Dumbledore attempted to continue with his announcement. "As I was saying," he said, and a few heads turned back to him, "I have great pleasure in announcing that Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year."

"YOU'RE JOKING!" the Weasley twins shouted, breaking the awkward silence that had engulfed the hall after the new professor came in. Dumbledore gave a small smile.

"No, I am not joking. Although. . . I did hear a good one over the summer about a (I don't remember what exactly so I'm guessing) hag, a goblin, and a werewolf who all go into a bar!"

McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

"Ah, but, perhaps now is not the time. . ." Dumbledore said. "No. . . The Triwizard Tournament, for those of you who may not know, is a competition between the three largest wizarding schools in Europe: Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons. The tournament was canceled, however, when the death toll climbed too high."

"Death toll?" Hermione whispered worriedly. No one else gave those words much thought though.

"Over the years, there have been many attempts to revive the tournament, but they have not been successful. Our Ministry and the Department of Magical Games and Sports thinks it's time for another try. I daresay that in the respective common rooms, you will be able to hear more about the tournament from those that know about it. I think it's time, though, to get off to bed. I know you all want to be nice and rested for your first day of classes tomorrow. Chop chop!"

Matthew got up along with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but stopped moving when he noticed his brother wasn't going with him. Alfred was still sitting at the Gryffendor table. He was retching over his empty plate. Holding his stomach, he curled into himself. He recognized this horrible feeling. His headache, his upset stomach, his climbing fever, they all added up. The symptoms had been worse when Dr. Brantley and Dr. Writebol had been sick at the same time, but they had been cleared of the disease.

"Matthew!" Alfred managed to gasp, and his brother rushed over to him.

"What is it, eh?!"

"E-Ebola. Thomas died," Alfred said feebly, and laid his head on the table. The vision slowly filled his head.

There was blood, lots of it. It was on the bed sheets, and his breath was gurgling with the flow of blood. A doctor rushed over with a tube, ready to drain the blood and stop him from suffocating, but there was a dread inside of him. The end had to be near. He was weak. He was dying.

Seeing what was happening, Dumbledore stood up, immediately understanding that this was a matter of a country. It was not something that could be helped, America would just have to power through. Enlisting Matthew's help, together they levitated him onto a stretcher and got him to the hospital wing, laying him down on a bed.

Alfred convulsed violently, retching again. He didn't know how the other countries could stand it. It was the worst feeling.

Matthew sighed, turning to Dumbledore. "This isn't even the least of it. We've got much more to come, including for me."

Sorry! I hope it wasn't to gory, I tried not to go there. I'm sorry I havn't been able to stick to my one chappie a day schedule, 7th grade went full blast now, and I've got a ton of homework. I'll work harder *pinkie promises* ;3

~Misty