October 1994
Halloween was getting closer and so was the Triwizard Tournament, which was all some students could talk about, even in the middle of Friday morning's History of Magic class when everyone should theoretically be paying attention to Professor Binns.
Ron was leaning across the aisle to chat with Neville, while Harry studiously tried to ignore them while he worked on some of his correspondence studies, and also wrote a letter to Dudley patiently giving his best biology tips to his bewildered cousin on how to memorise the names for the different parts of cells, like how the 'mighty mitochondria' was the 'powerhouse of the cell', and how the 'vacuoles' stored waste like a vacuum cleaner and looked like holes. Dudley would remember 'vacuum hole' a lot more easily than trying to learn 'vacuole' all on its own – he had trouble remembering new vocabulary and always did better with mnemonics that let him build associations.
"The foreign students are coming tomorrow, and then it's Halloween the day after. It's going to be non-stop feasts and fun all weekend!" Ron gossiped loudly, eyes bright with anticipation. "Are you going to enter, Neville? I'm going to try – imagine, a thousand Galleons! The twins and Lee Jordan are going to as well, but I might as well try too, right? Honestly, I put a Knut on Johnson to win – better her than a snake or Diggory, but it sure would be nice to score the prize for the family!"
"Mr. Weasley!" snapped Binns, making Ron jerk to attention guiltily and Neville sit up ramrod straight with an apologetic look on his face. "Five points from Gryffindor! Kindly direct your attention to the blackboard and the giant rampage in Wales, and away from chitter chatter with your friend who is trying to work!"
Ron settled down, abashed and quiet, but he wasn't the only student to lose points that class, for their professor's oddly sharp-eyed gaze moved on next to Harry.
"Mr. Black. Mr. Black," Binns repeated sharply, when Harry took a second to look up from his book before responding.
"Yes, sir?"
"Are you reading in my class, Black? Five points from Slytherin! Put it away, Black."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir!" Harry apologised, assuming a convincing look of repentance as he put his Muggle textbook away. Finnegan snickered in the background. He still found it hilarious every single time Harry got points taken off Slytherin. Finnegan had tried to convince Binns that he was in Slytherin too, but it didn't seem to stick as well and Binns usually seemed certain that the Irish student 'O'Flaherty' was in Gryffindor.
"Mr. Black, kindly inform the class of the cause of the giant rampage in Wales in the eighteenth century."
Next to him, Neville started frantically scratching out a helpful note with his quill, but Harry knew this. There was a bit about it in their stultifying dull textbook, and much more interesting information in the book on giants that Anthony had given him for his birthday.
"Encroaching Muggle farmlands led to giants preying on sheep, as the anti-Muggle and anti-giant wards on the border decayed too quickly after blood wards were banned. The wards eventually weakened enough that some of the ward trees were noticed and subsequently cut down by Muggle farmers, not knowing of their importance. The Ministry was more reactive and less proactive back then, so it was up to the wizarding sanctuary's landholders to preserve the Statute and maintain the wards, and they didn't want to spare the expense for Masters in Ancient Runes to look after their wards often enough."
Binns blinked puzzledly at him. "An interesting guess but incorrect, Mr. Black. The cause of the giants' rampage was the death of their chief or 'Gurg', Crygyn the Mighty. Their chief was killed by the terrified Muggle Cariadoc Jones in retaliation for the slaughter of their farm's flock of sheep."
"Well that was a trigger event, but it wasn't the primary cause," argued Harry. "The underlying cause was actually the decay of the sanctuary's wards, and a lack of prey animals within the sanctuary boundaries. That's what Scamander argues in his book The Giants of Britain, and it sounded pretty convincing to me."
"I have never heard of this so-called historian or his work," sniffed Binns.
"Well he wrote it after you died; it's quite a recent publication – only ten years old. He mostly writes about magical creatures. Scamander says it was a horrific slaughter of an endangered species, and not much of a 'massacre' when only two wizards and four Muggles died, compared to the genocide of an entire tribe of over sixty giants whose only real crime was hunger."
Harry lost another ten points from Slytherin (eliciting another muffled snort of laughter from Finnegan and Ron) for his too-casual dismissal of the deaths of people in favour of giants. Harry spent the last ten minutes of class obediently reading their class textbook and making actual notes on Binns' lecture, with a resigned sigh.
"Did it seem to you like Professor Binns was paying a lot more attention in class today?" Harry mused out loud to Neville and Hermione as they headed to Defence Against the Dark Arts.
"He seemed quite alert, didn't he?" said Hermione. "I can't pretend I'm shocked you weren't paying attention in class, as I'm actually more shocked you knew the material well enough to argue with him about it. Can I borrow your book on giants? I haven't seen it in the library, and I'm almost finished with the Ancient Runes book. The information about Ogma was fascinating, thanks for passing it on!"
"Sure, I'll dig it out for you. The runes book is from Professor Babbling's private collection, so it needs to go back to her as soon as you're done. Interesting symbology with Ogmius – Ogma – wasn't it? With the chains enslaving people who were made to be happy about their servitude?" Harry asked, in a leading fashion.
"Very much so! I feel like it might provide an interesting lead to thinking about house-elves. I'm going to look into it some more, including a Latin source text if I can find a copy. Will you help me with some translations if I can't find it in English, Harry?"
"Of course! I'd be happy to do my part."
"Thanks! I think it could really help with our research, learning about ancient enslavement spells!" she chattered brightly.
Neville gave Harry a nudge and an enquiring look, and Harry answered his unspoken question with a swift nod.
"Say, what were you actually working on in class today instead of history?" Hermione asked curiously, oblivious to their subtle byplay.
"A TMA for Biology. I have assignments piling up again, and History is a great quiet study time," Harry said, without a trace of shame.
"You should be more careful until after Halloween," Neville advised. "After that Binns' power will wane and he should go back to normal."
Neville's two best friends turned and stared at him. A little first-year Ravenclaw ran into Harry's back when he stopped suddenly and peeped an anxious apology before scurrying off.
"Um. Ghosts are stronger at Halloween?" Neville said, his lack of confidence turning it into a question rather than a statement as his friends stared at him. "When there is more of a connection to… you know… Heaven, or the Summerlands, or stuff. So, his mind is more focused?"
Hermione sighed. "There's so many things no-one writes down. I'll add it to my list – I don't know as much about ghosts as I'd like. I still can't believe Mr. Sayre insisted my and Greg's book needed cuts when there's so many more things that need to go in it! Well, it can go in the sequel."
"Huh," Harry said thoughtfully. "Well, that makes sense."
"It does, doesn't it," Hermione agreed, a faraway look in her eyes. "So Binns and the other ghosts will be more focused… mentally stronger around Halloween? That's on Sunday. Will the effect last until Tuesday? We won't see him again until then, and there's actually some questions I've been wanting to ask him for ages – this might be a good time for it."
"Yes, it should be fine to wait until then. It is strongest on Halloween itself, but umm… I believe he should still be pretty focused on Tuesday too."
"It's the new moon around Tuesday too," Harry chimed in, "and the dark of the moon is particularly suited for any magic involving ghosts or the dead, and the full moon can actually be quite good too. Not the middle phases, though." Someone had been very persistent in his letters in instructing Harry about the more arcane applications of Astronomy.
Neville gave Harry an odd look, which made Harry shrug uncomfortably, but Hermione just looked intrigued.
"Fascinating! I will have to talk to Greg about it all. Anything else about wizarding culture that I've missed lately and I really should have known about?" Hermione asked Neville and Harry, lead pencil poised to jot down a note as they resumed walking. She used a quill in class but had snuck some Muggle pencils into Hogwarts for emergency notetaking.
Neville shook his head. "No. Um. Yes, actually, now you mention it. The thing with his name that Harry does in class? He really shouldn't do that so often," Neville suggested quietly.
"Do what? Get points off Slytherin? Come on, it's awesome," Harry wheedled. "Personally, I think it just makes up for years of Professor Snape taking points off Gryffindors for breathing loudly."
"Thank you, Neville," Hermione said with a smile. "Impersonating a Slytherin – it's against the school rules you know, Harry."
"Well yes, it is… but no, not that is not the real problem," Neville said, hefting his heavy shoulder bag back up as it started to slip down as they dodged around other students in the crowded corridor. "I mean he should not take on a false name. If you do it too often, it can cause problems. Or be a real name."
"What?" Harry said.
"Oh, you mean it could cause him Arithmantic problems," Hermione said, perking up excitedly at that titbit of information, which she scribbled down in her notebook as they walked. "Do you know anything else about that?"
"No? Just that you can get extra names if enough people start using a name, and then it affects your magic or something. It doesn't have to be bad, though."
"Like how you can sometimes need a new wand if you formally change your name?" Hermione asked eagerly. "Don't you have to formally renounce your old name as part of a ritual? I thought you had to marry or take a Name of Power like Professor Sprout did, before a name change affected your magic."
Neville shrugged, and scrambled to catch his shoulder bag as it tried to slip down again. "Sorry, I don't know anything more than what I already said. You know I'm not doing Arithmancy."
"So, I could become Antares Black, from the point of view of post owls and spells?" Harry asked. "But only Professor Binns calls me that, and not very often."
"No-one else ever?" Neville asked.
"No, well… maybe a couple of others but not often," Harry said, thinking of how Professor Snape had caught him out, and how Flint had called him that too. Walburga's portrait had increasingly insisted his surname was 'Black' by the end of his stay with Sirius. Did the opinion of a portrait count, magically?
He wondered quietly if being called the Heir of Slytherin was affecting his magic. "Hey Hermione, would you write me a summary of what happens with your magic with a new name or title, if you're researching it? And how easy it is to accidentally magically add an extra name?"
"I'm not doing your research for you!" she said indignantly. "If you're worried about being called Black or the Heir of Slytherin, look it up yourself!"
"Sorry, no, of course you don't have to do my work for me. I just meant if you're researching the topic anyway I'd like to hear what you learn," Harry explained. "However, if you prefer, I can dash off to the library and nab all the books on Arithmancy and names myself before you can get to them…"
"Don't you dare!" Hermione cried in outrage, brown eyes wide in warning.
Neville chuckled quietly as Harry grinned teasingly, and Hermione reached out to slap playfully at Harry's arm. Harry dodged away with a laugh.
"Come and see the violence inherent in the system! Help, help! I'm being repressed!" he called out, which made Hermione laugh and call him a "bloody peasant".
Neville was bewildered and frowned disapprovingly at her, until they'd explained the Muggle Monty Python reference.
-000-
At dinner on Saturday evening, the Headmaster rose to make some announcements.
"For those of you who haven't seen the notice in the Entrance Hall, let me remind you that tomorrow evening the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at Hogwarts. All students must assemble in front of the castle at six o'clock to greet our guests prior to the Welcoming Feast, attired tidily in school robes, cloak, and hat," Dumbledore said.
"I also have some additional exciting news. Thanks to overwhelming and admirable inter-House support and the diligent fundraising efforts of a number of students, I am pleased to announce that this year's Hogwarts Quidditch season has been reinstated!"
As Dumbledore spoke, excited anticipatory whispers grew into a tremendous outpouring of cheering and clapping. Hufflepuffs were laughing and hugging each other, while the Ravenclaws were applauding excitedly. At the Gryffindor table, Fred and George Weasley had gotten up and were dragging the other members of the Quidditch team and their friend Lee Jordan into a victory dance while gleefully chanting, "We did it!" over and over again. Harry got dragged into it too, as Ron pulled him up and into the mess of happy people. Glancing over at the Slytherin table Harry saw a few Quidditch team members like Draco and Peregrine smugly holding court as badge-wearing members of their House congratulated them. Millicent was clearly overcome by emotion and was ignoring the hovering people trying to congratulate her too as she sobbed her happy tears into Pansy's shoulder and was gently patted on the back by her friend.
"Of course, the season will of necessity be compressed into a shorter time-frame than usual to allow for the demands of the Triwizard Tournament, but Madam Hooch and some diligent students have come up with a plan that will suit all parties," the Headmaster added, after the cheers had died down.
"Parties? SQUID VICTORY PARTY IN THE CLUB ROOM TONIGHT!" one of the Weasleys yelled excitedly at top volume, to a roar of Gryffindor approval, and some interested cheering from other House tables too.
-000-
The Gobstones Club had been perfectly willing to sacrifice their booked time in favour of letting the SQuid club hold a massive inter-House party on Saturday evening, and Harry wasn't the only student who went to breakfast on Sunday morning looking tired and haggard – many were still recovering from the previous night's celebrations. Some of the older students had even smuggled in some Butterbeer and Firewhisky to share covertly, though Harry had abstained from that when it was slyly offered around.
Despite Harry's abstention the night before, he was nonetheless significantly grumpier on Sunday morning than the average student, even those with hangovers. He snarled at Neville when his friend offered to pass him some eggs. He snapped angrily at Hermione when she started interrogating him about whether he'd really stuck just to pumpkin juice the night before.
His friends eventually exchanged meaningful looks – which made him scowl even more – and left him alone to eat in sullen silence.
Ron, however, didn't at first notice Harry's black mood when he eventually stumbled down late to breakfast, robe crumpled like he'd just scooped it off the floor from where he'd dumped it last night, and his red hair still messily unbrushed. Ron sat down next to Hermione, and started loading up his plate with bacon, toast, and kippers. Percy's owl Hermes swooped down with a letter for Ron, which he opened right away. His face lit up with happiness as he read his letter while chewing on some toast.
"Hey, Harry!" he said excitedly, a few crumbs escaping his mouth as he spoke.
Disgusting, Harry thought, with a mental sneer.
"What?" Harry said curtly.
"Percy said he's definitely still got his job! He even gets to be the Acting Head of his Department, at least until they've picked someone new to replace Crouch! He is coming to the Welcoming Feast tonight, and everything!"
"Of course he's bloody keeping his job!" snapped Harry. Did Ron think Percy didn't write to him? Percy was his friend.
Ron stared at him, eyes wide and goggling in what Harry found a very irritating way.
"What's with you this morning? It's great news! Percy's been worrying about it."
"Nothing. I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, that's all."
"What?"
Harry huffed in irritation. "It's just a Muggle expression, Ron. I woke up angry. You know, how sometimes you wake up in a bad mood, or a good mood, for no reason."
"I know the expression, but mate…" Ron replied hesitantly, "you don't need to bite my head off."
"It's no excuse for bad behaviour," Hermione chimed in primly, "and you shouldn't take your mood out on us. It's just a saying, Harry. People don't really wake up in a foul temper for no reason. If it wasn't ah… the party… did you sleep badly, perhaps? Or have a nightmare?"
Harry froze for a second. It wasn't normal? No, of course it was, or there wouldn't be a saying for it. It was just maybe a bit worse than usual, today.
"I did have a bad dream," Harry volunteered, after a moment's thought.
"What was it about?" Neville asked curiously.
Harry tried to dredge up some hazy fragments from his memory. "I don't remember all of it. I remember I was somewhere dark and damp, and someone had stolen something precious from me. It was mine, and they'd stolen it. I had a plan coming up and it was all ruined! They'd taken it and it was ssspecial to me, and they had no right to destroy what belongss only to me! They even boasted about it! I was ssso angry with them!"
Harry's hands clenched in remembered anger as he retold his half-forgotten dream through gritted teeth. He remembered being incandescently furious in his dream, he'd wanted to kill whomever had stolen from him. He wanted to make them pay and for some reason he couldn't. He didn't remember why, or what they'd taken. Mostly he just remembered the feelings of helplessness and of overwhelming fury. He still felt angry.
"Uh, Harry, did you know you were hissing in Parseltongue?" Neville asked. "We missed everything after 'they'd taken it'."
"Oh. Sorry, Neville," Harry said, taking deep shuddering breaths, determinedly reigning in his anger so that he wouldn't snap at his friend. "Just more of the same. They stole something and boasted about it, and I was angry with them. That's all I remember. I know it doesn't sound so bad, when I say it out loud. But in my dream, it was the worst thing in the world."
"Have you been reading The Hobbit lately?" Hermione asked thoughtfully.
Harry shook his head. "No."
The Dursleys had never approved of Harry – or Dudley for that matter – reading any fantasy books. He'd vaguely heard of the book and knew there were proper elves in it not house-elves which were more like brownies, but that was all.
Ron gave Harry a sympathetic look. "It's alright, no hard feelings, then. I know how bad dreams can mess you up. I had a dream last week that Percy drowned in a giant vat of honey and mum cried because she couldn't pull him out. It was too silly to even use for Divination homework, but it still uh… it still made me cry when I first woke up." He rubbed at the back of his freckled neck, looking flushed and embarrassed as he ducked his head.
"How's your family doing?" Hermione asked, concerned. "How are you coping, Ron?"
"I am going alright," Ron said, with a grateful smile at her. "Percy is doing great, like I said earlier. Bill has healed up alright – thanks again, Harry – and has gone off to work for Gringotts in Egypt, where laws against all kinds of shapeshifters are less strict, thank Merlin. He's not going to be home in England much now, I guess. He says they're sending him to somewhere in Africa, next. There's lots of werehyenas in Africa, though not many werewolves. Still, it helps, apparently. People are used to them there, and some of the witches leading werehyena clans have gotten more rights for their people.
"Dad's out of hospital, but he's lost his job now it's confirmed he's a werewolf. That cow Umbridge has his old job, though there's been a bit of a shake-up in the Ministry. Dad's Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, the Hit Wizards, a committee or two, and the Muggle Liaison Office from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes have all been combined into the one big new office within the DMLE. It's the 'Muggle Management Office' now."
"I don't like the sound of that," Hermione said, with a frown. "I don't like it at all. What I've read in the Daily Prophet about Umbridge isn't at all promising, either. She's very bigoted against werewolves and is clearly a blood purist."
"Very worrying," agreed Harry.
"Well, I have to get going," Ron apologised, making a hasty folded sandwich of his last bits of toast and bacon. "New Gryffindor Keeper, you know! I have to get to practice." His chest puffed up with pride.
"We know," Hermione said, sounding amused. "Everyone was announced last night at the party. Congratulations again, Ron! See you at the Welcoming Feast, I guess."
Ron waved a cheerful goodbye as he scampered off towards the Quidditch Pitch.
Harry was the next to leave. "I'd better get going too. I have meditation practice with Draco, then private study to do." Down in the Chamber of Secrets, as he often did. Ambrosius didn't admit it out loud, but Harry knew he loved being visited, even if Harry was just quietly sitting nearby doing his homework or correspondence studies.
Harry and Draco met up outside in the grounds, as planned. Filch was roaming around the castle snarling at students with muddy shoes or anyone who dared to touch one of the freshly polished suits of armour. It wasn't very conducive to private meditation.
"You don't have Quidditch practice today?" Harry asked Draco, as they went to find a secluded patch of lawn that wasn't too damp to settle down on, or rather, one that could be easily made dry with a judicious spell or two. It was cold but clear – a nice change from the past couple of days of drizzling rain.
"Slytherin has the pitch after lunch. Gryffindors, then Ravenclaw, then us, and the 'Puffs have the evening before the foreign students arrive," Draco explained. "With only a few weeks until the first match, everyone is in a tizzy to get in as much practice as possible, and we are all on a tight schedule."
"Ready to start Occlumency practice?" Harry asked, after they'd dried off some grass to sit on. The ground was steaming slightly from the charm, which probably wasn't great for the lawn, but at least their robes would be dry.
"Yes. No. Harry, do you know why Granger is still giving me the cold shoulder?" Draco asked, as he sat down and carefully arranged his robes so they wouldn't crinkle up. "I offered my apologies about leaving her out of the ball and the garden party, but she is still barely talking to me, and keeps making excuses to leave our table at the library whenever I am there."
Harry sighed. "Are you sure you want to know?"
"Obviously, or I would not be asking in such a Gryffindor fashion. Pansy already told me she does not know why Granger is snubbing me either."
"You could ask Hermione."
"I tried. She won't talk to me," Draco said, sounding very frustrated. "She is not yet sending me to Coventry, but it is rather close to that."
Damn it, Harry thought frustratedly. I hate being caught in the middle of these things.
"You could ask Millicent?"
"Come on, Harry!"
"Alright, alright, I'll tell you," Harry said. "It's not just being snubbed over summer, or you never using her first name. It's worse than that. She thinks your father is a Death Eater. She knows about the Wolfsbane at your tent door at the Quidditch World Cup."
Draco went very still, and his face was calm. "My father is not a Death Eater."
"Where was he at the World Cup then?"
"Guarding mother and I inside our tent, of course."
"Really?" Harry said, scepticism thick in his voice. "Are you sure he wasn't off with Greg's dad, wearing a mask and having 'fun' with some Muggles or some Aurors?"
"My father was busy protecting our family," Draco said stiffly, staring at Harry.
Harry stared back at him. "That part I believe. I believe he wants to keep you and your mum safe. But what about you, Draco? Where do you stand?"
"Where do you?" Draco snapped back. "What is this, are you a Hufflepuff now? You do not talk about such matters, Harry! Do you want to confide in me openly and honestly about your attitude to the Dark Lord? You never have before!"
Draco barely waited for a moment's hesitant and abashed silence from Harry, before nodding decisively and adding, "I did not think so. So drop it – do not demand from me what you are yourself unwilling to offer. We are too young, anyway. It is not our fight yet, and we do not truly get to decide anything for ourselves. Well, maybe you do a bit, but I do not, at least. So if we both stay out of it as much as we can, we remain friends and allies - amici. Right?"
There was a note of pleading and insecurity at the end of Draco's speech, that Harry couldn't help but respond to. He didn't want to lose their friendship either and he honestly didn't really want to talk about the Dark Lord either. What was there to say that would do any good? Nothing. "Right. Friends."
"Good," Draco said, sounding very relieved. "Well, let us begin our Occlumency, then. Father sent me a letter with a guided visualisation to try and use, to better build up mental defences against Legilimency or the Imperius Curse. A stone wall guarded by dragons."
It wasn't the subtlest redirection of a conversation that Draco had ever employed, but Harry was happy enough to cooperate.
"I don't think I'm ready to try building active defences yet. I asked Snape about it in a letter, and he agreed I need to keep working on clearing my mind. So, I'm going to try a couple of the element-based exercises from Barnett's Guide to Advanced Occlumency," Harry said, happy to move to a less contentious topic. "I've usually been using a sky image as my mind-clearing image, but someone told me I'm more likely to have an earth or water affinity than air, so I thought I'd try something different today and see if I can find an easier visualisation to hold in my mind."
The boys closed their eyes and slowed their breathing. Harry let his anxieties and residual anger all wash away on the imaginary lapping waves of an ocean shore.
-000-
As dusk fell that evening, the entirety of the Hogwarts students and staff assembled ready to greet the foreign delegations. There had been a lot of speculation about how they'd arrive, and some impatient lectures from Hermione about how Hogwarts, A History explained that you couldn't Apparate on Hogwarts grounds, and only the Headmaster could make Portkeys work within the ward boundaries. Ron, of all people, had argued successfully with her, pointing out practically that his oldest brothers had both learnt how to Apparate in class lessons at Hogwarts, so there had to be a way to do it.
The Beauxbatons students and their principal arrived first, as students tucked their cloaks around them in the chill air as dusk fell. The tiny first-years were standing at the front of the assembled Hogwarts students, and were the first to spot the giant object hurtling out of the sky towards them at breakneck speed.
"It's a dragon!" shrieked one of the first-years.
"No it's not!" Dennis Creevey squeaked excitedly. "It's a flying house!"
"A flying house? I hope no-one here's wearing red shoes," Hermione said, with a grin at Harry.
Her grin slid away disappointedly as Harry looked just as mystified as Neville did. "You haven't seen 'The Wizard of Oz'?"
"McGonagall said we could wear some red to show House pride," Neville said, uncertainly. "However, I don't think anyone has red shoes on?"
"How about ruby slippers?" Dean Thomas asked, with a wink at Hermione, which made her laugh.
"It's not a house, it's a giant carriage!" someone called out.
"Look at the size of those pegasi! What are they, Granians?"
"Of course not, look at the golden colouring! They have to be Abraxans!"
There were a dozen palomino pegasi with fiery, red eyes drawing the Beauxbatons carriage, all were the size of elephants with hooves larger than dinner plates. They landed right in front of the assembly at breakneck speed with an almighty crash, but the carriage seemed either robust or enchanted enough to endure the treatment and bounced to a stop without any damage.
A boy in a pale blue robe hopped out of the carriage first, holding the door open for his Headmistress to alight. She was the largest woman Harry had ever seen in his life – only Hagrid had her beat for sheer size, and that was in bulk rather than height. Aside from their size the two couldn't be more distinct in appearance, however. Hagrid always wore rough linen and leather, with his hair and beard a giant tangled frizz around his face, while Madame Maxime was the epitome of grace as she glided forwards to greet Dumbledore. She wore a long black satin robe, her hair was pulled back in an intricate and tidy chignon at the base of her neck, and opals glittered at her neck and on her thick fingers.
A dozen Beauxbatons students in their late teens, both boys and girls, stood shivering in their thin blue silk robes as their Headmistress chatted with Dumbledore about the proper care of their pegasi, and everyone waited for the Durmstrang students. A couple of them had wrapped up in scarves for a little extra warmth – Harry wondered why they didn't have proper cloaks as part of their school uniform. Didn't it get cold in the Pyrenees in winter? Perhaps the school – whose precise location was a mystery to the British, at least – was in a warm valley. In any case, the chill of late autumn in Scotland was obviously a shock to the students. Perhaps Beauxbatons was magically heated. Could the Hot-Air Charm be set on a building?
The Beauxbatons students and Madame Maxime all went inside out of the cold, which seemed wise, while the Hogwarts students politely waited for the arrival of the exchange students from Durmstrang.
Finnigan was right in his muttered guess – the other school clearly wanted to make a dramatic entrance as well. It reminded Harry a little of the tents at the Quidditch World Cup – everyone wanting to show off to each other.
They arrived via what Hermione whispered excitedly whispered must be a large-scale Portkey, in what Harry was sure had to be a heavily enchanted boat. It rose up out of the Black Lake, from the middle of a magically-created whirlpool. Their ship looked eerily skeletal, with tattered sails and dim misty lights at the portholes. It looked more like a ghost ship than something anyone in their right mind would want to sail in anywhere, and it glided towards the bank without the need for any wind to fill its damaged sails. It was solid enough, though, and the students disembarked via a gangplank to the shore without any fuss. Their Headmaster, Professor Karkaroff, was a thin older man with a white goatee who wore a sleek silver fur cloak, while the eleven students following him wore rougher cloaks of shaggy, matted brown fur over the top of their deep blood-red robes.
An excited babble of whispers erupted from the Hogwarts students as they followed the Durmstrang students into the warmth of the Great Hall, particularly amongst those wearing colourful House 'SQuid' badges (which remained popular accessories with the Quidditch ban still only very recently lifted).
"It's Krum!"
"He's here! There, with the thick eyebrows!"
"Hmph! His eyebrows are perfect."
"Do you think he'll join in some matches? I heard someone wrote to him!"
"Do you think he'd sign my hat with a lipstick?"
Sadly, the hopes of Quidditch-mad Gryffindors like the Weasleys, Jordan, and Johnson were all dashed when Krum and the rest of the Durmstrang students settled down at the Slytherin table. Draco, Vincent, and Greg all looked particularly smug as Krum sat down right next to their group.
"They should have sat here," moaned Ron jealously. "We could have been eating dinner with Viktor Krum!"
"The Slytherins set aside room at their House table for guests," Harry said, with an uncaring shrug that earned him a brief scowl from the Quidditch fans. "We didn't. It was a smart idea to welcome them by making room."
"Cunning and sneaky, you mean," Ron grumbled.
At Hermione's recommendation, Harry helped himself to some bouillabaisse, a seafood stew which was one of the many foreign dishes that the house-elves had cooked for the most sumptuous feast Harry had seen yet at Hogwarts.
Hogwarts was certainly out to impress that evening. All the students were neat and tidy, and pets – specifically including potentially terrifying snakes – had been banned from the tables, which were set with plates and bowls of solid gold. Freshly cleaned House banners adorned the walls behind the students' tables, and there was a banner displaying the united Hogwarts crest on the wall behind the teachers' table. The Durmstrang students seemed to be admiring the golden plates, and the twinkle of stars seen through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, but the Beauxbatons students still seemed to be suffering from the cold temperature and looked disinclined to admire their surroundings.
The Beauxbatons students had settled down at the Ravenclaw table, which didn't cause the sighs of regret that the Durmstrang students' selection of their host House table had. At least, not until one of the Beauxbatons witches came over to the Gryffindor table to ask for one of their dishes.
"Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?" she asked, gesturing at the tureen in front of Ron, her eyes flicking covertly over to Harry who was sitting nearby. She'd unwound her thick blue scarf as she'd approached, which she'd previously had wrapped around her neck and head almost like a muffler. Her long silvery-blonde hair and deep blue eyes seemed to have more than a few people enthralled by her looks as she approached. Harry knew to assign the credit to her Veela ancestral powers rather than to looks alone, however, and felt sympathy for Ron who was turning purple and reduced to making a faint gurgling noise, rendered totally unable to speak in the beautiful girl's presence.
"Hello again, Miss… er… Delacour, wasn't it?" Harry was pretty sure that it was the same young woman who'd accidentally enthralled him at his book signing in Lutèce, but he wasn't completely sure. He didn't want to look closely enough at her face to tell.
"Yes, 'ello again, Mister Potter. The book of your patron was very interesting."
"That's great to hear. We've served ourselves some soup already, it was very nice, though I'm afraid it may be getting a little cold now and may need a warming charm. You're welcome to take the tureen if you like," Harry said politely, thinking hard of an empty and peaceful ocean shore and trying to avoid looking directly into her eyes for too long. He'd read that helped with Veela allure a little, just like it did for resisting vampires' allure and for preventing Legilimency attacks.
He welcomed her to Hogwarts in French. "Vous pouvez vous servir s'il vous plaît, et Bienvenue à Hogwarts. J'espère que vous appréciez votre séjour ici."
"Merci, monsieur."
"Th-th-the cabbage r-rolls are v-very nice too," Neville volunteered with a notable stammer, blushing as he stared at their visitor. Ron gurgled wordlessly and nodded his agreement as Neville clumsily pushed the tray of mince-stuffed cabbage rolls swimming in milky gravy towards her, knocking over a little pot of tartly sweet red berry sauce as he did so. Neville looked mortified as he tried to mop up the spilled jam with a linen napkin. His efforts mostly just helped the red stain spread across the formerly pristine white tablecloth.
"Zat is not French cuisine. I sink maybe it is from ze Kalmar Union," Delacour said with a haughty sniff, looking down her nose at Neville. "Something for ze Durmstrang students."
"You're so right; the soup was much better," Ron said breathlessly, finding his voice at last. However, Harry knew that in fact Ron hadn't tried either dish, having stuck to more ordinary fare like steak-and-kidney pudding.
Hermione let out a harrumph and cast a cleaning charm on the tablecloth to get rid of the berry stains. "Boys," she muttered in irritation, as the girl went back to the Ravenclaw table with the tureen of bouillabaisse.
Ron started waxing lyrical to Finnegan and Neville and anyone who would listen about how beautiful the girl was, and how gorgeous Veela were in general (once the origin of her beautiful allure was pointed out to him).
Neville mumbled an apology to Hermione and his thanks for her help and started dishing himself out a generous serving of various desserts, avoiding looking at or talking to anyone.
Wanting to try something new even though his beloved treacle tart was on the table too, Harry nabbed himself a couple of chocolate-drizzled profiteroles, and a glass filled with a layered dessert of granola, cherry compote, and whipped cream. Eating dairy was still a novelty for him and filled him with quiet rebellious delight.
"She's a Veela, or rather, a part-Veela. So she can't help the reactions she causes," Harry said, in half-apology to Hermione on Fleur's behalf.
"You were fine. Did you know her?" Hermione asked. "You knew her name."
"Yeah, but only a little. I met her and her family briefly at a book signing in Lutèce. She has a wizard father."
"Oh, Lutetia? Your trip to magical Paris?"
"Yup! So that helped – I knew to avoid eye contact and try my best Occlumency. Though it wasn't really enough at the Quidditch World Cup, with so many of them. Anyway, I've been reading up on Veela – I bought a book on them in France. Apparently, they're the harpies from Muggle Ancient Greek legends, though you should note that in wizarding culture it's a social faux pas to call them that. 'Harpy' is used specifically for their fire-throwing bird-like form, and over time has become quite the insult, so they generally prefer 'Veela' now. It's short for 'Samovila', which is the Bulgarian term for them. They call them just 'Vila' in Yugoslavia, so I think that's where we Brits got our term from."
"Did you know, Harry, that Yugoslavia broke up into separate states a couple of years ago?"
"Did it? Sorry, I don't know a lot about Muggle politics anymore. As for wizarding history and geography… well, you know. Binn's not exactly teaching us anything modern, or any geography apart from British, and not much of that. I only know bits and pieces of how wizards divide up the world."
Harry got stuck into his dessert while Hermione served herself some blancmange.
"Why do you think a Veela is going to Beauxbatons?" Hermione mused. "I would have guessed she would go to Durmstrang, if Krum is there. Veela are Bulgarian too, after all."
"Her family seems French, though, so there might be a language barrier. Or perhaps the Durmstrang Institute doesn't admit students who are part goblin or Veela, like Beauxbatons does. They let vampires and werewolves into Durmstrang, but I don't know about other races?"
"Do you think there's a Veela enclave in France?"
"Oh! Yes, I bet there is, I know they spread out, but I don't know how far. Maybe they like the warmer weather in France? Veela don't like the cold, and Durmstrang is somewhere in Scandinavia, which has to be colder than France surely, even if Beauxbatons is in the Pyrenees. There's still a large population in Bulgaria, though. I read that Veela there don't even like to move around much in winter – they practically hibernate all winter in an all-Veela village in Bulgaria called Zmajkovo."
Hermione looked at Harry and smiled slowly. "You know, my parents used to despair that I'd ever make friends, with the way my nose was always stuck in a book. But you're almost as bad as me, aren't you? You know I'm going to need to borrow that one too."
"It's not really a bad thing to read though, is it?"
"I don't think so, obviously. So, what else do you know about Veela? Are they really all women? How does that even work?"
"Parthenogenesis while in their bird-like harpy form," Harry said. "Not that the author called it that, but obviously it is, since the daughters that they hatch from eggs are identical in every way to their mothers. In their human form Veela can uh… they're compatible with wizards or Muggles. But usually the children don't inherit the ability to change shape, in such cases. They keep some of their mother's allure, but that's about it. I suspect it becomes like a recessive trait."
They chatted for a while longer about Veela, and how it was rumoured that their supernatural abilities weren't as strong as they used to be centuries ago when they spent almost all their whole lives in their bird forms, until Neville drew their attention to the fact that the speeches were about to start. Harry was pleased to see Percy Weasley sitting up there. Percy was introduced as the 'Acting Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation', which had him blushing brightly as he got him some House-proud cheers from the Gryffindors and a smattering of applause from other students.
Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, got a much louder round of applause, famous and popular former Beater that he was.
The whole hall went completely silent as the Goblet of Fire was brought out, and everyone gazed at the cup as he held it up. It was a large, roughly hewn wooden cup, and would have been entirely unremarkable, had it not been full to the brim with dancing, blue-white flames. Harry wondered how old it was, and what the enchantments on it were. Ancient ones, no doubt, perhaps similar to those on the Sorting Hat. The Tournament had been going on for centuries – they hadn't even held a Triwizard Tournament for the past two hundred years, according to Hermione.
Every ear was pricked attentively as Dumbledore explained about the Tournament. "The Tournament will consist of four tasks demanding magical skill, daring, and deduction. The Triwizard champion will be the entrant with the highest points total after the fourth task, and will win a thousand Galleons for themselves, and their school will have the honour of hosting the next Triwizard Cup in four years' time. Small prizes will be awarded to second and third place champions.
"Tomorrow on Halloween one champion from each school will be impartially chosen by the Goblet of Fire from names submitted over the next day as the ones most worthy of representing their schools. This is a contest strictly for our older students who are both highly capable and willing to enter a binding magical contract. I will be placing an Age Line ward around the Goblet to prevent our younger students under seventeen from yielding to temptation."
"A few drops of Ageing Potion should take care of that, hey George," Fred Weasley said, with a determined glint in his eye. "Once your name's in, you're in, if it's a 'binding magical contract' like the Headmaster said. Do you want a vial too, after we brew some, Harry? You're entering too, right?"
"Hey! What about me?! I'm your brother!" Ron objected stridently.
"I doubt anyone under seventeen will stand a chance," said Hermione. "None of us are NEWT level, and one or two spells at that level won't be enough if it comes to a duel."
"Speak for yourself," George Weasley said shortly.
"We owe Harry for years of help," his twin said to Ron. "You we owe nothing, and in fact we promised mum we'd keep you out of trouble, ickle brother." He ruffled Ron's hair, and Ron scowled back at him.
Harry's mind danced briefly with visions of the whole school cheering for him, before he shook his head. "No," he said slowly. "I mean, it might be nice to win, but it would be pretty dangerous. Good luck to you two if you enter it, but… be careful, alright?"
"Careful as a fox in a henhouse," promised the twins in chorus, each with a wink, as the Gryffindors all pushed away from the table and headed for their dorms.
Ron and some of the other Gryffindors were eager to catch another glimpse of Krum, and the press of bodies heading towards the Slytherin tables pulled the less fan-struck students along with them.
They caught up to the Durmstrang students at the door and got to overhear Karkaroff offering some mulled wine to Krum but refusing it to Poliakoff, another of the Durmstrang boys. The Durmstrang Headmaster froze in place when he caught sight of Harry, eyes locked onto his face, and his famous scar. Harry wasn't sure, but he thought the man looked almost frightened. Some of the Durmstrang students were staring at him too. Poliakoff, the boy who'd missed out on wine, nudged a red-robed girl next to him and was whispering and pointing openly at Harry's forehead. Harry flattened his fringe down over his forehead and tucked his pointed hat down more securely.
"Yeah, that's the famous Harry Potter," growled a voice behind them.
Professor Karkaroff spun around, colour draining from his face as he stared at Mad-Eye Moody in fury and fear.
"You!"
"Me," said Moody grimly. "Unless you have something important to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move along. You are blocking the doorway."
"I shall be watching you, Karkaroff!" Moody warned, as the wizard hurriedly led his students away without another word. He glared at Karkaroff's back, a look of intense dislike on his mutilated face. Harry wondered what that was all about.
-000-
Lots of people were up early on Monday, eager to have a look at the Goblet of Fire before classes began. It had been placed in the centre of the hall atop the old wooden stool that normally bore the Sorting Hat. A thin golden line of tiny glowing runes had been magically imprinted on the floor, forming a circle ten feet around the stool and goblet. The Hall itself had been redecorated for Halloween, with convincingly realistic animated bats flitting around the ceiling and displays of carved pumpkins everywhere.
Draco waved to Harry as he saw him enter with Neville, calling them over to where he stood with Daphne, Greg, and Vincent, watching the flickering flames of the Goblet and the crowd of other students.
Hermione wasn't with them as she hadn't met Harry and Neville on time in the Common Room that morning to go down to breakfast – the two friends guessed she'd stayed up late reading again, as she often did whenever she had a new book to devour. Mornings were a trial to a late-night bookworm.
"Our Chaser Warrington put his name in at dawn since he's just had his birthday and is old enough," Daphne gossiped excitedly, "and Derrick put his name in just a few minutes ago."
Harry glanced around and saw Derrick sitting over at the Slytherin table, enjoying his breakfast. Harry caught his friend's eye and gave him a wave and a cheerful thumbs up as he mouthed "good luck", which got Harry a brilliant grin in return, lighting up Derrick's plain features with happiness.
"All the Durmstrang students put their names in earlier, which makes sense, otherwise why would they all bother to come?" Draco asked rhetorically.
"I think Krum will win," Vincent said confidently.
"Being good at Quidditch might not be enough to win," argued Daphne.
"It shows Krum is magically strong, to be such a good flier," Neville replied, startling Vincent with his unexpected show of support. "He must be good at classes too, or he would not have bothered to come with the Durmstrang students. He has a successful Quidditch career, so it cannot be the money that draws him. He must truly think he can win."
"They're saying Diggory is the best chance for Hufflepuff, and Turner from Ravenclaw. Our Head Boy has to be in with a chance, after all!" Daphne babbled.
"I would agree on Turner, but I think McManus from Hufflepuff," argued Draco, "the reserve Beater. I know his name is in, and he's rumoured to be doing excellently at non-verbal casting. Who would you bet on from Gryffindor, Harry?"
"Johnson said she's going for it, so I think she has the best chance. DADA is one of her best subjects, and gossip says she's doing well in Care of Magical Creatures too. Hermione says there's usually a lot of dangerous magical creature challenges in the Triwizard Tournament."
"The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan are trying for it, though they're a bit too young," Neville volunteered, gesturing to where the trio had strutted over to the circle.
"They will never make it to the centre," Draco said confidently.
"They brewed some Ageing Potion overnight," Harry said. "They'll make it." They'd covertly offered some to him, just in case his prior refusal had been due to their offer being made in public, but he'd turned them down again.
"They won't."
The twins looked like they'd made it for a second, both leaping over the glowing circle, but just as one yelled in triumph there was a sizzling sound and they were magically thrown back ten feet and landed on the cold stone floor with a painful thud. They also sprouted long white beards, which got a lot of laughs from the surrounding students.
"Told you so. The same thing happened to Fawcett from Ravenclaw just ten minutes ago," Draco said cheerfully. "Her beard did not end up as long as theirs, though."
"Summers from Hufflepuff got caught too," added Daphne. "He is only in fifth year, so I doubt he would have had a chance at winning anyway."
"Excuse me, I'd better go check on the Weasley twins," Harry said, bustling away. Lee Jordan was escorting his limping friends up towards the hospital wing, howling with laughter in a distinctly unsympathetic manner.
"Got anything for bruises, Harry?" one twin asked, wincing as he walked.
"Or injured pride?" added the other.
"Sorry, my Healer bag's up in my dorm room," Harry apologised. "Nothing broken, I hope?"
"The beards are tremendous," Jordan laughed.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You would have earned yourself one too, if you hadn't been lagging behind," the more injured twin grumbled.
"We are fine, but do you have anything for wounded pride? Hey, tell me how amazing our attempt was, and how we almost had it," whined the other twin.
"You were amazing, you almost had it," Harry reassured. "I'm sure you'll manage to get your names in. What are you going to try next?"
"Next?"
"That's it, that's all we had." The two walked along with hangdog expressions.
"Maybe they'll hold it again next year, now it's restarted?" Jordan offered. "We'll get it another year."
Harry tutted in disbelief. "Pranksters like you giving up? I've seen your growing list of inventions in your ads you hand out in the common room – you're making up an inventory of novel potions the wizarding world has never seen. They're amazing! And I'm saying that even though a few too many students have been brought to me with bloody noses that won't stop running. Madam Pomfrey says to send all your test subjects or people with bad reactions directly to her in the future, by the way. If you really want this, don't give up! There's a dozen ways you could try to get past the Age Line. You've only tried one."
The trio stumbled to a halt. Fred and George exchanged a look and turned as one to Harry and said in pleading tones, "Teach us, o son of Prongs!"
"Sirius told you about their uh, prankster names, huh?" Harry asked, with amusement.
"He's our patron!"
"He's going to fund us starting a joke store when we graduate and has invested in our mail-order business until then."
"He's the master of merriment, the jester of japes!"
"A white sheep among the black, a king among men. And you, the son of the great and ignoble Prongs!"
"Slayer of serpents and Healer of the hurt! Hero to the… something else beginning with h!"
"Out of lines?" the other twin asked sympathetically.
"I blanked. All I had was 'hairy'."
"You should have gone with 'helpless'."
Jordan snickered at the duo.
"So, Prongs Junior, what are your best tips for getting past the Age Line?" the injured twin asked more seriously, bruises temporarily forgotten as he leant in close, eager for Harry's answer.
"Wellll… you should stop thinking so much like Gryffindors, for starters. You don't need to march straight up and cross the Age Line. The goal is to get the paper slip in the Goblet, that's all. You could get someone to put your name in for you–" Harry started.
"No-one would go for that and miss their own chance!"
"Surely not everyone in seventh year wants to go in the Tournament. I wouldn't if I was a seventh-year – the Tournament's not as important as NEWTs. Also, you could try sending an owl. Errol's pretty old – is he over seventeen?"
"I think he might be!" one of the twins said excitedly.
"Thanks, Potter! What else have you got?" Jordan asked eagerly.
"Scrunch the paper up and throw it in, it's only ten feet. If it doesn't work, just summon the paper ball back and try again. Or make a paper aeroplane," Harry suggested.
"Fred! What about that charm to animate a message bird!" George added eagerly. "The one they use on paperwork at the Ministry! That might do it, especially if it's fast enough! The Age Line took a few seconds to react, after all."
Harry nodded. "Sounds good! Also, runic wards are often a ring, rather than a dome. If you need to put the paper in the cup yourself, you could try getting up high – maybe levitating each other – and then lowering yourself across and down. Oh, and you could try making a runic amulet to get you past the wards, oh… but that would take a lot of study of the ring's wards and I don't think you'll have the time."
"I doubt we will, and besides, we took Arithmancy and Divination, not Ancient Runes," said Fred.
"It is a pity we're not Animagi, the wards might not recognise us like that," mused George, as they all resumed their progress towards the hospital wing. "A plan for another day, perhaps. How about human transfiguration? What if you're not human when you cross the Age Line? Oh! A Canary Cream might do the trick!"
They brainstormed ideas in excited whispers all the way up to the hospital wing. "'Think Slytherin', hmm… Let's see if we can get a pass to go late to our first class!" Jordan suggested. "That will give us more time to try things unobserved in the hall while everyone is in the classrooms!"
Madam Pomfrey sighed as soon as she saw Harry walk through her door. "What have those rapscallions dosed people with this time?"
"Aw, don't be like that, young Poppy," a twin said, striding forward from behind Harry. "You should respect your elders!" He stroked his luxuriously long white beard to emphasize his point, which evoked an unwilling snort of laughter from Madam Pomfrey.
"Ah, so you are the victims today, rather than the culprits. Well, I have had three others through this morning thanks to the Headmaster's little joke. 'Twill be easy enough to counter."
"They have some bruises too, Madam Pomfrey, at the very least. They landed hard on the stone floor when the ward flung them out," Harry volunteered. "Say, while I'm here anyway, did you find that book you mentioned with good pain relief charms?"
Madam Pomfrey charmed away the twins' beards with a practised twirl of her wand and a muttered charm and directed them to sit on some beds. They seemed happy to wait for further attention and went into a huddle with Jordan to plot their next approach to reach the Goblet of Fire, while Madam Pomfrey led Harry to her office.
"Here you go lad, I borrowed it from a friend at St. Mungo's, so mind you bring it back safely," Madam Pomfrey said, passing Harry a thick, leather-bound tome marked with a blue-tasselled silk bookmark. "I have marked the page for you. However, you must remember that such charms are for the most grievous of circumstances. Stunning Charms – while your patient is lying down of course – are a better first choice, or a Sleeping Draught if the patient has a weak heart. The charms in this book act to numb an area so no pain is felt at all, which means your patient may ignore their wound and injure themselves further by trying to do too much. Pain is the body's message to rest and heal and should not be ignored."
"But surely no-one would try to walk on a broken leg, or anything?" Harry objected.
"Always assume your patients are idiots," Madam Pomfrey said, with a resigned snort and a weary shake of her head, "and you will rarely be disappointed. That goes double if Quidditch is involved in any way."
Harry nodded obediently.
"Now, mild pain relief potions such as Stomach Soother Potions and Headache Relievers are alright so long as there's no serious underlying cause, and they're not used in conjunction with anything else, or for too long. Remember, Potter, that diagnosing illnesses and combining potions are jobs best left to Healers or mediwitches and wizards. It is far too easy to cause a dangerous imbalance of the humours that can injure your patient."
"I can combine a charm with a potion, without worrying about possible side-effects, though?" Harry asked, trailing after her with his borrowed book, as she returned to the overly innocent-looking Weasleys. She cast a couple of charms on them before sending them on their way, with a tiny jar of Bruise Balm for them to apply themselves as needed. Persuaded by their pleas, also gave them a pass to arrive late to their first class.
"You can combine charms and Healing potions so long as it is not a charm that affects the humours, like Tarantallegra," Madam Pomfrey said, as if there hadn't been a long pause between Harry's question and her answer.
"The Dancing Feet Charm? Isn't that just a joke or duelling spell?"
"Not originally. It was originally crafted to cure spider and scorpion bites – it increases the level of sanguine humour in the patient and separates the venom from the blood by heating it up. You should note that it is forbidden to use that particular spell on Muggles or Squibs, as it acts as a contagious curse when cast on them and causes the dancing disease Paracelsus called 'choreomania' to spread to any other nearby Muggles."
"Did that happen a lot?"
"It used to. The charm was used for centuries on the old stone Circles and was also a very popular property ward. However, it was banned from use in wards or on Muggles in the seventeenth century, with the wave of reforms protecting Muggles brought in during King Charles' reign.
"Off to breakfast with you now, young man. I do appreciate your enthusiasm, but I usually only work with seventh-years who want to earn a reference for a Healing Apprenticeship. I do understand your love for Healing, and I know people are coming to you for aid but please, send them to me. That is my job."
Harry shuffled his feet embarrassedly. "Sometimes people need help right away, or no-one's around. Like at the Quidditch World Cup. I do send people to you at Hogwarts, when I can. Honestly, I do! I sent Midgen to you, and that girl with the broken arm, didn't I? And the first-years with nose bleeds?"
Poppy's kind blue eyes softened as he spoke. "Yes, you are doing fine, Potter. It is just a reminder. I understand why you are anxious, which is why I am helping find you advanced Healing charms. Just remember that they are for emergencies, that is all. I do not want you numbing a friend's broken leg so they can keep playing Chaser in the middle of a match, no matter how much they plead, or dulling the pain of an Acromantula bite someone gained when sneaking off into the Forbidden Forest. The former could see them worsen an injury, and the latter could be fatal."
Harry nodded. "I guess sometimes people are coming to me when they don't want to get in trouble. I promise I'll be responsible."
"Good. Off you go now! Happy Halloween!"
"Happy Halloween!" Harry echoed obediently, as he left. Hopefully it would be this year, with nothing more dangerous in the offing than another feast and the selection of the Triwizard champions.
A/N: French translations (with thanks to Stefan Bathory):
- Please help yourself, and welcome to Hogwarts. I hope you enjoy your stay here.
- Thank you, sir.
Tricsha Wren and Untrust Us – thanks for helping with new dishes at the feast.
Cabbage rolls – Neville's recommended dish was Kåldolmar, a Swedish dish popular across Scandinavia. Lightly-spiced mince is wrapped in cabbage leaves before baking, and served with a milky gravy, mashed potatoes, and some lingonberry jam.
Layered dessert – Harry and Neville tried Granola Med Kirsebærkompott, a Norwegian dessert.
OpalHonors and 191811110 – A snippet with Madam Pomfrey for you.