Chapter Three
The Triwizard Tournament
–
Respect has to be earned,
not expected.
–
I woke before everyone else, a rarity to say the least. The sun had not yet risen, and I wager I'd gotten maybe three hours of sleep throughout the entire night. I pulled George's arm off me with great difficulty and went to find my bag full of clothes and change before any of the boys woke up and saw me naked. I threw on an ancient pair of gray sweatpants and my favored Chudley Canons t-shirt. I sort of looked like I changed into another pair of pajamas, but I could have really cared less.
I slid on my faded white Chucks and pulled on a matching maroon sweater over my shirt, throwing my hair up into a loose bun to make sure my cut was clear of anything that could touch it. It still stung, inside and out. Suddenly, the damaged beams and swarming flames flashed before my eyes again without any warning. I stumbled backwards and into the living room sofa chair. I slammed a palm on either side of my head, closing my eyes hard and shaking the memories away. Was this a new symptom of my ability, seeing the past like it's the present? Merlin, I hoped not.
"Winnie?" a shallow voice called from the tent flap, thankfully breaking my trance. "Winnie, you in there?"
"Oliver?" I whispered back, looking over my shoulder to make sure no one had awoke from my voice. I tiptoed towards the exit, trying to make the least amount of noise as humanly possible.
I clutched my maroon sweater closed around me, my breath visible even through the morning fog. The sun had just began to think about rising, everyone would be getting up soon. Oliver engulfed me in a hug before I could prepare for it.
"What was that for?" I smirked.
"Your safety," said Oliver, cupping my face in his hands. "When my parents and I came back to see the damage to our campsite... I'm just so glad you're alright."
"It was all thanks to George," I explained. "When the explosions started I ended up getting trapped under the rubble and George came after me. I wouldn't e here if it wasn't for him."
"I guess we should all be thankful George was there," said Oliver in an unfamiliar voice. "I wager you two made amends then?"
"Yeah," I nodded, smiling at the thought. "We talked things out and things are back to normal."
"That– That's just great," he said, plastering the fakest smile I'd ever seen across his face.
"For some reason I don't find your sentiment to be genuine," I smirked, tightening my arms across my chest.
"I– I just don't trust him around you is all," he admitted.
"What?" I inquired.
"It's just that I know he still has feelings for you, and I mean–"
"You mean you don't trust me around him," I corrected him. "You think that since we won't see each other as often that he's going to prey on me or something–"
"Christ, Win," he interrupted. "You always make me into the bad guy when all I'm trying to do is look out for you."
"News Flash, Oliver," I said firmly. "I've been best friends with George, and Fred for that matter, far longer than I've even known you existed, so if you're asking me to alter my friendship with them for even a second you have another thing coming."
"I would never ask that," he retorted. "I know how close the three of you are–"
"Then have a little faith in me," I replied, playfully tugging on his gray sweatshirt strings towards me. "We'll see each other on most Hogsmeade weekends, and I promised you I'd try to sneak off and see a Puddlemere match or two and I meant it. You'll come see my Quidditch matches, and we're going to write each other all the time as well. So quit acting so pathetic, it's not flattering on you."
"You can be too sensible sometimes," he smirked, his expression relaxing significantly.
"Well, someone in this relationship has to be," I teased, poking his nose and kissing him quickly. "I love you, Oliver Wood, and I don't plan on not loving you anytime soon... unless you go and fool around with one of those Puddlemere groupie trollops. Then I'll hate you and cut off your–"
"Win–" interrupted Arthur, popping his head out the flap. "Oh, there you are, dear. 'Morning, Oliver."
"Hello, sir, sorry I stole Winnie away for a moment," he smirked at me. "She was just telling me what she would cut off of–"
"Shut up, honey," I said in a fake sugary voice, covering his mouth and sending Arthur an innocent smile whilst batting my eyelashes. "I was just saying my last good-bye to Ollie, Arthur, I'll be inside in a minute."
"Take your time," said Arthur. "We're just packing up to go."
Oliver and I nodded, watching him disappear back inside the tent.
"I should probably go," I said reluctantly, looking over my shoulder. "I wager everyone is going to be quick considering we're trying to catch an early Portkey... and considering Alicia is getting shipped home today. I'm also anxious to see Molly... partly because Fred told me he and George left on sore terms with her. I can't wait for this reunion."
"Yeah, alright then," Oliver agreed despondently, "I'll see you, first weekend to Hogsmeade."
"I'll try not to forget," I teased, pleased he hadn't noticed the thin bandage on the back of my neck. "Bye, Ollie."
"Good-bye, Winnie," he said, kissing me. "I love you."
I was going to miss that Quidditch-obsessed git. I really, really was.
–
Arthur used magic to pack up the tents, and we left the campsite as quickly as possible. Alicia departed to meet her parents to take her home just before we left, delivering a 'good-bye' to George so dramatic and lengthy that you would have thought they were never going to see each other again. Needless to say, I was rather pleased to see her go.
We heard urgent voices as we approached the spot where the Portkeys lay, and when we reached it, we found a great number of witches and wizards gathered around Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys, all clamoring to get away from the campsite as quickly as possible. Arthur had a hurried discussion with Basil; we joined the queue, and were able to take an old rubber tire back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun had really risen to its height. We walked back through Ottery St. Catchpole and up the damp lane toward the Burrow in the dawn light, talking very little because we were so exhausted, and thinking longingly of our breakfast. As we rounded the corner and the Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the lane.
"Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!"
Molly, who had evidently been waiting for us in the front yard, came running toward us, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and strained, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.
"Arthur – I've been so worried – so worried–"
She flung her arms around Arthur's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Looking down, I read the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops. My gash began aching again.
"You're all right," Molly muttered distractedly, releasing Arthur and staring around at them all with red eyes, "you're alive… Oh boys…" And to everybody's surprise, especially the twins', she seized Fred and George and pulled them both into such a tight hug that their heads banged together.
"Ouch! Mum – you're strangling us –"
"I shouted at you before you left!" said Molly, starting to sob. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough OW.L.s? Oh Fred… George… oh, and Winnie dear!"
She released the twins momentarily and forced me into a bone-crushing hug, allowing Fred and George to wallow in my discomfort as I had in theirs.
"I was so scared that the last time I would have seen you was Christmas and–" said Molly, stopping for a second to turn me to look at my injury. "Oh, Winifred! What's happened to your n–"
"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay. Winnie just has a scratch is all," said Arthur soothingly, prising her off me and the twins and leading her back toward the house. "Bill," he added in an undertone, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says…"
When we were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and after I had made Molly a cup of very strong tea, into which Arthur insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey (the very whiskey I had vomited on Molly's house slippers not long ago), Bill handed his father the newspaper. Arthur scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.
"I knew it," said Arthur heavily. "Ministry blunders… culprits not apprehended… lax security… Dark wizards running unchecked… national disgrace… Who wrote this? Ah… of course… Rita Skeeter."
"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" said Percy furiously. "Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans—"
"Do us a favor, Perce," said Charlie, yawning and hanging his arm over my shoulders, "and shut up."
I looked up and laughed when he winked at me.
"I'm mentioned," said Arthur, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he reached the bottom of the Daily Prophet article.
"Where?" spluttered Molly, choking on her tea and whiskey. "If I'd seen that, I'd have known you were alive!"
"Not by name," said Arthur. "Listen to this: 'If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.' Oh really," said Arthur in
exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. "Nobody was hurt. What was I supposed to say? Rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods… well, there certainly will be rumors now she's printed that."
He heaved a deep sigh. "Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office; this is going to take some smoothing over."
"I'll come with you, Father," said Percy importantly. "Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person."
He bustled out of the kitchen. Molly looked most upset. "Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This hasn't got anything to do with your office; surely they can handle this without you?"
"I've got to go, Molly," said Arthur. "I've made things worse. I'll just change into my robes and I'll be off…"
–
Neither Arthur nor Percy was at home much over the following week. Both left the house each morning before the rest of the family got up, and returned well after dinner every night. This gave Molly something to fret about rather than stick her nose in our business which was good for the time being considering the twins, to my dismay and somewhat pleasure, had been bamboozled by ole Ludo Bagman after all: Leprechaun Gold, the oldest trick in the book. When they told me what happened I almost collapsed onto the floor in a fit of giggles, but I restrained myself once I saw how furious they really were.
"It's been an absolute uproar," Percy told us all importantly the Sunday evening before we were due to return to Hogwarts. "I've been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don't open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders."
"Why are they all sending Howlers?" asked Ginny, who was mending her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi with Spellotape on the rug in front of the living room fire.
"Complaining about security at the World Cup," said Percy. "They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundungus Fletcher's put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite Jacuzzi, but I've got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks."
Molly glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. I always loved that clock. It was completely useless if you wanted to know the time, but otherwise very informative. It had ten golden hands, and each of them was engraved with one of the Weasley family's names along with mine. There were no numerals around the face, but descriptions of where each family member might be. "Home," "school," and "work" were there, but there was also "traveling," "lost," "hospital," "prison," and, in the position where the number twelve would be on a normal clock, "mortal peril."
Nine of the hands were currently pointing to the "home" position, but Arthur's, which was the longest, was still pointing to "work." Molly sighed.
"Your father hasn't had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You- Know-Who," she said. "They're working him far too hard. His dinner's going to be ruined if he doesn't come home soon."
"Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?" said Percy. "If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first–"
"Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!" said Molly, flaring up at once.
"If Dad hadn't said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented," said Bill, who was playing chess with Ron. "Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts' Charm Breakers once, and called me 'a long-haired pillock'?"
"Well, it is a bit long, dear," said Molly gently. "If you'd just let me–"
"No, Mum."
Rain lashed against the living room window. Hermione was immersed in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, copies of which Molly had bought for her, Harry, and Ron in Diagon Alley. Charlie was darning a fireproof balaclava while Harry polished his Firebolt. Me, Fred and George had been sitting in a far corner, quills out, talking in whispers, their heads bent over a piece of parchment. I'd grown annoyed with their attempt to write Bagman a silly blackmail letter, so I'd risen to a more comfortable position and resorted to looking down at their nonsense instead.
"Molls is really worked up," I said, moving from my position on my knees to the edge of the couch. "Can't you just call it a day and enjoy a good Percy lashing? They're so rare now-a-days... such a shame."
"We'd be done with our evil bidding by now if you would just shut your gob and quit being such a wet blanket," said Fred, still fidgeting with the slips of paper he and George were scribbling on.
"Seriously, Freddie, if we hang up on the clothesline for a couple hours will you come back in a more agreeable mood?" asked George, smirking to himself at his dumb joke for just a second before returning to the parchment before him.
"I'm just saying that if you think you're going to pull a fast one on Ludo Bagman so easily then you've got another thing coming," I replied quietly. "I mean, he was smart enough to pull one over on the likes of you two, and as much as I hate to admit it... you two are pretty witty and on the ball when it comes to these kind of shenanigans. Therefore, he obviously can put on a good show to come off ignorant to take advantage of people. Oh, and George, it's raining outside so I'd come back even soggier than before, so sod off."
"Well, what do you suggest if you're so smart?" asked Fred.
"I'd start off sending him a letter just telling him what happened and acting like you think it was a mistake," I replied. "As unlikely as it may be, you can't be sure that he gave you Leprechaun Gold on purpose. Then, if and only if, he chooses not to act on his mistake should you threaten him. But I still don't understand why you lot are so concerned–"
"It was all we have!" they said in unison, a bit too loud. "We were going to start our business with that–"
"I've told you a dozen times that I have more than enough to get us everything we need and–" I objected.
"No way, Freddie," said George. "We're in this as equal partners, and the second one of us is putting more into this than the other we'll start feeling like we're indebted to the other."
"I wouldn't even make you pay me back–"
"We know, Win, but we'd still feel like it wasn't ours," Fred explained. "It would be yours and we'd just be working for you."
I sighed and rolled my eyes but decided to leave it at that. I understood how touchy the twins were when it came to money especially when it involved the store. I would never want to make them feel inadequate.
"Fine," I conceded. "You two are so bloody stubborn–"
"What are you two up to?" said Molly sharply, her eyes on the twins.
"Homework," said Fred vaguely.
"Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday," said Molly.
"Yeah, we've left it a bit late," said George.
"You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?" said Molly shrewdly. "You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?"
"Now, Mum," said Fred, looking up at her, a pained look on his face. "If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"
Everyone laughed, even Molls.
–
Molly heaved a pile of parcels onto my bed, dropped my money bag and a load of socks next to it. I immediately started unwrapping the shopping. Apart from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6, by Miranda Goshawk, I had a handful of new quills, a dozen rolls of parchment, and refills for my potion-making kit – I had been running low on spine of lionfish and essence of belladonna. I was just piling polka dot underwear into my cauldron when I pulled out some frilly mess out of a primly wrapped package.
"What is that supposed to be?" I asked, peeking over at Molly who was helping Ginny and Hermione pack their things.
"It's a dress, Winifred," said Molly in an exasperated voice. "Take a look at it."
I had to admit, it was rather pretty, too pretty for someone like me to wear. It was a sparkly navy blue with thin, frilly sleeves and above knee length with a sheer fabric covering most of the lower half as it filled out only slightly. There was no way I could wear this in public. I'd be ridiculed mercilessly. I delicately set the dress down, crossed my arms and turned back to Molly.
"I'll go starkers before I put that on, Molls," I said stubbornly.
"Don't be so silly," she replied. "You've got to have a proper dress, it's on your list! It is a perfectly lovely dress, Hermione picked it out for you... because we all know you'd refuse to pick out your own... it's the exact same as hers, only the color and length are different."
In some trepidation, Hermione opened the last parcel on her camp bed. It was just as mine looked like Molly said, however; her dress was pale pink and fell to the floor.
"We thought they'd bring out the color of your eyes, dear," said Molly fondly. "They match perfectly with them as you can see."
"I'm never wearing that," I continued. "Never. I appreciate your efforts, Hermione, but I just refuse to be seen in public like that."
"Fine," snapped Molly. "Go naked. And, Ginny, Hermione, make sure you get a picture of her. Goodness knows I could do with a laugh."
She left the room, slamming the door behind her. I neatly folded up my dress and reluctantly put it in my trunk.
"That was a bit melodramatic, don't you think?" I said, closing my trunk.
"You know how she is," said Ginny. "She always gets all up in a tizzy just before we head back to school."
"Still, the woman acts like I should be happy to be forced into a dress," I said, plopping down beside May on my bed.
"It really is a lovely dress, Winnie," said Hermione apprehensively. "I tried it on and it's comfortable too."
"Well, what's the ruddy thing for anyway?" I inquired.
"Mrs. Weasley wouldn't say," she replied.
"We asked her a dozen times, but Mum refused to budge," said Ginny. "I guess we'll just have to wait until we get back to Hogwarts to find out."
"I suppose," I shrugged, "and until then... don't tell the twins. I don't want to have to deal with anymore ridicule than usual."
"Hey, it could be much worse," Ginny giggled to herself. "You haven't seen Ron's dress robes yet..."
–
There was a definite end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air when we awoke next morning. Heavy rain was still splattering against the window as I got dressed in my usual jeans and George's old sweatshirt; we'd change into our school robes on the Hogwarts Express.
Me, Harry, Ron, Fred, and George had just reached the first-floor landing on our way down to breakfast, when Molls appeared at the foot of the stairs, looking harassed.
"Arthur!" she called up the staircase. "Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!"
We all had to flatten ourselves against the wall as Arthur came clattering past with his robes on back-to-front and hurtled out of sight. When we all entered the kitchen, we saw Molly rummaging anxiously in the drawers–
"I've got a quill here somewhere!" – and Arthur bending over the fire, talking to Amos Diggory's head that was sitting in the middle of the flames like a large, bearded egg. He was talking very fast, completely unperturbed by the sparks flying around it and the flames licking its ears.
"… Muggle neighbors heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those what-d'you-call-'ems - please-men. Arthur, you've got to get over there—"
"Here!" said Molly breathlessly, pushing a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a crumpled quill into Arthur's hands.
"– it's a real stroke of luck I heard about it," said Mr. Diggory. "I had to come into the office early to send a couple of owls, and I found the Improper Use of Magic lot all setting off — if Rita Skeeter gets hold of this one, Arthur—"
"What does Mad-Eye say happened?" asked Arthur, unscrewing the ink bottle, loading up his quill, and preparing to take notes.
Mr. Diggory rolled his eyes. "Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says he was creeping toward the house, but was ambushed by his dustbins."
"What did the dustbins do?" asked Arthur, scribbling frantically.
"Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell," said Mr. Diggory. "Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the pleasemen turned up–"
Arthur groaned.
"And what about the intruder?"
"Arthur, you know Mad-Eye," said Mr. Diggory, rolling his eyes again. "Someone creeping into his yard in the dead of night? More likely there's a very shell-shocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he's had it — think of his record — we've got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department — what are exploding dustbins worth?"
"Might be a caution," said Arthur, still writing very fast, his brow furrowed. "Mad-Eye didn't use his wand? He didn't actually attack anyone?"
"I'll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window," said Mr. Diggory, "but they'll have a job proving it, there aren't any casualties."
"All right, I'm off," Arthur said, and he stuffed the parchment with his notes on it into his pocket and dashed out of the kitchen again.
Mr. Diggory's head looked around at Arthur.
"Sorry about this, Molly," it said, more calmly, "bothering you so early and everything… but Arthur's the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and Mad-Eye's supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had to choose last night…"
"Never mind, Amos," said Molly. "Sure you won't have a bit of toast or anything before you go?"
"Oh go on, then," said Mr. Diggory.
Molly took a piece of buttered toast from a stack on the kitchen table, put it into the fire tongs, and transferred it into Mr. Diggory's mouth.
"Fanks," he said in a muffled voice, and then, with a small pop, vanished.
I could hear Arthur calling hurried good-byes to Bill, Charlie, Percy, and the other two girls. Within five minutes, he was back in the kitchen, his robes on the right way now, dragging a comb through his hair.
"I'd better hurry – you have a good term, boys... oh, er– and Winnie, " said Arthur to Me, Harry, Ron, and the twins, fastening a cloak over his shoulders and preparing to Disapparate.
"Unnecessary correction," Fred teased me, poking my side.
"Molly, are you going to be all right taking the kids to King's Cross?" asked Arthur.
"Of course I will," she said. "You just look after Mad-Eye, we'll be fine."
As Arthur vanished, Bill and Charlie entered the kitchen.
"Did someone say Mad-Eye?" Bill asked. "What's he been up to now?"
"He says someone tried to break into his house last night," said Molly.
"Mad-Eye Moody?" said George thoughtfully, spreading marmalade on his toast. "Isn't he that nutter–"
"Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody," said Molly sternly.
"Yeah, well, Dad collects plugs, doesn't he?" said Fred quietly as Molly left the room. "Birds of a feather…"
"...flock together," I smirked. "However, Arthur doesn't have some crazy nickname like Wacky Weasley or something."
"Yet," said George, pointing his index finger in the air as he gnawed on his piece of toast.
"Moody was a great wizard in his time," said Bill.
"He's an old friend of Dumbledore's, isn't he?" asked Charlie, snatching a piece of bacon off my plate and sending me a playfully victorious grin after he took a hardy bite of it.
"Dumbledore's not what you'd call normal, though, is he?" said George. "I mean, I know he's a genius and everything…"
"Being normal is overrated anyhow," I said, sipping my orange juice before continuing on another tangent. "He's senile as sin as well as a tosser though, right? I heard Arthur and Molls talking about it once. But I'm certainly not going to judge him, I'm sure as soon as I retire I'm going to end up wearing a mu mu all day long and shout at squirrels in my front yard."
"Well, I certainly hope you inform Oliver of your vision of your happy future," said Fred.
"Who is Mad-Eye?" asked Harry.
"He's retired, used to work at the Ministry," said Charlie. "I met him once when Dad took me into work with him. He was an Auror – one of the best… a Dark wizard catcher," he added, seeing Harry's blank look "Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though… the families of people he caught, mainly… and I heard he's been getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn't trust anyone anymore, sees Dark wizards everywhere."
–
Bill and Charlie decided to come and see everyone off at King's Cross station, but Percy, apologizing most profusely, said that he really needed to get to work.
"I just can't justify taking more time off at the moment," he told us. "Mr. Crouch is really starting to rely on me."
"Yeah, you know what, Percy?" said George seriously. "I wager he'll know your name soon."
Molly had braved the telephone in the village post office to order three ordinary Muggle taxis to take us into London. It became blatantly obvious that Muggle taxi drivers rarely transported overexcited owls, and Pigwidgeon was making an earsplitting racket. Nor did it help that a number of Filibuster's Fabulous No-Heat, Wet-Start Fireworks went off unexpectedly when Fred's trunk sprang open, causing the driver carrying it to yell with fright and pain as Crookshanks clawed his way up the man's leg. May sat perfectly content on my lap. She was more than used to sudden explosions by now.
The journey was uncomfortable, owing to the fact that we were jammed in the back of the taxis with our trunks. Crookshanks took quite a while to recover from the fireworks, and by the time we entered London, we were all severely scratched. We were very relieved to get out at King's Cross, even though the rain was coming down harder than ever, and we got soaked carrying their trunks across the busy road and into the station.
We were all used to getting onto platform nine and three-quarters by now. It was a simple matter of walking straight through the apparently solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. The only tricky part was doing this in an unobtrusive way, so as to avoid attracting Muggle attention. We did it in groups today; Harry, Ron, and Hermione (the most conspicuous, since they were accompanied by Pigwidgeon and Crookshanks) went first; they leaned casually against the barrier, chatting unconcernedly, and slid sideways through it.
The twins and I went next, doing the same although we opted to performing an attention attracting display by pretending I was pregnant with Fred's baby and George was my husband and understandably upset with the news using Bulgarian accents for a cultured touch. The row was loud and hilarious... er– well, to everyone but Molly it was. We concluded that we'd just pretend it was George's because it would look the same anyhow. We bowed dramatically to Ginny, Bill, Charlie and Molly before falling backwards through the brick wall and as we did so, platform nine and three-quarters materialized in front of us.
The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet steam engine, was already there, clouds of steam billowing from it, through which the many Hogwarts students and parents on the platform appeared like dark ghosts. Pigwidgeon became noisier than ever in response to the hooting of many owls through the mist. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and the three of us set off to find seats, and were soon stowing our luggage in a compartment halfway along the train. We then hopped back down onto the platform to say 'good-bye' to Molly, Bill, and Charlie.
"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged me good-bye.
"Why?" asked Fred keenly.
"You'll see," said Charlie. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it… it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all."
"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year," said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.
"Why?" said George impatiently.
"You're going to have an interesting year," said Bill, his eyes twinkling, hugging me good-bye now. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it."
"A bit of what?" I asked.
But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Molly chivvied us toward the train doors.
"Bye, Molls, love you," I said, kissing her cheek farewell.
"I love you too, dear," said Molly. "I'd say I'll see you at Christmas, but… well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with… one thing and another."
"Mum!" said Fred irritably. "What d'you three know that we don't?"
"You'll find out this evening, I expect," said Molly, smiling. "It's going to be very exciting – mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules –"
"What rules?" asked all of us at once.
"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you… Now, behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred, George? And you, Winnie?"
The pistons hissed loudly, the train would be leaving any minute now. Charlie looked around anxiously all of the sudden, gripped my arm gently and pulled me several feet away from the others. He placed his hands in his pockets and looked about as if to make sure no one could overhear us.
"What's wrong?" I inquired.
"I just wanted to have a word in private before you head off," he replied uneasily. "I volunteered to do it. Mum and Dad wanted to be the ones, but then she thought you'd be more inclined to listen to be or Bill and not to mention Dad's been busy lately, so I figured we're closer and–"
"Charlie," I interrupted. "Cut to the chase, before I graduate preferably."
"I just need you to mind yourself this year," he replied.
"You're confusing the bleeding hell out of me," I said, furrowing my brows.
"I can't tell you what's going on at Hogwarts this year," said Charlie gently, leaning down to my eye-level and tenderly placing a hand on either of my shoulders. "All I can tell you is that you're going to be faced with a situation this year that no one should rightfully be forced to endure."
"You're scaring me, Charlie," I said, smirking at his nonsense. "Are you feeling alright?"
I placed my palm on his forehead but he jerked his head away, and I knew then this was no joke.
"Are you taking about my sessions with Cassandra?" I asked curiously. "We've talked about this before. I'm actually ready to get this under control–"
"It has nothing to do with Cassandra Vablatsky," he said sincerely, "but has everything to do with your past."
"Either tell me what's going on or stop this," I insisted. "You're just confusing me–"
"You're going to see me much sooner than you think," he replied. "When you do, you'll know understand what I mean by then."
"But–"
"Freddie, for Merlin's sake, the train is leaving," called George suddenly. "Get a move on!"
Charlie pulled me into a quick hug before shoving me off towards the Express with more questions than anything. I climbed on the train after the twins just before it began to shove off. George eyed me suspiciously once he saw the odd expression across my face. I shook it off and focused my concentration on Fred, who was shouting like mad.
"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Fred bellowed out of the window as Molly, Bill, and Charlie, who was looking at the ground with a blank expression, sped away from us.
But Molly only smiled and waved at Fred. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated. Fred, George, and I went back to our compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. I knew it wouldn't be long before Alicia came barreling in to greet George like the tosspot she was. Therefore, I intended on excusing myself to find another compartment to converse in the moment she infiltrated our lair.
"This whole secret thing going on at Hogwarts is really starting to irk me," said Fred. "I can't imagine why we'd all need dress robes–"
"Well, I wasn't going to tell you two, for fear of being made fun of, but they're making girls bring dresses," I replied, erasing Charlie's words from my mind. "I wager there must be some fancy affair or something. Mine is in my trunk as we speak."
"You in a frilly dress?" George scoffed, earning a laugh from Fred across from the two of us. "I changed my mind, I hope we do have to dress up. I'd pay money to see you forced in to some sparkly concoction."
"Shut it," I snapped lightheartedly. "I'm going to look like a right Queen and you know it."
We all laughed at that comment, knowing I'd look a mess in a dress.
"Maybe there is some sort of award ceremony," I suggested.
"Or a funeral," said Fred.
"Who celebrates at a funeral?" I asked, a small smile across my lips.
"Well, it depends who died, now doesn't it?" he replied wisely.
"I've read many an obituary with great pleasure myself," said George, nudging me playfully.
"Or maybe it's for–" I began.
"I wager it's for a dance," said Katie Bell, slipping into our compartment after Alicia and before Angelina and Lee.
Alicia knocked me a few feet to the side, so she could squeeze in between George and I. She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and started placing kisses all over his face and neck. I rolled my eyes along with the others and scooted over for Angelina to sit beside me, across from Fred who sent her the 'goo-goo eye look.' We all exchanged friendly salutations before quickly returning to our conversation.
"A dance?" I replied. "What sort of a dance?"
"No idea, but it's obviously formal," said Katie, shrugging.
"Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts to begin with," said Fred grumpily, already annoyed with Alicia's public displays of affection. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what—"
"Shh!" Angelina whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to ours. We all listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door. I wagered we weren't the only ones who were listening in either, judging by how loud Malfoy was talking.
"… Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man's such a Mudblood-lover – and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do…"
Angelina got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice.
"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" she said angrily. "I wish he had gone, slimy rat."
"Durmstrang's another wizarding school?" asked Katie, a muggle-born.
"Yes," said Fred, "and it's got a horrible reputation. According to Dad, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts."
"I think I've heard of it," said Lee vaguely. "Where is it? What country?"
"Well, nobody knows, do they?" I said, raising my eyebrows.
"Er - why not?" said Katie.
"There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets," said George simply. "You know, because it's bewitched. If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is a moldering old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE. I remember reading about it first year."
"Since when do you read?" I teased.
"I dabble," he smirked.
"But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north," said Angelina thoughtfully. "Somewhere very cold, because they've got fur capes as part of their uniforms."
"Yeah," I replied. "I think I remember seeing some Durmstrang students at the Cup dressed like that. I want to say they had Bulgarian accents...?"
"Speaking of the Cup," said Lee as if he'd just had a revelation. "Tell us all about it! I read the paper, and I nearly flipped my lid! You lot come out unscathed?"
We filled everyone in on the events of the World Cup as the rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved farther north. The sky was so dark and the windows so steamy that the lanterns were lit by midday. The lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor, and I bought a large stack of Chocolate Frogs for the lot of us to share, though Alicia refused to take a single bite.
"I'm watching my girlish figure," she said, sticking her nose in the air.
"Apparently George is too," said Angelina under her breath as we both gagged.
–
The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here. We walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost.
The seven of us sat down in our usual spot: Me in between the twins, Alicia on George's other side, Angelina directly across from Fred while Kates sat across from Alicia and Lee in between. It felt good to sit in between the twins again and though I knew Alicia still disliked the fact that I was back in George's good graces I think she sought solace in the fact that I did, in fact, have a boyfriend.
"Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" asked Kates, who was also looking up at the teachers.
We had never yet to have a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. Everyone's favorite by far had been Professor Lupin, who had resigned last year. I looked up and down the staff table. There was definitely no new face there.
"Maybe they couldn't get anyone," I said, shrugging.
I scanned the table more carefully. Tiny little Professor Flitwick was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, whose hat was askew over her flyaway gray hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side was the sallow-faced, hook-nosed, greasy-haired Potions master, Snape - everyone's least favorite person at Hogwarts (except the Slytherins' of course). On Snape's other side was an empty seat, was Professor McGonagall's. Next to it, and in the very center of the table, sat Professor Dumbledore, his sweeping silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. The tips of Dumbledore's long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. I glanced up at the ceiling too. It was enchanted to look like the sky outside, and I had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it.
"You don't think Snape is teaching Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, do you?" asked Alicia nervously.
"It would just be called 'Dark Arts' instead of defense against if Snape was teaching it," I said.
"That's for sure," George agreed. "Maybe Dumbledore is covering the class."
"That would be one hell of a class," said Fred in agreement with the others.
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened and silence fell. Professor McGonagall walked in, leading the mousy-looking third years, and placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first years and, an the infamous old, dirty patched wizard's hat. The first years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was silence. Then a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into song. The first years gaped at it, and like we had years before, probably had their minds swimming in what would happen once the Hat was placed on their heads. The lot of them were squished together beside the twins and I. Fred took this opportunity to turn to George and I (in a purposely loud whisper, mind you) ask:
"Does it still hurt from when you were sorted?" he said.
"Not too much really," said George, catching on immediately, "and my memory has almost completely returned, only took 6 years."
"My scar is almost healed too," I said dramatically as several first years gasped in horror at the sight of the bandage on my neck. "Only bleeds profusely every once in awhile now. That bloody hat really does have one sharp set of teeth on it, though."
"Wait, what does?" asked George as he looked around frantically, playing up his so-called memory loss. "Merlin, where am I?"
The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished just as George finished his sentence. I leaned down towards a pale-looking little boy and smiled wickedly.
"Good luck," I teased, causing a sea of nervous whispers to spread all the way to the back of the line.
Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment.
"When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool," she told the first years. "When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table.
"Ackerley, Stewart!"
A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on, and sat down on the stool.
"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat.
Stewart Ackerley took off the hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him.
"Baddock, Malcolm!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
The table on the other side of the hall erupted with cheers; I could see Montague clapping as Baddock joined the Slytherins. I wondered whether Baddock knew that Slytherin House had turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other. Fred and George hissed Malcolm Baddock as he sat down.
"Branstone, Eleanor!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Cauldwell, Owen!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Finally, after what felt like a thousand names were called, the list ended on "Whitby, Kevin!" ("HUFFLEPUFF!"). Then Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and the stool and carried them away.
"About time," said Ron from a few people down, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate. I rolled my eyes at his relentless appetite.
"Shut up, Ron," I hissed.
Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome.
"I have only two words to say to you," he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. "Tuck in."
"Hear, hear!" said Fred and George loudly as the empty dishes filled magically before our eyes.
When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.
"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at us all. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. Mr. Filch, our 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."
"Or anyone could just ask us," said George.
"We've had the list memorized since first year," I replied.
"Well, where else would we find such a perfect shopping list?" said Fred, shrugging.
The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
"What?" six of us Gryffindor players gasped. I looked around at Fred and George, Harry, Kates, and Angelina. They were all mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore like me, apparently too appalled to speak as well. Dumbledore went on, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy – but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts–"
But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.
A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers' table.
A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Alicia gasped and clutched onto George's arm. The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any I had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening.
One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye – and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all they could see was whiteness.
The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words no one couldn't hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.
The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark gray hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.
"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody."
It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students chapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.
"Winnie!" Fred and George said in unison.
"What?" I replied, worried that something was wrong.
"You never told us you had a twin," said George with one side of his mouth curling up into a smile.
"Remind me to punch you later," I smirked.
"Honestly, Freddie," said Fred, tilting my chin from side to side to survey me, "the resemblance is uncanny."
Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and I saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot. Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."
"You're JOKING!" said Fred loudly. I would have elbowed him in the side, but he'd taken the words clean out of my mouth.
The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.
"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a pub..."
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.
"Er – but maybe this is not the time… no…" said Dumbledore, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament… well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely: The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities - until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."
"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger. "The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."
"I'm going for it!" Fred hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, you could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors.
I had no interest in even attempting to put myself into the running for Hogwarts' champion. I had enough on my mind already, and I had no intention of putting more stress on my shoulders. I feared I'd collapse from the weight. I knew why Fred and George were desiring a chance to represent the school, and that was the thousand Galleons. Since ole Ludo screwed them over they were more obsessed with saving money for the store than ever.
Dumbledore began to speak again, and the Hall quieted once more.
"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older - will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This" — Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the twins were suddenly looking furious - "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion."
His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen."
"Fat chance," they both muttered.
"Am I going to be dragged into this in any way?" I inquired, knowing they were already up to something.
They merely smirked deviously and winked at me.
"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, 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 Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.
"They just can't do that!" said George, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"
"Because you're seventeen in April," I said, answering his question with his own question. "Unless you can figure out a way to grow at least a year older in a month the you're out of luck."
Fred and George looked at each other with matching wicked grins again as I rolled my eyes at them, smirking.
"Come on," said Hermione, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Me, Fred, and George set off for the entrance hall. Alicia surprisingly departed with Angelina and Katie whilst Lee headed off with Seamus. Fred and George were debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament.
"Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?" said Harry.
"Dunno," said Fred, "but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George, Winnie…"
"Leave me out of it," I replied. "I'm fine with being sixteen."
"And Dumbledore knows you're not of age, anyway though," said Ron.
"Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?" said Fred shrewdly. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."
"People have died, though!" said Hermione in a worried voice as we walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase.
"Hermione, since when has the fear death ever scared Fred or George?" I replied swiftly.
"Well, where's the fun without a bit of risk?" replied Fred, slinging his arm over my shoulders. "Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get 'round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?"
"What d'you reckon?" Ron asked Harry. "Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older… Dunno if we've learned enough…"
"I definitely haven't," came Neville's gloomy voice from behind Fred, George and I. "I expect my gran'd want me to try, though. She's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honor. I'll just have to — oops…"
Neville's foot had sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. Neville's memory was notoriously poor. Harry and Ron seized him under the armpits and pulled him out, while a suit of armor at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked, laughing wheezily.
"Shut it, you," said Ron, banging down its visor as we passed. We made our way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, which was concealed behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress.
"Password?" she said as they approached.
"Balderdash," said George, "a prefect downstairs told me."
The portrait swung forward to reveal a hole in the wall through which we all climbed. A crackling fire warmed the circular common room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables. We bid the boys good night and disappearing through the doorway to the girls' dormitory.
Hermione and I climbed up the last, spiral staircase until we reached our own dormitories, which were situated at the top of the tower. I told her 'good-night' and slipped into my room where my things and May awaited me, beside Angelina's bed against the wall. Three four-poster beds with deep crimson hangings stood against the walls, each with its owner's trunk at the foot. Angelina was getting into bed; Alicia was already asleep and had pinned a photograph of she and George in each others' arms upon her headboard, and Angelina had tacked up a poster of her family over her bedside table.
"Were the twins trying to figure a way to get themselves into the running for the Hogwarts' Champion?" asked Angelina, yawning.
"How'd you guess?" I asked sarcastically. "I do wonder how the competitors are chosen, though."
"No idea," said Angelina quietly, sitting up against her headboard and crossing her legs under her covers. "Maybe the three Headmasters have a say in it. You know, Dumbledore and the other two put their heads together and vote or something."
"Could be," I replied sleepily, pulling on my mismatched pajama ensemble and crawling into bed. Angelina and I sunk completely under our blankets and turned on our sides to face one another. "I wonder what the other headmasters are like."
"Um, I know the one from Beauxbatons is a Headmistress... according to Hermione," she replied. "And the other one has some Bulgarian name... er– Igor something... Igor Karkaroff. Yeah, I think that's right. Well, I'm exhausted, Freddie. See you in the morning."
Angelina rolled over onto her other side as I remained so eerily still that I must have appeared like a corpse. The man who assisted in the murders of my entire family was coming to Hogwarts. He was coming to Hogwarts and was going to stay for most of the year. I instantly knew what Charlie was trying to tell me and now, no matter how incredibly tired I was, I didn't sleep a single wink the entire night.
–
MY SHOUT OUTS WILL RETURN NEXT CHAPTER!
A/N: You lot are legit amazing, no lie. I received more reviews than expected, and you make feel so good! I love you all :) I'm sorry there was a lot from the book in this, I thought it was necessary, so PLEASE don't complain. It won't be so bookish from now on, I think not at least.
PS: Help me reach 120 plus reviews, and I'll keep updating quickly :)
Coming Soon: Winnie's tutoring with Cassandra begin, Oliver's letters bring solace, the twins get into their usual shenanigans, Moody brings back unpleasant memories with Unforgivable Curses, Winnie has an episode unlike any other, Fred and George worry, Montague returns to the picture, Alicia takes a backseat, blackmailing, chaos and hilarity undoubtedly ensue...
–
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