THE DELEGATIONS FROM BEAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANG WILL BE ARRIVING AT 6 O'CLOCK ON FRIDAY THE 30TH OF OCTOBER. LESSONS WILL END HALF AN HOUR EARLY. STUDENTS WILL RETURN THEIR BAGS AND BOOKS TO THEIR DORMITORIES AND ASSEMBLE IN FRONT OF THE CASTLE TO GREET OUR GUESTS BEFORE THE WELCOMING FEAST.
Someone suddenly slapped him on the shoulder. "What do you think, Longbottom?" Neville looked to his right, seeing Dorian Westbrook. Over the past two months, Dorian had become a friend to Neville, every now and then coming out of nowhere to had small talks with him, but not just Dorian, Hannah Abbott was there too. Neville was still confused as to why she was talking to him. They even studied together. "I think about entering. I think I could do it. Could you?"
Neville shook his head. "No," he answered. "I'm not cut out for stuff like that."
"Aw, come on, Nev," Dorian said, "What did I tell you about selling yourself short. Like my grandfather told me, if you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything."
Neville nodded. "Sure," he said, walking into the Great Hall. Dorian followed after him.
"It's true, Neville," Dorian said, sitting next to him at the Gryffindor table. "Look at my grandpa, Bartleby Westbrook - "
"Wasn't he that guy that got lost at sea searching for a magical hiccocampus herd some years ago?" Neville asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes well," Dorian began, "Never said my grandfather was a total genius, but he followed his passion. And didn't the wizards who searched for him find that hippocampus herd instead? Yes! But Bartleby still got some credit," he finished, biting into a sandwich.
"And your grandfather is still missing," Neville pointed out.
Dorian shook his head. "Nah," he replied, "I like to think that he's still out there, just a little lost is all. And I know he'll find his way back home."
Neville looked at his food. His parents were too lost, but not in the same way as Bartleby Westbrook. Neville ever wondered if his parents would ever return home, return to the people they once war before all the torture. But Neville was never ashamed of his parents. No, he was very proud of them. They wouldn't give up any information and accepted the torture. He just wanted them back, here with him, telling him their Hogwarts adventures. And he hoped one day, that his parents will come back to him.
October thirtieth had arrived and later that night, the student of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons schools had arrived; one from the sky, the other from the lake. Once both schools had arrived, everyone gathered into the Great Hall for a feast. Two more tables had been fitted inside, for each of the invited schools. Neville, as well as most of the students, were surprised and stunned to see Professional Quidditch player, Victor Krum, was here.
When all the students had entered the Hall and settled down at their House tables, the staff entered, filing up to the top table and taking their seats. Last in line were Professor Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime. When their headmistress appeared, the pupils from Beauxbatons leapt to their feet. A few of the Hogwarts students laughed. The Beauxbatons party appeared quite unembarrassed, however, and did not resume their seats until Madame Maxime had sat down on Dumbledore's left-hand side. Dumbledore remained standing, and a silence fell over the Great Hall.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and - most particularly - guests," said Dumbledore, beaming around at the foreign students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.
"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," said Dumbledore. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"
The plates in front of them filled with food as usual. The house-elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than Neville had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign.
"So, Neville," Dorian began who had taken a seat next to Neville, who had just noticed he was here. "Viktor Krum. No doubt he will probably be the Durmstrang champion. If it comes down to it, you think I could beat him?"
"You have to become Hogwarts Champion first," Neville reminded him, digging into some food.
"Right right," Dorian nonchalantly said, nodding his head, nibbling his food, turning his attention towards the Beauxbatons students and admiring them from afar. He then turned to the food. "What in the world is that?" he asked, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stood beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding.
"Bouillabaisse," Neville answered, picking up a roll.
"Oi! Watch your language," Dorian replied.
"It's French," Neville snorted and rolled his eyes. "You should try it. It's alright."
"I'll take your word for it," Dorian said, helping himself to mashed potatoes.
At that moment, a voice said, "Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?" It was a girl from Beauxbatons. A long sheet of silvery-blonde hair fell almost to her waist. She had large, deep blue eyes, and very white, even teeth.
Dorian's eyes went wide as he dropped his spoon. Neville snorted, noticing that not only did Dorian stare at the french girl, but so did some other boys around him.
Neville shook his head. "Yeah, have it," He said, pushing the dish toward the girl.
"You 'ave finished wiz it?"
"Yeah," Dorian said breathlessly. "Yeah, it was breathtaking." Neville raised his eyebrow towards Dorian.
The girl picked up the dish and carried it carefully off to the Ravenclaw table. Dorian was still goggling at the girl as though he had never seen one before. Neville started to laugh. The sound seemed to jog Dorian back to his senses with a shake of his head.
"What just happened?" He asked.
"That veela girl made you look like a total idiot," Neville joked.
"Veela, huh," Dorian repeated, craning his head a bit so he could keep a clear view of her. "The don't make them like that at Hogwarts."
"They make them okay at Hogwarts," Neville replied without thinking. He suddenly looked up towards the Hufflepuff table where the seemingly cute girl sat with her heart shaped face, brown eyes, and light brown hair. They girl he finally had the pleasure of studying with.
Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A pleasant sort of tension seemed to fill the Hall now as Dumbledore introduced two men, Bartemius Crouch and Ludo Bagman who will be joining the Heads of Schools in judging. He then went on to explain about the Triwizard Tournament.
"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," said Dumbledore as Filch placed a chest carefully on the table before him, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways… their magical prowess - their daring - their powers of deduction - and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."
At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.
"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore went on calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."
Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames. Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.
"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," said Dumbledore. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.
"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," said Dumbledore, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.
"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."
Everyone began to stand to their feet when Dumbledore spoke once more. "And one more thing!" Every one turned back to look at Dumbldore curiously. "Eternal Glory! That's what awaits a student that wins this Triwizard Tournament. Sleep well."
Neville stood and was about to leave when he was pulled down back into his seat by Dorian. "What are you doing?" he whispered, but Dorian just shushed him. Most of the students left the Great Hall. Once they were gone along with the Professors, Dorian reached into his pocket.
"Alright, its time," he said, pulling out a quill and a piece of parchment.
"What are you doing?" Neville asked, watching as Dorian wrote down his school and his name.
"I'm submitting my name to the Goblet," Dorian answered, and finished signing his name. He the stood up and began to make his way towards the Goblet of fire.
"Now?" Neville said, standing up and following after Dorian.
"Now is as good as time as any," Dorian said, reaching up at the Goblet of Fire, dropping his name into the fire. "Done," he said with a smile. He turend to a smile. "Come on, Neville." Dorian walked up to Neville, placing an arm around his shoulders. "Don't you have a stash of licorice wands hidden somewhere?"
"Who told you that?!" Neville inquired as a laughing Dorian led him out of the Great Hall.
It was the next day which passed by in a breeze, and it was time for the Halloween feast. It was just as great as previous feasts with great food and desserts. After the feast, it was time for the champions to be chosen.
"Good evening," Dumbledore greeted the entire room. Every conversation stopped and turned towards the Headmaster of Hogwarts. "Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," He said. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" - he indicated the door behind the staff table - "where they will be receiving their first instructions."
He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, blue-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting… A few people kept checking their watches…
"Any second," Lee Jordan whispered, two seats away from Neville who was leaning on his hand, looking a bit bored. Dorian sat next to him, shaking his leg in anticipation.
The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it - the whole room gasped.
Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.
"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."
Neville watched as Viktor Krum rose from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.
"Bravo, Viktor!" boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you!"
The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"
Neville sat up a little, seeing that it was the girl Dorian had been drooling over the last feast. Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next…
And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; this time, silver sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.
"The Hogwarts champion," he called and stared at the piece of parchment for a moment. He looked up towards the Gryffindor table, and then looked back at the parchment. He finally spoke, "...is Dorian Westbrook!"
"Yes!" Dorian shouted loudly, jumping up to his feet. "I knew it! I mean, yeah, it's me," he said nonchalantly. "No big deal." He clapped Neville on the shoulder, and then followed after the other two champions.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —" Neville tuned Dumbledore out, and leaned his head in his hand. It seemed like another year of something cool, and something he wasn't going to be apart of.