Disclaimer: Does it look like I own Harry Potter? Didn't think so.

Summary: See previous chapters.


CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Blaise and Draco still couldn't look at their respective girlfriends without blushing, while the other three boys carefully didn't meet their eyes. Millicent was fine, but Pansy and Desdemona were very obviously wishing the ground would open up and swallow them.

Roisin was no less mortified, but refused to let it show, hexing the first several people to make a wolf-whistle or cat-call with Jelly-Legs (see them get anywhere wobbling around on an already wet and slippery floor!), and busying herself with a drying charm, just in time to get re-soaked by Peeves, who was zooming around the Great Hall, armed with water balloons.

The Slytherins made a dash for the door into the Great Hall, but only Pansy and Desdemona made it inside before the others narrowly missed slamming into Professor McGonagall. "PEEVES! Get down here AT ONCE!"

Even Greg knew that colliding with the stern Professor would be a bad thing, and skidded to a halt. The Deputy Headmistress had barely passed him, promptly slipping on the wet floor and grabbing onto Hermione, when Vince also lost his balance, grabbing onto Millicent as he crashed into Greg, taking them both down. Roisin and Theo grabbed for something a bit more solid, catching onto a wall sconce, and pulling themselves out of the way of Draco and Blaise, who skidded to a halt not quite fast enough and added themselves to the pile.

The Great Hall looked it's usual magnificent self, with the soft light of a thousand floating candles reflecting off the golden plates and goblets. The House tables were filling up with chattering students, sternly watched by the Professors at the staff table, and it was much, much warmer. Blessing a wide variety of saints that the Slytherin table was at the edge and therefore close to the fire, Roisin sat down and looked around.

The Fourth-Year Slytherins were clearly not the only ones nursing bruises caused by Peeves and a lack of 'Wet Floor' signs, and everyone who knew the spell could be seen distributing Drying Charms like candy on Halloween. Theo had been right in his prediction about the First-Years, as they literally dripped into the Great Hall. One mousey-haired boy appeared to have actually fallen into the lake, though his fellows didn't look much better.

Roisin frowned at their bedraggled appearance. "All of the teachers are here. Couldn't someone have gone to meet the poor things with Drying Charms or something? Madam Pomfrey is going to run out an entire stock of Pepper-Up Potions if the poor things have to stand around, soaked to the skin, all through dinner."

Millicent hushed her. "We'll take care of the ones who end up in Slytherin, and hope that the other Houses have the sense to do the same. Now Shh, they're about to start the Sorting."

The excited and/or nervous whispering had died down, and the rip that served as the Sorting Hat's mouth opened wide.

"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.

To Hufflepuff, hard workers were
Most worthy of admission.
While power-hungry Slytherin
Loved those of great ambition.

While still alive they did divide,
Their favourites from the throng.
But how to pick the worthy ones
When they were dead and gone?

'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,
He whipped me off his head.
Those founders put some brains in me,
So I could choose instead!

So 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 and bowed to each of the four tables. Some of the First Years looked a little less nervous.

Ackerly, Stewart was the first to be called, and promptly sorted into Ravenclaw. Next came the first new Slytherin, Malcolm Baddock. Draco leaned over to welcome him, as Pansy kindly offered a Drying Charm. The drenched boy looked at her as though she were a minor goddess. Branstone, Eleanor and Cauldwell, Owen both went to Hufflepuff, followed by Creevy, Dennis into Gryffindor. Blaise leaned over to Roisin, "Oh, damn, Potter's fan-boy has a brother. We're all doomed."

Roisin giggled and shushed him, frowning as certain faces at the Gryffindor table seemed more interested in talking and complaining about hunger than watching the new members of their house. The Sorting continued, the line of eleven-year-olds looking slightly less frightened as they worked their way through to the L's. MacDonald, Natalie went to the Gryffindor table, followed by Prichard, Graham, who came to Slytherin, and Quirke, Orla, who became a Ravenclaw.

The new Slytherins had by now caught on to the fact that they were going to get a Drying Charm when they reached the table, and some of the cheekier ones had turned it into a bit of a game by seeing how many charms they could dodge, then sitting near whoever managed to hit them. The Seventh-Years were trying to remain above it all, but Roisin had caught a few longing glances from new First-Years in the other Houses. The Ravenclaws had caught on, at least, when a Slytherin Sixth-Year had missed with her Drying Charm and hit a Ravenclaw by mistake. Professor Snape pretended not to notice.

The last student to be Sorted was Whitby, Kevin, who had been forming quite a puddle while he waited, and was finally Sorted into Hufflepuff. Dumbledore stood up, "I have only two words to say to you: tuck in."

Roisin helped herself to a scoop of peas from a nearby tureen, sending Vince and Greg a disapproving look as they fought over a platter of roast beef. "Not much of a welcome speech, but it was definitely better than the other nonsense-filled ones that he usually spouts."

There were murmurs of agreement from those within earshot. Draco was too well-bred to say anything with his mouth full and only nodded. Swallowing, he jerked his head toward the Gryffindor table. "It looks like something is up with your cousin."

Roisin immediately sought out Seamus, who was the most likely to be causing a commotion, but was only talking in an animated fashion with Colin Creevy and his brother Dennis. Draco shook his head indicating the other end of the table. "Wrong cousin, Rosie."

Telling someone not to call her 'Rosie' was automatic by now, so the Fourth-Years only grinned at the absent remark as Roisin sought out her other cousin. Actually, it was not Harry causing the issue, but Hermione, who was looking horrified about something and arguing with Ron. "Hmm, I wonder what that's about."

Blaise shrugged, "Who cares? When do you think Dumbledore is going to make the announcement about the Tri-Wizard Tournament?"

Desdemona echoed the movement, "After dinner, probably, that's when he makes most of the important announcements. Braised lamb, anyone?"


Taking a last bite of Mango Ice-Cream, Roisin waited for the food to vanish and turned her attention to Professor Dumbledore, nudging Malcolm Baddock, who was starting to doze off. Dumbledore stood up, spreading his arms wide. "So, now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more beg for your attention while I give a few more notices.

Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to inform you that the list of banned items has been expanded to include Fanged Frisbees, Screaming Yo-yos and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The list now comprises some one hundred thirty-seven items, and can be found outside of the caretaker's office, should any of you care to check it."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and several pairs of eyes flickered in the direction of the Weasley Twins.

"As ever, the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to all students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to anyone below Third Year." Again, many eyes flashed toward the Gryffindor Table. "It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not be taking place this year."

The Headmaster was interrupted by howls of protest from all four tables, but he waved them to silence. "This is due to an event that will be starting up in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy – but I am sure that you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts…"

He was cut off by a loud crash, which could have been either thunder, as the storm was still raging, or the door crashing open to reveal a man in a travelling cloak.

His entire face was craggy and scarred, a large chunk missing from his nose, and the clunking noise as he walked indicated a fake leg. He also wore a Magical Eye; a huge, electric-blue thing that swivelled every which way as he limped up to the head table, making a line for the empty chair.

Roisin raised an eyebrow at the stranger's appearance. THIS was their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher? She leaned toward her Year-Mates. "Does anyone want to do the honours?"

Pansy's lips barely moved as she replied. "Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. Once the best Auror in the past half-century. Still is, really, but far too paranoid to keep on active duty. He cursed an innocent cat half way to Australia because he thought it was a Death Eater in disguise as an illegal Animagus. Not Pretty."

Most of the rest of the school was in a state of stunned shock, with one or two students whispering to each other. At the Hufflepuff table, a nervous-looking First-Year burst into tears as the Magical Eye fixed on her, clinging to Susan Bones. Dumbledore somehow managed to sound bright and cheerful as he spoke into the dead silence. "May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody."

Dumbledore and Hagrid were the only ones to applaud, and even they stopped in short order, the sound of their clapping echoing into the dead silence of the Great Hall. Dumbledore cleared his throat again. "As I was saying, 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." Actually, it had not been held for just over two centuries, but that was irrelevant. "It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Tri-Wizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

The Great Hall was again filled with murmurs, this time of excitement and a small amount of confusion. The Weasley Twins summed it up best with a very loud "You're Joking!"

Dumbledore smiled. "I am not joking, Mr. Weasley. However I did hear a rather good one over the summer about a Hag, a Troll and a Leprechaun who all go into a bar – "

Roisin rolled her eyes in disgust, noticing not a few others doing the same. Really, if the vast majority of the population was too young to buy their own alcohol, then they were also too young to be listening to dirty bar-room jokes. Fortunately, the Deputy Headmistress agreed with Roisin's opinion, as she cleared her throat and gave Dumbledore a stern look that would freeze a banshee.

Even Dumbledore wasn't brave enough to argue with that look. "Er, but perhaps now is not the time. Some of you will already know of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, but for those who do not, I beg your indulgence to explain. The Tri-Wizard Tournament was established some seven hundred years ago, as a friendly competition between the three largest schools in Europe at the time – Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each of the three schools, and the three champions would compete in three magical tasks. The schools would take it in turns to host the Tournament every five years, and it was generally agreed to be an excellent way of forming ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities – until, that it, the Death Toll mounted so high that the Tri-Wizard Tournament was discontinued."

One of the new First-Years whispered, "Death Toll? And they're bringing it back? Are they mad?"

Roisin hushed them quietly. "Shh. That was over two hundred years ago, and there are supposed to be a lot more precautions this time around. You can be upset about it in the Common Room later."

Meanwhile, Dumbledore continued. "There have been several attempts over the centuries to re-start the Tournament, none of which have been very successful. However, our own Departments of Magical Co-operation and Magical Games and Sports have decided that 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."

That was comforting. Any slight possibility of Roisin trying to enter the Tournament instantly dried up. "The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed students in October, and the selection of the three Champions will take place on Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Tri-Wizard Cup, the glory of their school, and one thousand galleons personal prize money."

More whispering broke out. Roisin imagined that the mention of so much prize money had over-ridden self-preservation for many of the students. "Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Tri-Wizard Cup to Hogwarts, the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on the competitors this year. Only students who are of age – that is to say, seventeen or older – will be allowed to put their names forth for consideration."

Howls of protest suddenly rose, although Roisin thought it quite a sensible idea. Quite aside from the whole 'mortal danger' bit, it would have been far too easy for an immature younger year to put the name of a friend in as a joke, and by seventeen you would hopefully know enough about magic to know better. Besides, Roisin could only shudder at the idea of a first- or second-year going up against tasks that could easily result in death.

Few others seemed to share this opinion, as Dumbledore was forced to raise his voice to be heard. "This is a measure that we feel is extremely necessary, as the tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, no matter what precautions we take, and it is unlikely that students below sixth- and seventh-year will be able to cope with them. I will personally ensure that no student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts Champion. I therefore beg that you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are underage."

Well, that just guaranteed that half the school would be researching ways to get past an Age-Line as soon as the library opened tomorrow morning. Did Dumbledore make these kind of announcements on purpose, just so he could laugh at the results? This was a school, for heaven's sake: Telling a student not to do something was as good as issuing an open invitation to try their best! How many students had gone straight to the Third Floor corridor in Roisin's first year, just to see what was so dangerous, again?

Whatever the students thought of the matter, Dumbledore seemed to think the subject closed. "The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October, and remaining with us for the greater part of the year. I know that you will extend every courtesy to our foreign guests, and give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts Champion when he or she is chosen. And now, it is late, and I know how important it will be for you to be rested and alert for your classes tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop, chop."

There was much disgruntled muttering as the students filed out to head to their Commons and Dormitories. Nudging some of the sleepy first-years along, Roisin could already hear a half-dozen plots being developed to get underage names into the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and ideas to weigh their chances.


It didn't get much better when they reached the Slytherin Common Room, either, as people instantly started brainstorming. Draco and Blaise looked contemplative as the Fourth-Years sat down near the fire for a bit of pre-bedtime talking. "I'm going to try to enter, no matter what Dumbledore says. An aging-potion might work, if it's something as simple as an age line. What about the rest of you?"

This was not a conversation that Roisin had any intention of participating in, and it really was getting late. "Not likely. I'm going to bed, unless someone can come up with a less-suicidal topic of conversation. Good night, everyone."

There was a general chorus of goodnights in return, and Millicent rose to accompany her up to their dorm. Millicent might have been a large and bulky girl, but she was gifted with a large dose of the common sense that was often so lacking amongst wizards, and the two girls exchanged looks as the rest of their year went right back to plotting how to hoodwink the impartial judge.

hp

hp

hp

hp


A/N: Well, this chapter took longer to write than I thought it would, but it is finished now. I am also considering a Merope Gaunt/Tom Riddle one-shot. Does anyone think I should give it a go?

As always, constructive criticism is very much appreciated, and flames will be used to ignite the Goblet of Fire.

Thanks, Nat.