I do not own Harry Potter
Chapter Thirty Five – Goblet of Fire
For the next week, as it had done for the weeks before, the Common Room seemed to grow quiet each time Maia entered, and louder when she left. They were fools if they deluded themselves that she hadn't noticed. Of course she noticed. She noticed the brooding stares of Avery most of all. And the questioning, curious stares of Flint and the Carrow twins.
Her wand started to feel heavy and sluggish in her hand, or at least, the thought of it weighed heavy and sluggish in her heart.
As she took another turn around the lake, her thoughts went back to the World Cup. Draco had told her then that their people walked a fine line. It grew thinner by the day.
Hermione said she was being pulled into something she couldn't control.
She wasn't being pulled though, she was falling. She was failing.
"Miss. Black, is it right for you to be walking here all alone? You are not spying on my students, ahead of the competition?"
Maia turned at the sound of the thin, reedy voice and dropped into a small, perfunctory curtsey. "Headmaster Karkaroff, I am merely taking the air before I re-join my cousins. And I cannot spy on the competition, they do not present any." She smiled, charmingly, as she had been taught, but was met with only a scowl.
"You will not say that, once the Champions have been decided this evening."
Again, she smiled. "We shall have to wait and see. But I am not fearful yet. The House of Black knows no fear, as you know yourself." She noted that he had not bowed in response to her salutation. He had not even inclined his head.
"Well, I am pleased to find you alone."
A chill ran down her spine. "Have you something you wish to discuss, Headmaster?" She held herself straight and tall. She pushed her chin forward.
Karkaroff took a step closer, leaning over her, and she fought the urge to retreat. She would not retreat, she told herself. She would not give an inch. She would shame her Aunt Cassiopeia, were she to give even an inch. "Yes. I wanted to tell you that I do not know what you are your House are plotting-"
"-the Slytherins, Sir? I am afraid that I cannot tell you what they are all plotting. We often work at cross purpo-"
"I do not speak of that pathetic Hogwarts House, girl." He snarled, "And do not pretend innocence to me. No-one in your House is ever innocent. I don't know who put you up to that toast. I don't know what you're plotting, if you're trying to scare me, punish me, entrap me, test me, lure me out. I know not and I care not. It won't work. I am safe from the Dark Lord. You may still do his bidding, may long for his return, but I have made my way in this world. I have power of my own right. So you can report back to whoever you report to, to whoever you obey, and tell them that they cannot touch me."
She fought to keep her breathing steady. Whatever image he had of her and her House in his head, it scared him. She would not undermine that fear. She would not challenge his assumptions. They might work in her – in their – favour...
"I may choose to bear that in mind, Headmaster. I may choose to disregard it. But you really must now excuse me, for I have no wish to be late for the feast."
She turned and walked away, pushing her hands into her fur muff and clutching them together tightly, so that they would not betray her by shaking. As she walked up to the doors, she saw Professor Snape standing in the shadows. His dark eyes glinted, cold and hard, and she carefully looked away from them. She may not be an Occulums, and would never be one, but she knew better than to make his job easier. "What did Headmaster Karkaroff want, Miss. Black?"
She glanced at her muff, pretending to smooth the fur and brush away the water, "He remarked upon the weather, Sir. He feels that winter is drawing in fast."
Professor Snape made no response, but turned and swept away, his long black robe billowing out behind him.
...
The food at the feast held no taste for her. She forced herself to sit up straight, dignified. She forced herself to engage in idle conversation. She forced herself to laugh and smile. She forced herself to sneer when needed. She forced herself to look unconcerned and uncaring.
And most of all, she forced herself to ignore the dark eyes of Igor Karkoroff, which seemed to follow her every movement.
And if anyone were to ask her at a later date what she thought of the feast, the food, the people with whom she talked, she would have to laugh and smile and shrug and avoid the question.
She would never be able to remember.
"Are you hoping for a Slytherin champion?"
She turned to see Adrian Pucey leaning across the table towards her, an easy smile on his face. "Are you doubting that there is anyone in this school more worthy than one of our own?"
He leant back, "You can't trap me, Maia Black. I see what you're about."
"Well, then. Who will it be? Queenie Greengrass? She's Head Girl, and a Slytherin. Or are you hoping to win eternal glory for yourself?"
"I would hope, but I need to be two months older to hope. I couldn't enter and I'm no Weasley fool to try and cross Dumbledore's age line."
She smirked, remembering the twins and their beards. "Queenie Greengrass it is, then."
Adrian raised his goblet in toast, and she drank to it. Further down the table, Queenie shook her head, "You should not get your hopes up, there are plenty of other Slytherins."
Still, she was grinning, her face flushed and hopeful.
A glance around the table showed her that none of the Durmstrang students looked so easy. Their eyes were often hungry, greedy, and drifting in the direction of the goblet of fire more often than not.
Finally, the feast drew to a close, and an un-natural silence fell upon the hall.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," said Dumbledore, raising from his great chair, "I believe the time has come for the goblet of fire to speak. A champion will be called from each school. If your name is called, I ask that you stand, take your bow, and make your way to the side room, where you and your fellow champions will await further instructions."
All eyes – not just those of the Durmstrang students – turned to the goblet. Suddenly, with an abrupt burst of flame, a piece of parchment flew into the air and into Dumbldore's hand.
"And the Hogwart's champion is..." Maia and the Slytherins held their breath, half turning away to look at Gemma, "Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff!"
A roar from the other side of the room told them that the Hufflepuff table had exploded into cheers; Maia looked across to see Ernie and Justin leap into the air and hug each other. Cedric stood, blushing, and bowed. He turned to walk to the side room, laughing and shaking his head as if he couldn't quite believe it, and if he wasn't sure if he knew what he was letting himself in for.
Out of the corner of her eye, Maia saw Queenie sit up straighter, toss her golden hair regally, smile thinly and clap her hands with studied politeness.
"Silence! Silence!" said Dumbledore, smiling at the Hufflepuffs. Quiet eventually fell upon the hall, except for the joyous, broken sobbing of Professor Sprout. Both Snape and Karkaroff managed to look equally disgusted with the display.
As soon as the quiet had once again fallen, however, another shot of flame burst forth from the cup. "And the champion for Durmstrang is... Viktor Krum!"
Krum stood, still scowling and bowed briskly. Maia finally looked at him up close as he passed her and saw that without his broom, he rather lost his shine.
When the cheers of the Durmstrang students finally died away, although many of them looked sorely put out, a final shot of flame and a final piece of paper rose into the hall.
"And the champion for Beauxbatons is... Fleur Delacour!"
The cries and applause broke out again, and once the prissy French girl who had insulted Hogwarts had left, Maia was left with the aching sense of disappointment that Slytherin had lost a chance for glory, for honour. It was one thing to win the most House Points. It was quite another to say that the best student in the school was in one's own House.
As the door slammed shut behind Delacour, Dumbledore turned back to address the students.
When another burst of flame, another piece of paper, shot out into the air.
Nobody breathed.
Then Dumbledore spoke, quiet at first, confused. "Harry Potter?"
Draco's eyes instantly met Maia's over the table. You know?
I don't know!
What is this?
I really don't know!
Again, Dumbledore's voice. It was louder now, carrying clearly across the hall. "Harry Potter!" Wherever Cousin Harry was, he wasn't moving. "Harry Potter!"
Finally, he stumbled to his feet, pushed by a pale-faced Hermione. Looking lost, and confused, he walked to the side room as the Great Hall remained in absolute, total silence.
...
A/N – I'm doing a double update because I'm not exactly sure when the next one will be, although it shouldn't be any longer than two weeks... However, to tempt you for the next instalment, I can promise you that there will be a rather dramatic scene in the Slytherin Common Room... : )