A/N Thank you for all the lovely reviews! ^.^ I hope you enjoy this chapter! :):) xxx

Chapter Twelve

The Triwizard Tournament

The carriages trundled up the beaten track, passed through the gates and up the sweeping drive of the Hogwarts castle. There was lightening now as the carriages moved on. It flashed across the sky, lighting up the dimly lit carriage they were in. Harry was looking out the rain streaked window at the massive form of Hogwarts castle, whilst Amara shivered slightly in her wet robes. They didn't talk for the carriage ride – all of them were thinking longingly of the warm Great Hall and the delicious banquet they were going to have after the Sorting Ceremony.

They stopped at the bottom of the stone steps that led up to the castle, and the five of them shot out the carriage quickly, running up the stone steps with the other crowds students fighting their way in the gale.

"Blimey," said Ron, when they had entered the Entrance Hall, which was lit with hundreds of torches. He shook his head and sent water flying everywhere, "if that keeps up the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak — ARRGH!"

A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron's head and exploded. Drenched and sputtering, Ron staggered sideways into Harry, just as a second water bomb dropped — narrowly missing Hermione and Amara, who both jumped back as it burst on Harry's trainers. People all around them shrieked and started pushing one another in their efforts to get out of the line of fire and into the Great Hall. Amara looked up angrily to find the culprit and was not surprised to see Peeves the Poltergeist, in his little bell-top hat, floating in the air, looking evil and aiming a water balloon at a bunch of third-years.

"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 as Amara tried not to laugh.

"Peeves, get down here NOW!" barked Professor McGonagall, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upward through her square-rimmed spectacles.

"Not doing nothing!" cackled Peeves, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed loudly and dived into the Great Hall before they got even more wet. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!" And he aimed another bomb at a group of second years who had just arrived from the rain.

"I shall call the headmaster!" shouted Professor McGonagall. "I'm warning you, Peeves —"

Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely. Amara dodged a yellow balloon before it hit her.

"Well, move along, then!" said Professor McGonagall sharply to the bedraggled crowd. "Into the Great Hall, come on!"

Amara, Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped and slid across the entrance hall and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face.

The Great Hall was decorated for the start-of-term feast: there were hundreds upon hundreds of floating candles above their heads, making the golden plates and goblets gleam proudly. The tables were already packed with students, all very wet, but chattering happily all the same. Amara, Harry, Ron and Hermione walked past three of the tables before sitting down with the rest of the Gryffindors. They sat next to the Gryffindor Ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, whose head had not come off yet, and was being concealed with a very large ruff.

"Good evening," he said, beaming at them.

"Says who?" said Harry, taking off his trainers and emptying them of water. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving."

"So am I," groaned Amara. She waved at Ethan and one of his best friends, Edward McKenzie down the table. His other best friends, Piper, Eddie's twin, and Felicity Cartright, who preferred to be called 'Flick', were sat at the Ravenclaw table, chatting to some boy Amara didn't know. She also saw Roger Malone sitting at the table, which made her giggle and turn away. He had been looking over to where Sophie Roper, a girl from their dorm was sitting.

"Hiya, Harry!"

It was Colin Creevey, a boy in Ginny's year who was very annoying and worshipped Harry.

"Hi, Colin," said Harry warily.

"Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!"

"Er — good," said Harry.

"He's really excited!" said Colin, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?"

"Er — yeah, all right," said Harry. He turned back to Amara, Hermione, Ron, and Nearly Headless Nick. "Brothers and sisters usually go in the same Houses, don't they?" he said.

"Oh no, not necessarily," said Hermione. "Parvati Patil's twin's in Ravenclaw, and they're identical. You'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?"

"And Eddie's twin is in Ravenclaw," added Amara.

"And you'd've thought she'd be in Gryffindor," said Ron. "She's so … bouncy."

They all seemed to look up at the teachers table then. There were quite a few empty seats that Amara didn't know who were for. Hagrid was still with the first years and McGonagall had yet to return from the flooded Entrance Hall. There was one empty chair after that, which had to be for the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who hadn't seemed to have arrived yet.

"Where's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Hermione,

"Maybe he hasn't arrived yet," said Amara.

"But what if they couldn't get anyone?" said Hermione, looking way too anxious.

"Then another teacher would do it, I guess," said Amara. "I'm sure they've got someone."

"Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" said Hermione, looking anxious.

Amara looked away from the teachers and looked up into the ceiling. She looked down relatively quickly, because there were swirling black and purple clouds that did not look like they were very friendly. There were no stars and no moon on the ceiling, which Amara preferred to look at.

"Oh hurry up," Ron moaned, beside Harry, "I could eat a hippogriff."

Then, the Great Hall doors opened again and the first years followed Professor McGonagall into the Hall, looking very nervous and slightly sick. They all lined up at the end of the Hall, next to the staff table. They looked as though they had swum, rather than sailed, across the lake. Amara felt relatively dry by looking at just how soaked the first years were. All of them were shivering, which didn't help with their nerves, except one boy, who was the smallest of the lot, who was covered in Hagrid's overcoat. It was so big it could have fit half the first years under it comfortably. This meant that only the boy's head could be seen popping out the collar, looking excited. He caught Colin Creevey's eye, gave a double thumbs-up, and mouthed, 'I fell in the lake!'. He looked positively delighted about it.

Professor McGonagall now placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty, patched wizard's hat. The first years stared at it. So did everyone else. At least everyone but the first-years knew what they were watching it for. For a moment, there was silence. Then a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into song:

A thousand years or more ago, When I was newly sewn,
There lived four wizards of renown,
Whose names are still well known:
Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,
Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,
Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,
Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.
They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,
They hatched a daring plan
To educate young sorcerers
Thus Hogwarts School began.
Now each of these four founders
Formed their own house, for each
Did value different virtues
In the ones they had to teach.
By Gryffindor, the bravest were
Prized far beyond the rest;
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest
Would always be the best;
For Hufflepuff, hard workers were
Most worthy of admission;
And power-hungry Slytherin
Loved those of great ambition.
While still alive they did divide
Their favourites from the throng,
Yet how to pick the worthy ones
When they were dead and gone?
'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,
He whipped me off his head
The founders put some brains in me
So I could choose instead!
Now slip me snug about your ears,
I've never yet been wrong,
I'll have a look inside your mind
And tell where you belong!

The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished.

"That's not the song it sang when it Sorted us," said Harry, clapping along with everyone else.

"Sings a different one every year," said Ron. "It's got to be a pretty boring life, hasn't it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one."

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.

The boy, Stewart, took off the hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him. Amara clapped politely with the rest.

"Baddock, Malcolm!"

A small, dark haired boy came forwards.

"Slytherin," said Ron and Amara together, playing a game to take their mind off of their hungry stomachs. Harry kept a tally on his fingers.

"SLYTHERIN!"

The table on the other side of the hall erupted with cheers as Amara and Ron high-fived; the Slytherins clapped hard for their newest member, but Fred and George hissed as Malcom Baddock sat down.

"Branstone, Eleanor!"

"Hufflepuff," said Ron.

"Ravenclaw," said Amara.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Damn."

"Yes!"

"Cauldwell, Owen!"

"Hufflepuff!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Creevey, Dennis!"

Tiny Dennis Creevey staggered forward, tripping over Hagrid's moleskin coat, just as Hagrid himself sidled into the Hall through a door behind the teachers' table. He winked at them as he sat down at the end of the staff table and watched Dennis Creevey putting on the Sorting Hat. The rip at the brim opened wide —

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted.

Hagrid clapped along with the Gryffindors as Dennis Creevey, beaming widely, took off the hat, placed it back on the stool, and hurried over to join his brother.

"Colin, I fell in!" he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. "It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!"

"Cool!" said Colin, just as excitedly. "It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"

"Wow!" said Dennis, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and pushed out of it again by a giant sea monster.

"I have a feeling," said Amara in a low tone to Ron. "That Dennis is going to be ten times weirder, shriller and annoying than his brother."

Ron cracked up, but his smile turned to pain as his stomach rumbled again.

"Dobbs, Emma!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Knew it," muttered Amara.

The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moving one by one to the three-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall passed the L's. It seemed to be taking much longer than usual.

"Oh hurry up," Ron moaned, massaging his stomach.

"Now, Ron, the Sorting's much more important than food," said Nearly Headless Nick as "Madley, Laura!" became a Hufflepuff.

" 'Course it is, if you're dead," snapped Ron.

"I do hope this year's batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch," said Nearly Headless Nick, applauding as "McDonald, Natalie!" joined the Gryffindor table and seemingly not hearing Ron. "We don't want to break our winning streak, do we?"

Gryffindor had won the Inter-House Championship for the last three years in a row. At that moment in time, Amara did not care.

"Pritchard, Graham!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Quirke, Orla!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

And finally, with "Whitby, Kevin!" ("HUFFLEPUFF!"), the

Sorting ended. Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and the stool and carried them away.

"About time," said Ron, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate. Amara felt her stomach rumble as Dumbledore got 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 Amara, Harry and Ron loudly as the empty dishes filled magically before their eyes.

Amara filled her plate high with Harry and Ron, whilst Hermione took slightly less. She tucked in straight away and was soon chewing on some roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.

"Aaah, 'at's be'er," said Ron, with his mouth full of mashed potato.

"You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know," said Nearly Headless Nick. "There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."

"Why? Wha' 'appened?" said Harry, through a sizable chunk of steak. Amara couldn't even say words her mouth was so full.

"Peeves, of course," said Nearly Headless Nick, shaking his head, which wobbled dangerously. He pulled his ruff a little higher up on his neck so it secured it. "The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast — well, it's quite out of the question, you know what he's like, utterly uncivilized, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghost's council — the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance — but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down."

The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin ghost, a gaunt and silent spectre covered in silver bloodstains. He was the only person at Hogwarts who could really control Peeves.

"Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something," said Ron darkly. "So what did he do in the kitchens?"

"Oh the usual," said Nearly Headless Nick, shrugging. "Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits —"

Clang. Amara jumped and nearly choked on the bit of cauliflower she had been eating. Hermione had evidently knocked over her goblet of pumpkin juice, for a large orange stain was spreading its way across the table.

"There are house-elves here?" she said, staring, horror-struck, at Nearly Headless Nick. "Here at Hogwarts?"

"Certainly," said Nearly Headless Nick, looking surprised at her reaction. "The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred."

"I've never seen one!" said Hermione.

"Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?" said Nearly Headless Nick. "They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning . . . see to the fires and so on. . . . I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?"

Hermione stared at him. And Amara swallowed the piece of meat she was chewing.

"But they get paid?" she said. "They get holidays, don't they? And — and sick leave, and pensions, and everything?"

Nearly Headless Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck. It was rather disgusting, and Amara avoided looking at it.

"Sick leave and pensions?" he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it once more with his ruff. "House-elves don't want sick leave and pensions!"

Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from her.

"Oh c'mon, 'Er-my-knee," said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry and Amara with bits of Yorkshire pudding. "Oops — sorry, 'Arry, 'Mara —" He swallowed. "You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself !"

"Slave labour," said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose. "That's what made this dinner. Slave labour."

For the rest of the meal, Hermione did not eat another bite. She seemed as though she wanted Amara to do the same, but Amara herself ate everything on her plate, so that it was obvious she was not going to starve herself.

The thunder and lightening got a little louder as the dinner turned into puddings. The rain was still rattling on the windows.

And she refused to eat another bite.

"Treacle tart, Hermione!" said Ron, deliberately wafting its smell toward her. "Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!"

But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up.

It was surprising how much Amara, Harry and Ron could still eat after the main course, but they all are second portions of the puddings as well. Finally, when they were all so stuffed Amara was worried she wasn't going to be able to move, the plates got wiped clean and Professor Dumbledore got up to speak.

"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered," ("Hmph!" said Hermione) "I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.

"Mr Filch, the 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."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched and Amara wondered if anyone actually went to check the list. 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?" Harry gasped. Amara was in shock as well. No Quidditch? What? Looking down the table, Amara saw Fred, George, Angelina and the others looking extremely put out. 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. Amara jumped violently in her seat.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swivelled 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 grey hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers' table.

A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. The whole Hall was silent with fear, curiosity and apprehension. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione and Amara gasped.

The man's face was so scarred it looked like it had been carved brutally out of wood. Every inch of the face was covered in the scars, all different sizes and a chunk from his nose was missing.

But it was the man's eyes that had made Amara gasp. One was normal, small black and beady, like a beetle. But it was the other that was so creepy. It was fake, large round and a vivid blue, and the eye moved everywhere, in all directions. Up, down, side to side and even behind his head so that the blue was gone and there was only white left.

The stranger had now reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words nobody in the room could 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 grey 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 Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore brightly into the weird silence. "Professor Moody."

Nobody clapped. Everyone was staring at Moody with a strange fascination, so Dumbledore and Hagrid's claps, who were the only ones who did clap in the whole of the hall, echoed around the room. They stopped very quickly.

"Moody?" Amara heard Harry mutter 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.

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.

"He's creepy," Amara whispered.

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 honour 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 very loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively. Amara was very glad Fred had spoken, for the tension in the hall was suffocating.

"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 her anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly to one another, and Amara was grinning as well.

"Beauxbatons did he say?" Amara said. "Jesse or the others could be coming here!"

"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 to them, 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. Amara was excited that Beauxbatons were coming to Hogwarts. She'd have to write to Jesse to ask if he was going. 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 for- ward their names for consideration. This" — Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley 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 under- age 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 all the students 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 . . ."

"Imagine," said Amara dreamily.

"Come on," said Hermione, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."

Amara, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George 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. . . ."

"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 they 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 Amara and 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 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 honour. I'll just have to — oops. . . ."

Neville's foot had sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. Harry and Ron seized him under the armpits and pulled him out, while a suit of armour at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked, laughing wheezily.

"Shut it, you," said Ron, banging down its visor as they passed. They 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 they approached.

"Balderdash," said George, "a prefect downstairs told me."

The portrait swung forward to reveal a hole in the wall through which they all climbed. 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 and muttered "Slave labour," under her breath before bidding them good night and disappearing through the doorway to the girls' dormitory. Amara sighed and walked up to, bidding Harry, Ron, Neville, Fred and George goodnight.

She went up to her dormitory and found the other girls minus Sophie were already there. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were packing their things away, adding photographs and their make-up supplies onto their dressers.

"Hello Amara," said Lavender. "Had a nice holiday?"

"It was lovely thanks, how was yours?" Amara replied. She didn't mind Lavender and Parvati, who were both nice but slightly ditzy when it came to certain things.

"We went to Venice," said Lavender. "And Parvati came too."

"Really?" said Amara. "Sounds great."

"Did you go anywhere?" Parvati asked.

"Not abroad," said Amara as Hermione came out the bathroom. "Just to the Quidditch World Cup, and I stayed at Ron's house."

"You went to the Quidditch World Cup?" said Parvati. "I heard it was amazing."

"I wouldn't go myself," said Lavender. "I'm not completely into the sort of thing. Hello Sophie."

Sophie Roper had just entered the dormitory.

"Hello," she said and went to her bed.

"So," said Parvati. "How exciting is the Triwizard Tournament?" They all started getting ready for bed.

"Very," said Amara. "I'm hoping my cousin is coming, he goes to Beauxbatons, you know."

"Oooh," said Lavender. "Is that the dreamy boy from your photograph?"

"Yes," said Amara, giggling at the irritated look on Hermione's face.

"Is he old enough to compete?" asked Parvati.

"Yes," said Amara. "Yeah, he is. I wonder if he'll enter."

Amara did not see the worried look on Hermione's face as the five girls continued to get ready. They all closed their curtains and said their goodnights.

She wondered what would happen if she followed Fred and George's theory of being able to trick the judges. She'd get one thousand galleons prize money! With that she could buy anything she wanted … and probably get Ron some new dress robes … smiling, Amara rolled over and went to sleep.