A/N: I'm going to make this clear. I don't own the Harry Potter series or it's characters. That right goes to JK Rowling

If you haven't yet, read before this story:

The Son and Nephew of the Maurders: The Sorcerer's Stone
The Son and Nephew of the Maurders: The Chamber of Secrets
The Son and Nephew of the Maurders: The Prisoner of Azkaban

Also if you haven't please take part on voting for which story you want me to update next month

The Triwizard Tournament

Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale. Leaning against the window, Harry could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as their carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville jumped down from their carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when they were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.

Ron shook his head, sending water 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 Harry's head and exploded, some of it hit Ron who was standing next. A second bomb hit Harry and Ron both, narrowly missing Hermione, and Neville. People all around them shrieked and started pushing one another in their efforts to get out of the line of fire, but only Harry seem to be the main target.

"Peeves!" Harry shouted as he looked up. He saw Peeves the Poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orang bow, floating twenty feet above him, with a wide malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again.

"PEEVES!" yelled an angrier voice than even Harry's. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"

Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House, had come dashing out of the Great Hall. "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 next. They screamed and dived into the Great Hall. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!" And he aimed another bomb at a group of second years who had just arrived.

"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.

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

Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione slipped and slid across the entrance hall and through the double doors on the right.

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. Pearly white and semitransparent, Nick was dressed tonight in his usual doublet, but with a particularly large ruff, which served the dual purpose of looking extra festive, and insuring that his head did not wobble too much on his partially severed neck.

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

"Says who?" said Harry, shaking the water off him. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving."

The Sorting of the new students into Houses took place at the start of every school year, but because of dementors, Harry had not been present at one since his own. He was quite looking forward to it. Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice called down the table.

"Hiya, Harry!"

It was Colin Creevey, a Gryffindor in Ginny's and Luna's year to whom Harry was something of a hero. Harry even asked Hermione to help Colin understand what really happened the night Voldemort fell since she better understood what Colin went through and since then, Colin became more bearable.

"Hi, Colin," greeted Harry.

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

"Wow, that's great," Harry said. "It's rare for siblings from muggle family to be magical."

"Really?" Colin responded.

"Yeah. My mom was a witch but her sister—my aunt—was born with no magic, and both of their parents were muggle," Harry said. "Your family must really be something to have two wizards born into their family."

"Cool!" said Colin practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "Since we're brothers, does that mean he be sorted into Gryffindor?"

"Not always, but maybe," Harry said. "You see the whole Weasley family was sorted into Gryffindor, but my uncle Padfoot—Sirius—came from a family of Slytherin—even his younger brother was sorted into Slytherin—but Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor."

"Not only that"—Hermione interrupted— "But my roommate Parvati Patil has an identical twin sister who was sorted into Ravenclaw house."

"Oh," Colin said.

"But if your brother is anything like you, I'm sure he'll be sorted into Gryffindor," Harry reassure him.

Harry looked up at the staff table. Remus sat next to James like good old pals. Even though Sirius was assigned to Hogwarts to guard to look out for Wormtail since the Dementors were removed, Sirius was not sitting at the table. Still there seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the entrance hall floor, but there was another empty chair too, and Harry could not think who else was missing.

"Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Hermione, who was also looking up at the teachers. "Is Remus teaching again this year?"

"I don't think so. Last year was supposed to be one-time deal as full time teacher," Harry said.

They had never yet had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. Harry's favorite by so far was of course his surrogate uncle Remus Lupin, not just because Remus helped James raise Harry, but Remus been teaching Harry the basics of Defense Against the Dark Arts—how to recognize dark creatures and everything before Harry was a student.

Truth be told, Remus only agreed to one year to decrease the odds of anyone finding out he was a werewolf due to him being absent every week of a full moon, but did take on job as tutor and substitute professor for a paying job as it's almost impossible for werewolves to keep a full time job anywhere.

Harry looked up and down the staff table. There was no new face there.

Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, and Head of Ravenclaw House, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher and head of Hufflepuff House, whose hat was askew over her flyaway gray hair. She was talking to Professor Burbage, teacher of Muggles Studies, follow by the sall0w-face, hook-nosed, greasy haired Potions master and head of Slytherin House, Snape—Harry's least favorite person at Hogwarts. Snape had grudge against James since they were in Hogwarts together, and for a good reason, as James and his friends use to pick on Snape, and Snape take it out on Harry.

On Snape's other side was an empty seat that was for Professor McGonagall. Next to it in the very center of the table was Dumbledore the Headmaster, his sweeping silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. He seemed to be staring at the sky as it is pondering something. Next to him was James—who was professor of Astronomy and Deputy Head of Gryffindor to cover for McGonagall if she ever had to act as Headmistress. Next to him was Remus. After Remus was Professor Babbling who taught Study of Ancient Runes, and finally Professor Vector who taught Arithmancy.

Professor Trewanny was not at the table, even though she taught Divination, but that was not a surprise as she rarely enters the Great Hall and can stay at her Table. Professor Binns—who teaches History of Magic—also was not there, but he was a ghost and ghost do not eat so Harry always guess Professor Binns do not see any reason to attend dinner.

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

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors for the Great Hall opened and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. If Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were wet, it was nothing how these first years looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school—all of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair, who was wrapped in what Harry recognized as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. The coat was so big for him that it looked as though he were draped in a furry black circus tent. His small face protruded from over the collar, looking almost painfully excited. When he had lined up with his terrified-looking peers, he caught Colin Creevey's eye, gave a double thumbs-up, and mouthed, I fell in the lake! He looked positively delighted about it.

Harry had no doubt that was Colin's brother Denis when the kid did that. Most first years do not know any higher year students unless they grew up together or had older siblings.

Professor McGonagall now placed a four-legged stool on the ground before the first years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty patched wizard hat. The first years stared at it. So did everyone else. 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
Love those of great ambition.

While still alive they did divide
Their favorites 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 have never yet been wrong,
I will have a look inside your mind
And tell you where you belong!

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

"A different song from the rest, as always," Harry said, clapping along with everyone else.

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 in on and sat down on the stool.

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat.

Stewart Ackerley took off the hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him.

"Baddock, Malcolm!"

"Slytherin!"

The table on the other side of the hall erupted with cheers as Malfoy greeted Baddock. Harry could not help but wonder if Baddock was the dark wizard type or outcast type. Not all Slytherins ended up being dark wizards. Some were sorted there because of their family, or were cunning enough to fit Slytherin's standards for cunningness, but are nowhere near as dark enough to become a dark wizard.

"Branstone, Eleanor!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Cauldwell, Owen!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Creevey, Dennis!"

Tiny Dennis Creevey staggered forward, tripping over Hagrid's mole skin, just as Hagrid himself sidled into the Hall through a door behind the teacher's table. About twice as tall as normal man, and at least three times as broad, Hagrid, with his long, wild tangled black hair and beard, looked slightly alarming-a misleading impression, for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville knew Hagrid to possess a very kind nature. 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 Gryffindor 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 more excited than usual.

"Dennis! Dennis! See that boy down there? The one with black hair and glasses? See him? Know who he is, Dennis? That's Harry Potter?"

"Really? The Harry Potter!" Dennis said. "My brother told me about you. Is it true your mom's sacrifice what really stopped you-know-who from killing you and that's why he fell?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, very shock. Most students that idolize Harry as famous never asked him about his mom.

"Cool!" Dennis said.

"I made sure to let Dennis know about your mom's part in Voldemort's downfall," Collin said. "He knows your mom should be as famous as you are since she's sole reason you survived you-know-who?"

"Thanks, Collin," Harry said.

The sorting continued as one by one boys and girls were sorted until finally Whitby, Kevin was sorted into Hufflepuff. Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and the stool and carried them away.

Professor Dumbledore had gotten 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."

The empty dishes filled magically before their eyes. Of course, Nearly Headless Nick watched them mournfully as Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione, and Neville loaded their own plates.

"You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know," said Nearly Headless Nick5. "There was trouble in the kitchens earlier?"5

Harry swallowed a sizeable steak. "Are everything okay with Dobby and everyone?"

"They're fine. It was just Peeves," Nearly Headless Nick shaking his head, causing it to wobble. "He found out that your father got a new House Elf that Dumbledore agreed to take in, and Peeves was mad that he couldn't attend the feast, voted out by the ghost council."

Harry was aware of the ghost council. Hogwarts had hundreds of ghost, but a select few were named leaders over them. Among them was of course the house ghost—four ghost that represented a Hogwarts house they were sorted into when they were alive, that had seniority over ghost from that house. Nick was Gryffindors. Slytherin had the Bloody Baron, Ravenclaw had the Gray Lady, and Hufflepuff had Friar Tuck and naturally those four were members of the council.

"Winky alright?" Harry asked.

"Is that the new elf's name? I have not met her yet. But yes. She is fine. Dobby took charge of helping her adjust when he heard she was your family's latest elf. Bunny agreed since your dad told her that Winky once told him she knew Dobby back when they were serving their previous families."

Hermione seemed sudden interest. With everything that happened with Winky, she forgot there were House-Elves here in Hogwarts. Harry mentioned it to her a few times of course, but she now was interest in how those Elves.

"Harry, the House Elves here, they get paid right?" Hermione asked. "Get holidays, sick leave, pensions, anything?"

"Uh—well, Dobby does, but I don't think the other house elves get paid," Harry said. "It's mostly the elves' choice though, here. Dumbledore and the staff here do not normally order the House Elves to do anything. They just have a list of things needed to be done daily and they just do it."

"So they treated fairly," Hermione said.

"Well they often work when we're asleep so I guess in some sense they do since they don't have to deal with students who might abuse them." Harry said. "Right Nick?"

"I think so," Nick agreed. "Especially students from Slytherin House."

Hermione looked down at her plate of food.

"Relax, Hermione, I'm sure Dumbledore is one of the fairest Headmasters the Elves could ask for," Harry said. "After all, he was willing to hire Dobby and paid him too. Plus do not forget students sometimes get cleaning duty for Detention, so it's not like the Elves don't get a break from some of those chores."

"Fine, but I want to see it myself," Hermione said. "Harry. I want you to take me to the kitchen."

Harry nodded. "If it will make you happy, sure."

The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with desert.

Once those were gone, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered, 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. 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. He looked at his Quidditch team and back-up players like Ginny, Dean and Seamus. They were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak.

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 teacher's 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.

Sirius was at the doorway, but he was not alone. A man stood next to him, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled 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 hair, then began to walk up toward the teacher's table.

A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crosses the ceiling revealing his face. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skill with a chisel. Every inch of sin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. One of the eyes was small and dark and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye—and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all they could see was whiteness.

"It's him," Harry said. "Mad-Eye Moody."

"That's Mad-Eye Moody?" Hermione responded.

Moody reached Dumbledore as Sirius trailed behind him. Moody stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words Harry could not hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of Moody, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gesture the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.

The stranger sat down, shook his dark gray 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 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. Sirius took the seat on the other side of James from Remus and winked toward Harry.

"May I introduced some new faces. After a few Dementor incidents last year, they been switch out with some Aurors that be assigned here looking out for Peter Pettigrew. Auror Sirius Black here been personally assigned by Head of Auror department to oversee the Aurors assign here."

There was an applause across the great hall except for Professor Snape.

"Next may I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher who trained Sirius Black and many other Aurors before his retirement," said Dumbledore brightly. "Professor Alastair Moody."

This gain another round of applause and some mutter of curious voices from students.

"So I take it this guy is good," Seamus said. "Being a former Auror I mean."

"You have no idea," Harry said, "He's one of the best Aurors of his time. One day I'm going to be a great Auror like him."

"Mad-eye Moody is Harry's hero," Ron explained to Seamus and Dean.

"And here I didn't think Harry didn't have a hero that he didn't consider family," Seamus joked.

"What happened to his face?" Hermione asked.

"Dunno. But since he is an Auror, a dark wizard probably had something to do with it," Neville said.

"Neville, your parents were Aurors, right? Did your grans ever mention them being trained by that guy?" Hermione whispered quietly to Neville. She knew Neville do not normally talk about his parents as it was painful for him as it was Harry bringing up his mother.

"I don't remember," Neville replied. "But it's likely."

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. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and Harry saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot.

"So, Moody is teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts," James said. "Harry must be excited right now." James looked at his son talking with his friends.

"Looks like it," Remus said.

"I just hope Moody doesn't dampen Harry's spirit," Sirius said.

"What do you mean Padfoot?" James asked.

"Just how Moody been acting on the way here," Sirius said. "He was acting odd—even for him."

"Odd huh," James said. He remembered back in Harry's first year when Professor Quirrell was teaching. Quirrell was acting odd throughout the year too. Before that, thirteen years ago when he thought Wormtail was their friend, he was acting weird too. Both Quirrell and Wormtail ended up working for Voldemort.

But Moody was one of the best Aurors. James thought. One of Dumbledore's most trusted friend.

But still James also could not help but think back to what Harry told him about his dream.

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 honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held 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 Weasley loudly.

"That hasn't happened in centuries," Harry responded.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley, and I am aware of that, Mr. Potter," he said, "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 most of the students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly to one another.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own Department 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 shortlisted contenders in October, and the selection of 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 Weasley hissed down the table, 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. At every House table Harry could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors.

Harry could not help but sigh. "I doubt Ordinary Wizarding Level Students be able to compete.

"What do you mean?" Dean responded.

"I mean if what I heard about the past Triwizard Tournaments is right, even with restrictions, I'm sure Ministry would only agree to allowing N.E.W.T. level students compete to make sure chances of death is low." Harry said.

That was when Dumbledore spoke up again. "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 forward their names for considerations. This"—Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furiously—"is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it highly unlikely that student below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred 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 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.

"Called it," Harry said.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprise you figured that out since you have Slytherin Cunningness and Ravenclaw wisdom along, with Gryffindor bravery," Hermione said.

"Don't forget Hufflepuff's loyalty," Neville agreed. "And knows Dumbledore better than most students."

"They can't do that!" said George Weasley, 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 will 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…"

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

Harry joined his friends in setting off for the entrance hall. Fred and George joined them—staying particularly close to Harry.

"Harry, you know Dumbledore better than any student, you must have an idea who this impartial judge will be?" Fred poked.

"Sorry guys, but I have no idea," Harry responded.

"Oh, come on Harry. You must know something," George egged.

"Nope. I didn't even know the Triwizard Cup was happening this year," Harry said.

"Guys give Harry a break," Hermione said.

Fred and George looked at each other.

"I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might work," Fred said.

"Yeah. We do not have to age too much. Just six months at best when the time comes."

"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," said Ron.

"Yeah, but he's just going to stop those under age from entering," George said. "It's this impartial judge who decides who wants to enter."

"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 is the fun without a bit of risk? Of course once we find a way, we wouldn't tell you Ron."

"What? Why?" Ron said.

"Duh! Increase our odds of being selected," George said. "Same goes for you Neville and Harry."

"Why me?" Neville asked.

"Duh. Besides Harry being the boy who lives, you three have earned the Special Service Award on your second year. That alone make you three more qualified to be selected as champion than us," Fred said.

"We won't tell you either Hermione considering your part in their success," George said.

"Gee, thanks," Hermione responded.

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 warm the circular common room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables. Hermione cast the merrily dancing flames an undecisive look before heading to the girls' dormitory.

"Should we be worried about that look?" Neville asked.

"Maybe," Harry said. "I'm for treating House Elves equally, but I think she still has issues against House Elves are still slaves even if it's the life the Elves wants."

Harry, Ron, and Neville climbed up the last, spiral staircase until they reached their own dormitory, which was situated at the tower. Five four-poster beds with deep crimson hangings stood against the walls, each with its owner's trunk at the foot. Dean and Seamus were already getting into bed; Seamus had pinned his Ireland rosette to his headboard, and Dean had tacked up a poster of Viktor Krum over his bedside table. His old poster of the West Ham football team was pinned right next to it.

Harry, Ron, and Neville got into their pajamas and into bed, which were warm and extremely comfortable, and they laid down in bed and listening to the storm outside.

"I don't care what Fred and George don't share their trick. I might go in for it," Ron said.

"You might have a chance to be picked if you're able to," Harry said. "Not many students have ever earned a special service award. That alone might put the odds in your favor."

"What about you? You got the reward and you're the boy who lived?" Ron asked.

"Nah. I'll sit this out," Harry said. "Wormtail still after me, and this tournament would be a good time for him to have his revenge."

"Yeah, I guess, you're right." Ron said.

…

James Sirius and Remus met up at James' corridor room.

"You worried about Harry trying to enter?" Sirius asked.

"Nah. Unlike us at his age, Harry isn't the type to go for something like the Triwizard Cup." James said. "Fred and George on other hand…"

"Yeah, those two will definitely try," Remus said.

"More importantly, Sirius," James said. "Tell me everything that happened since you pick Moody up. Just what exactly was odd about him."