Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Sorry I forgot to post last week:
"Lucky gits." Michael said. His gaze was fixated on Viktor Krum who'd sat next to Blaise and Draco at the Slytherin table. The two European schools had arrived only an hour ago, each in an overly extravagant (and probably expensive) manner. It seemed a little ridiculous to Harry, why hadn't they just taken the floo and stayed in one of the various free spaces in the castle? Or had tents like at the Quidditch World Cup? Perhaps it was just a part of the ostentatious tournament, each school bragging to the other about how it was superior.
"Just because he's a professional quidditch player doesn't mean he's a good conversationalist." Harry replied, slightly irritated at how the entire Hogwarts' population fawned over the boy. It had been all that anyone talked about for the last hour, which doesn't sound like that long a time, but Harry could already tell that this conversation would go on and on. The boy had been a key topic of the Hogwarts' corridors for his heroic acts in the Quidditch World Cup even before they knew he was coming here, Harry knew it would only get worse.
"So, you're saying that you wouldn't to talk to him?" Michael's eyes narrowed sceptically.
"I'd like to talk to him as much as I'd like to talk to any Durmstrang student." Harry said pointedly, reaching for the jug of pumpkin juice.
"Bullshit. You're just jealous."
Harry raised his eyebrow as he took a sip. "Jealous? At what?"
"That he sat with Blaise and his lot instead of us."
"He's just a person Mike. Just like us."
Michael scoffed. "He's nothing like us. He's famous." He uttered the words as though it made Krum a god. He was famous, therefore he was on a different level to the rest of them.
"Fame isn't everything." Harry replied bitterly, accidentally slamming his glass back on the table. He hated the way everyone used his name - his real name - so reverently. As though he wasn't just one of them. As though he had to be different, and better. The expectations were different - or they would have been, if they didn't realise he wasn't dead. "Seriously though Mike, imagine how horrid it would be for everyone to be staring at you, talking about you, treating you differently."
"Amazing. It would be amazing." Michael said.
"To be fair Harry, it doesn't seem all that bad. I mean, look, even his headmaster follows him around like a lost puppy." Anthony piped up.
"Can you imagine Dumbledore doing that if Harry Potter actually had gone here?" Terry asked, laughing at the idea. Karkaroff did seem a little... sycophantic.
"I just think being Harry Potter - or Viktor Krum - must be the worst thing in the world. I don't get how you don't see this..." Harry trailed off. "How you don't realise how nice it is to just be normal."
"Screw normal. I want to be a professional quidditch player, getting rich with tons of girls after me." Michael replied, with a quirk of his eyebrows. "You saying you wouldn't want the girls, Reynolds? The money?"
Harry rolled his eyes, "I'd prefer it if someone liked me, for me. Not for my name."
"Oh, whatever," Michael seemed disappointed, "spoilsport." He muttered under his breath, reaching for the roast potatoes.
"It's not even cold in here." Terry pointed towards the Beauxbaton contingent. Two of the students were comically shivering in huge fur coats. They'd seated themselves at the end of the Ravenclaw table, all neatly packed in together and not even muttering a word to the curious 'Claws.
"Wait until it gets to December... especially if they're not staying the castle." Mike replied, taking the bait to move on from the previous conversation. Harry half-heartedly wondered whether Terry had changed the topic on purpose.
"Couldn't they just use a warming charm?" Anthony asked, absentmindedly chewing on a sausage. "If this is supposed to be the best Beauxbaton has to offer..." he trailed of meaningfully. Harry laughed, sometimes he forgot how smart Anthony could be, it was easy for his teddy-bear persona to hide his intelligence.
The rest of them were always far too willing to fight, exchange their different views and challenge each others authority, Terry and Mike butted heads the most, but Harry definitely got in their a lot, especially recently with the amount of stress he was under. Anthony, on the other hand, had a tendency to just ignore them when they got like that, instead talking to somebody else - he was friends with literally everybody in Hogwarts, it was almost impossible to dislike Anthony Goldstein - or daydreaming off in some imaginary world.
Harry wished he had that ability, to just create another world and live in it. Anything would be better than this one... right?
Harry and Terry walked into the library. Normally they relied on one of the Slytherins to bag a table, or they were there so early the rest of the school was asleep - Harry was an early-waker after all, something which he'd imposed on Terry.
Today, as it had been the entire week, the library was flocked by students searching for more information about Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, or the history of the tournament, its rules - because, for some unknown reason, there was a five-inch thick, extremely thorough list of every rule - or, as most where doing, looking for ideas to bypass Dumbledore's age line. Then there were the regulars, there for their homework. It meant that even though Harry and Terry had raced up here after their final period, they were still left searching for seats.
"There, Nev's got a table." Harry pointed out. "Hey Nev. Nev...? Neville?" Harry waved his hand in front of the boys eyes.
"Oh hey, sorry, didn't see you there." The boy replied, his eyes finally finding Harry's own. Terry and Harry exchanged a bemused glance.
"Do you mind if we join you?"
"Yeah, of course." Neville pushed his bag onto the floor, uncaring as some books fell out and scattered across the floor. In front of him lay an unopened ink jar, his quill between his teeth as the parchment rested, blank, on the desk.
"What's up Neville?" Harry asked, concerned.
"Just had Moody," Neville mumbled.
"Oh." Harry replied dumbly. There wasn't really much else to say. He'd had his own lesson two days prior. Moody had started the term strongly, emphasising the practical spell-casting nature of the subject which Harry preferred - especially considering the imminent and danger he seemed always to be in - but it only took two lessons after that for Harry to do a complete 180 and decide he really didn't like Moody at all.
He was knew his stuff - there was no debate there - and certainly an improvement on the likes of Lockhart, though Harry much preferred Lupin, primarily because not only was Lupin a good teacher, but he was a kind one. He was approachable, and easy to ask questions, and helpful, taking a personal interest in every one of his students without taking a bias towards anyone - although, Harry did have a theory that him and Snape didn't get along, in fact, Harry was half-convinced it was Snape who revealed his secret. Only because he saw the way Snape looked at him in the Great Hall, or overheard a few snide comments here and there - then there was the class he set on Werewolves when Lupin was "ill".
Perhaps likening Moody to Snape is the best way to compare the two: Snape's clearly proficient at his art, a skilful potion maker, but he was a terrible teacher. He despised the Gryffindors and loved the Slytherins whilst practically ignoring both the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and he never actually taught them anything - all he did was write instructions on the board, the same instructions they could find in the textbooks, and then mark their potions at the end of the day.
Moody did at least actually teach and instruct them, but he also yelled "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" every fifteen minutes just to make them jump and he seemed both oddly curious and hateful of certain Slytherins. Draco for example, Moody would always have a sceptical, almost concerned frown on his face whenever he saw Draco and Harry talking to each other - Harry would have thought he was a blood purist if he didn't know as much about the ex-auror's war efforts - but he'd also make snide comments about Draco's father, or mumbling about "allegiances" and "death-eaters".
Last lesson he'd gone even further, he'd introduced them to the Unforgiveable Curses, and in doing so made some allusion to Draco's father that Harry didn't really understand until later that night when Terry had explained it to him. "The imperius curse, your father knows a lot about that Mr Malfoy."
Harry didn't even need Terry's explanation to understand that Moody was, once again, being a dick, he knew that much from the way Draco bristled, his nails burying into his palm as he bit back a retort. Draco didn't even like his father that much, yet Moody had managed to draw a reaction out of him - the boy who was normally an expert at masking his feelings - so Harry had immediately known it was bad. A schoolyard insult from the mouth of a teacher, a member of staff who's supposed to be trustworthy, reliable and fair.
"Are you okay?" Terry asked, finally settling on those as his words. His voice held a level to it which Harry only just picked up on, as though he knew something Harry didn't - knew something about Neville. Knew something which caused him further concern.
Neville shook his head slowly. "The Unforgiveable Curses..." Neville drew in a deep breath, his nails digging into the wood painfully. "It's... my parents - that's how..."
Harry reached over and put his hand over Neville's, biting his lip to avoid saying "me too", trying to not think about how that green light had flashed and the spider was dead... just like that. At least his parents weren't tortured, or had to die a slow and painful death... but then he remembered that scream, his mother so scared and exhausted, the remnants of his father's last words ringing around the room - "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! I'll hold him off!" - and Harry really couldn't find himself to feel anything but pain, and resentment. They were ripped away from him, by a fucking flash of green light.
Harry felt Terry's glance on the back of his neck, abruptly realising he'd got frozen in his thoughts. "I don't know why Dumbledore let him do that." Harry muttered - he didn't know what else to say. How was he supposed to comfort Neville when he couldn't even comfort himself?
a/N: Sorry this chapter's shorter than most, I didn't really know what else to put in because I thought it'd be pretty boring to re-describe the arrivals - nothing changed from canon.