"Blimey," exclaimed Ron as we hurried into the entrance hall, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, "if that keeps up the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak—ARRGH!"
I leaped back instinctively as a red water balloon narrowly missed me and hit Ron in the face. People around us started shrieking and clamoring to get out of the range. I squinted up at Peeves the Poltergeist, giggling madly as he took aim again.
"PEEVES!" yelled an angry voice. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"
Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and head of Gryffindor House, had come dashing out of the Great Hall. She skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop herself from falling.
"Ouch—sorry, Miss Granger—" "That's all right, Professor!" Hermione gasped, massaging her throat.
"Peeves, get down here NOW!" barked Professor McGonagall.
"Not doing nothing!" cackled Peeves as he flew around gleefully and threw more water bombs at screaming students. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeee!"
"I shall call the Headmaster!" shouted Professor McGonagall. "I'm warning you, Peeves—" Peeves stuck out his tongue at her, then zoomed up the staircase, laughing maniacally the whole time.
"Well, move along then!" Professor McGonagall said sharply to us. We stumbled tiredly into the Great Hall. For the first time, I was far too cold and uncomfortable to admire the marvelous decorations around the Hall.
I plopped down ungracefully on a seat, looking at my empty plate and goblet glumly.
"I'm wet, and I'm hungry!" I complained. "This is the most horrid feeling in the world." Hermione rolled her eyes amusedly, before waving her her wand at me. A stream of hot air blasted my robes, and they dried within seconds.
"Ohh," I moaned, rubbing my now steaming robes between my hands to warm them. "Thanks, 'Mione. You're the best." She gave me a slight smile before drying herself as well.
"Where's the new Defense of the Dark Arts teacher?" she asked, inspecting the staff table anxiously. "Maybe they couldn't get anyone!"
"But it's the most coveted teacher position. Surely there must be someone," I furrowed my brows. "Or if no one wanted it, they could always get Snape. Everyone knows he's been asking for that position since forever." I made a face. "On the other hand, maybe that's not a good idea." Hermione shuddered at the thought.
"No, thanks."
Just then, the doors of the Great Hall opened, and McGonagall came in, leading a long line of wet, shivering first years behind her.
The sorting went quickly, and all of us picked our utensils up and stared intently at our plates.
"Come on, come on. Anytime now would be nice," I muttered impatiently. No sooner had the words "tuck in" left Professor Dumbledore's lips, than did our plates fill magically with the most wonderful food, as usual. I attacked my plate eagerly, blissfully oblivious to all conversation around me. Until Hermione realized that the food we were eaten were made by house elves, and refused to eat another bite.
"Slave labor," she said, breathing hard through her nose. "That's what made this dinner. Slave labor."
Happily stuffed, I rested my head against Ginny's shoulder, yawning. Professor Dumbledore stood and gave his usual speech, but none of it made much of an impression on me...until he said that there wasn't going to be an Inter-House Quidditch Cup this year. I sat up abruptly. So Malfoy had told me the truth after all. But I had thought he told me that just to wound me up. I hadn't expected it to be true.
I looked around in dismay at my Quidditch teammates. They were speechless too, too appalled to say anything.
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.
Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione drew a gasp next to me.
The man's face was scarred, very scarred, and a part of his nose was missing. But the most frightening thing about him was his eyes. One of them was small and dark, the other was large and round, and blue. It didn't move like any normal eye, instead swivelling around and around, as if the man had no control of it.
The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.
"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody." No one clapped, save for Dumbledore and Hagrid. Everyone was still transfixed by his odd appearance.
"Moody?" Harry muttered to Ron. "Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?"
"Must be," said Ron in a low, awed voice.
"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered. "What happened to his face?"
"Dunno," Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination. 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 Weasley loudly.
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 bar.
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."
"Death toll?" Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. But all of us were far too excited to share her concern.
"I'm totally signing up," I chatted excitedly with several other Gryffindors. "This is wonderful!"
"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, Harry could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke 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."
"No!" I exclaimed in outrage, joining several protests. The Weasley twins looked furious.
Dumbledore raised his voice slightly. "This 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."
"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 we got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.
"They 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?"
"They're not stopping me entering," said Fred stubbornly, also scowling at the top table.
"The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"
"Yeah," said Ron, a faraway look on his face. "Yeah, a thousand Galleons..."
"Come on," said Hermione, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."
We set off for the entrance hall, Fred and George 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..." I perked up thoughtfully. That wasn't a bad idea.
"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, 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.
"Yeah," said Fred airily, "but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get 'round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?"
"What d'you reckon?" Ron asked us. "Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older...Dunno if we've learned enough…"
"I'd be up for it," I interjected.
"No!" Hermione elbowed me hard. "You're smarter than that!"
"I definitely haven't," came Neville's gloomy voice from behind Fred and George.
"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. Harry and Ron yanked him out by the armpits, setting him back on his feet. Meanwhile, a suit of armor at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked its plates in laughter.
"Shut it, you," said Ron, banging down its visor as they passed. We made their 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 we approached.
"Balderdash," said George, "a prefect downstairs told me."
A crackling fire warmed the circular common room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables. Hermione cast the merrily dancing flames a dark look.
"Slave labor," she muttered under her breath, before tugging at my arm. "Come on. It's late, we should sleep soon." We bid the boys goodbye before trudging up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.
bit of a filler, i know. but i couldn't cut out this chapter because it's where Moody and the Triwizard Tournament are introduced.
so i read this other FANTASTIC DRACO/OC FIC and wow it might be my favorite fic ever. if not for the fact that IT'S DISCONTINUED AND HASN'T BEEN UPDATED SINCE LAST YEAR. it's called Green Eyed Monster if you want to read it. it's seriously first-rate fanfiction, like WHOOO THE ANGST and that superb insight on the Slytherins? i love Slytherins. unfortunately, the author didn't say anything about whether she'll be back to update or if she's abandoned it (which is sad because it really is good)
anyway, it gave me a lot of inspiration to try to follow my own plot instead. and i already have an idea, but it won't be obvious until The Order of the Phoenix.
aaaaaaand i'm done rambling now. i hope you liked this, and PLEASE REVIEW GUYSS THANKS ILY
catastropherika xo
