"Mum," Ron yelled. He'd spent the day packing and now it was time to go and he couldn't find Scabbers. "Where's my rat?"
Molly closed her eyes and counted to ten. She wished that stupid rat would die. "They have short lives," the man at the familiar store had assured he when the boys had been out of earshot. "Just a few years. Not like parrots that'll outlive you." She'd agreed to the rat thinking it wouldn't last, and the thing just kept going. You'd think it had drunk some immortality potion the way it's just kept on living it's abnormally long, unattractive, ratty life.
"Mum!" Ron yelled again.
"Ronald," she said. "It's time to go or we'll miss the train. If I find Scabbers, I'll get him up to you, but he was your responsibility."
She hoped the thing had run off and she'd never have to see it again. Good riddance to bad rubbish.
. . . . . . . . . .
Hermione clapped her hands in delight. Fourth year had started with the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament they'd heard rumors about since the previous fall. Draco's mouth had gaped open as Victor Krum marched in and she'd rolled her eyes at his awe in seeing his Quidditch idol, but she caught his enthusiasm anyway. The Tournament itself was ridiculous of course. Who thought risking death for glory and fame was a good idea? But since none of them could participate, it promised to be a brilliant year with exchange students and parties, and she might even get Draco and Harry to stop ogling that poor Victor Krum.
Being stared at everywhere you went like that had to be awful, the poor man. As if being able to catch a ball were that important. She made the mistake of saying, "I don't see why he's such a big deal," and Ron almost hissed at her.
"Hermione," he said. "He's Victor Krum." He, Ginny, Draco and Harry then subjected her to more statistics than she'd realized any of them knew. Victor Krum caught balls. He caught them quickly. He caught them doing dramatic maneuvers out of the sky. He caught them doing tricks on a broom that, according to any rational understanding of physics, should have left him dead. She risked a glance over at the table where all the Durmstang students sat. He was very fit; she had to admit that.
At last she said, "I really don't care. You do know that, right?"
Ron glowered and Harry rolled his eyes but Draco just threw an arm around her shoulders. "As long as you care about me," he said.
"Merlin," Ron said. "Are they going to be like this all year?"
"They were most of the summer," Harry said. He nudged at Neville. "Do you think your Gran is ever going to let you spend the summer with us? We missed you."
"Doubt it," Neville said. "You know how she is about Draco's parents."
"Maybe we could spend some time at Harry's place?" Draco suggested, though the dark townhouse wasn't nearly as inviting as the acres of garden they could run and fly through at Malfoy Manor, and while Remus always had chocolate around, Sirius tended to eat the last of the crisps without noticing and there really just weren't snacks around. Even Kreacher couldn't put out a spread designed to tempt the way Narcissa Malfoy could. Still, if it meant Neville could go, they'd all camp out and play Exploding Snap in the parlours.
"That's okay," Neville said. "I kept busy practicing things, and Ginny wrote me almost every day."
"Not Pansy?" Harry asked, casting a glance over at the Slytherin table. Pansy was leaning forward, her chin in her hand, her eyes fixed on Victor Krum.
Neville shrugged. "Ginny and I just had more to say to each other."
"Does Pansy know?" Harry pressed.
"I didn't realize I had to get her permission to write to my friends," Neville said. His voice went hard and Harry jerked back and looked at Neville in some surprise. "Sorry," Neville said, looking down at the table. "Gran got on my case about Pansy and writing to a Slytherin and told me I should make friends in my own House."
"Except she won't let you come over to see us in the summer," Hermione said.
"Right," Neville said. He sounded bitter. "So I worked in the greenhouse with the plants and practiced magic when she wasn't looking because I didn't have much else to do, and wrote Ginny." He followed Harry's glance toward Pansy. "I don't think Pansy's going to miss me much."
"Do you really think she could get the attention of Victor Krum?" Ron asked. "I know you both liked her, but she's not very pretty and she's kind of mean."
"Maybe Krum isn't as shallow as you," Hermione said.
She turned her attention back to this year's speech right as Headmaster Dumbledore explained that no one underage could enter the Tournament but that anyone eligible who wished to should drop his name in the Goblet of Fire. Entering was a binding magical contract and whomever the cup selected would be obligated to participate so each student should think carefully before deciding to put his name in.
"Or her name," Lavender Brown said with a sniff. She and Hermione exchanged looks of female solidarity as Angelina, sitting up the table, declared she intended to enter.
"I wonder who will get picked to represent Hogwarts?" Draco asked.
"We should put our names in," Harry said. His eyes began to sparkle. "Draco, We'll use the cloak. No one will catch us, and if it spit one of our names out it would be the best lark ever."
"Are you daft?" Hermione demanded. "First of all, they've got it warded against underage students. Second, it's meant for people older than you, and better at magic!"
"I'm just fine at magic," Draco said. He pouted at her and she smacked him on the side of the arm.
"You'er good at flying," she said. "And potions."
"And charms," he said. "I'm better than you are at charms, Hermione."
"You are not," she said in outrage, and they began to squabble, comparing solutions they'd had to different academic problems until Harry groaned as dramatically as he could manage.
"It's the rage of the swots," he said. "Do you two think you could turn your great, clever brains into – "
"No!" Hermione snapped. "You can't enter that stupid death trap of a contest."
. . . . . . . . . .
Draco wrinkled his nose when Headmaster Dumbledore introduced the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He looked from the old Auror to Harry. Harry looked as unhappy as he felt. For all that Remus had told them over and over again that he didn't mind being rather pointedly not asked to return for another year, both boys felt an uncomfortable mixture of guilt and resentment at his de facto firing. If they hadn't snuck the hippogriff away, if Draco hadn't gotten hurt to begin with, Remus would still have a job they both knew he'd loved.
He'd told them not to worry themselves about it. Snape would have found a way to get me out, he'd told them. He has reasons to be wary of what a werewolf can do. He's just trying to protect students. Protect you.
Neither Harry nor Draco believed that. The way Sirius had muttered, "The prick," under his breath has just confirmed for both boys that Snape was the real enemy.
"This new one looks nuts," Harry said, tipping his head toward the high table. Hermione made noises about how they shouldn't judge a man based on an eye patch or peg leg but when Draco asked if they were allowed to draw conclusions from the way the man kept scanning the room as if a Dark wizard might pounce on them from under a bench at any moment, she admitted he did seem a mite paranoid.
"And an alcoholic," she added with prim disapproval as their new professor pulled a flask from the pocket of his robes, unscrewed the cap, and swallowed what looked, even from across the room, to be a more than generous mouthful.
"Guess the wine's not strong enough," Harry said with a snigger. "Not when there could be a Death Eater in disguise right there at the high table."
Draco joined in the snickers that ran down the Gryffindor table at that idea. "Don't suppose we still have any pixies from the era of Lockhart we could loose in his office?" he asked.
Hermione looked a tad guilty as she muttered she might know where Hagrid kept things like that, and gleeful plans began to almost concoct themselves. Hogwarts may have decided to replace their favorite teacher with this loon, but they could exact a sort of petty revenge.
. . . . . . . . . .
Sirius tossed Narcissa the locket and she dropped it down the chute into the incinerator. An evil hiss of black smoke and a scream tore back up and both of them stepped back. "Nasty bit of work," Sirius said.
"Sounds like the peacocks," Narcissa said, brushing her hands against one another with as much vigor as her self-control would permit. Just touching that thing had made her want to soak in a bath for a week.
"The peacocks are also nasty," Sirius agreed.
. . . . . . . . . .
"Loyalty," the creature in the chair said, his eyes glowing red. "I wouldn't have expected it to be from you, Wormtail." He smiled, a sight that was terrible to behold, and which made the man cowering at his feet struggle to keep his bladder under control. "You aren't the only one truly loyal, though, and the faithful shall be rewarded just as those who have strayed shall be punished."
He hissed out a breath and seemed to relish that thought. "They have chosen the poisonous fruit, and they shall have it."
. . . . . . . . . .
Blaise slouched lower on the couch in the common room and watched the girls flutter around Cassius Warrington. The sloth of a seventh year had declared he was going to enter his name into the Goblet of Fire to much acclaim from his fellows. Even Daphne, usually possessed of better sense, was hanging on the man's every word. Blaise thought even a magical cup couldn't be stupid enough to pick Warrington as a Champion, so all the fuss was wasted energy. Someone else would be the Hogwarts Champion. Someone, Blaise hoped, who had a brain in his head.
"Think he'll get picked?" Crabbe asked.
Blaise favored his lackey with a look that dripped even more contempt than usual, but all he said was, "A Slytherin Champion would be good. Maybe with that Goblet in charge instead of Dumbledore, we'll have a chance."
"Old coot," Greg Goyle grunted. Blaise nodded and crossed his arms. Goyle's ability to parrot back opinions remained outstanding. He was another one without a thought to call his own. Blaise wasn't sure he'd ever forgive Nott for abandoning him for Draco and that daft blonde girl. Pansy wasn't much better. At this rate, she'd have dated ever Gryffindor by the time they left Hogwarts. She was off cooing over Krum, he supposed, leaving him totally alone in Slytherin. Just him, the idiots, and a bunch of what seemed to be very dumb girls.
Warrington was flexing his arms and Blaise watched in increasing disgust as girl after girl giggled and felt his biceps. Surely they all knew that the man was as dumb as a rock. His disdain for everyone and everything, especially all the fawning girls, curdled in his mouth until some pesty little girl with actual pigtails ignored every signal he was sending to go away and flopped down next to him.
"Morons," she said.
"Says the pip squeak," Crabbe said. Blaise could tell he thought that was clever. The look the girl gave him suggested she included Crabbe in her grouping of idiots.
"You're Daphne's little sister, aren't you?" Blaise asked the girl. "Asteria, right?"
"Astoria," she said. She sounded offended and Blaise wondered why he was supposed to know the names of everyone's little siblings. At least that was something his mother had done right: he didn't have any little brothers or sisters to worry about. Elora's contraceptive charm had only failed the one time.
"Astoria, then," Blaise said. "Daphne's little sister."
"Not sure I want to admit that right now," Astoria said. Blaise followed her glower and produced one of his own when he saw the way Daphne was still hanging on Warrington.
"Can't say I blame you," he said.
"It'll be Harry," she said.
Blaise snorted. "Can't be," he said. "He's underage."
Astoria looked too smug. "Care to bet?" she asked.
Blaise never was quite sure how he ended up agreeing to a wager with the tiny minx, nor how she turned the stakes into a date to the dance she wasn't supposed to know about, but Astoria Greengrass somehow ended up getting him to agree to take her to this Yule Ball if the Goblet of Fire spit out Harry Potter's name.