AN: Part 1/? of my Adrian Pucey series. The Real Hogwarts Champion is Adrian Pucey. What happens next?
Part 1: Adrian Pucey and the Triwizard Tournament (complete)
Part 2: Adrian Pucey and the Meddling Ministry (complete)
Part 3: Adrian Pucey and the Dawning Darkness (WIP)
o - o - o - o - o
"Glory to the squid," Palmer said, raising the staff in her hand.
"Glory!" the crowd chanted.
Adrian and the rest of Slytherin House were gathered in the common room for the Annual Giant Squid Festival, and Professor Snape pretended he was none the wiser as long they kept things within the House.
The third years had moved the couches and tables in the room to form a half-circle facing the glass wall that separated the den from the Black Lake. They were also responsible for the decidedly Gothic look of the room; low and intense purple lights that one kid had explained to him were meant to represent the glow of the Giant Squid's eyes, transfigured tentacles hanging about the room that could be mistaken for Flobberworms depending on the skill of the student who had done the transfiguring, décor on the walls and atop the furniture that ranged from the impressive to the absurd. Adrian supposed they ought to be grateful they could still feel the warmth of the heated flooring beneath the charmed rug (it was apparently what its skin would feel like). Last year, some kid had decided to drench the rug in ice cold water for "realism". Granted, they had been encouraged to go all out for the event. But they were Slytherins, for Salazar's sake, heated flooring wasn't worth giving up to appease the squid. The fourth years added to the theme as they served the room their selection of food and drinks, which fortunately only looked different but underneath were still the delectable cooking of the elves. Palmer, seventh-year prefect and unofficial den chief, was leading the prime ritual and brought her staff down to the floor with a thud. The first and second years started their slow trance-like dance around the room. And the upper years continued with their time-honored task of taking the mickey out of the newer Slytherins.
"Check that one out," Kenneth said, nudging him as he pointed out a particularly enthusiastic firstie. Adrian and his mates had near-prime seats to the show, courtesy of his being a prefect and their being sixth-years.
He waved a fourth-year over for a fresh bottle of squid-ink (butterbeer, it was the same every year.) The second-year who had been designated in loco squid of the year "blessed" his drink when she passed by their table as she lead the train of lower years around the room in her overlarge costume. It was both an honour and a pain, Adrian thought with a mild grimace. He had, after all, had the dubious distinction of holding the position in his second year.
The train completed its round, and as the entire den got to its feet to hail the Giant Squid, Adrian could almost pretend that they were going to have an easy year. Sure the Dark Mark had been witnessed at the Quidditch World Cup earlier in the year, and sure just yesterday in D.A.D.A he had witnessed a blameless spider writhe under the Cruciatus Curse. But when he stepped up to take one of kid squid's arms, his privilege as a prefect, it was easy enough the ignore the sense of unease in his chest.
The first month of the school year thus passed with a vague sense that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It may have had something to do with the warning letter his mother had sent about Bagman, or the one his father had sent about Karkaroff. Or the roundabout way they had both advised constant vigilance around the retired-Auror now-Professor Moody. Or that bit of seer blood his brother, Tiberius, insisted they had to justify his taking Divination. Or the fact that he still couldn't decide if he wanted to toss in his name for the Triwizard Tournament.
He leaned back in his seat as he watched Vaisey lead the first-years in laps around the Quidditch pitch. Just because the cup was cancelled, didn't mean they had to abandon their brooms for the entire year.
"You know, your brother is asking for trouble coming to the pitch on our time," Terrence said from beside him, eyes still on the field.
Adrian turned and, indeed, two figures were hurrying in their direction. It was a good thing Montague wasn't around. Or worse, Warrington. He pushed himself off his seat, and walked past Terrence to meet them at the bottom of the stands.
"Have you seen the notice?" Tiberius asked eagerly as soon as they were in range, brushing back the shaggy, brown mop of his hair where it threatened to fall over his eyes.
"I don't suppose this can wait? We have the pitch booked," Adrian asked, pointedly. Shaw at least had the grace to look nervous, and tugged at the edge of his canary yellow tie as he cast a quick glance around to see who else was there. Tiberius glossed over his words without a care.
"They're coming in a week! Can you believe it?" he said. "There's a sign posted by the Hall."
"Who is?"
"Durmstrang and Beauxbatons," he said, rolling his eyes. "Have you decided if you're joining then?"
Adrian sighed. "You'll know when I know, Ty," he said. "Now do you mind removing yourselves from the pitch?"
"They're saying Diggory's a sure-pick in the sett," Tiberius continued, ignoring his question.
"What are you practising for anyway?" Shaw asked, frowning at the flyers on the field. "Quidditch is cancelled."
"The cup is cancelled. Not the game," he replied.
"Eager lot, aren't you?" Tiberius commented.
"Speaking of which, did you talk to Diggory about trying for seeker?" Adrian asked him.
Tiberius blanched. "With him still on the team? Why don't I ask for his captaincy too while I'm at it?" he said sarcastically.
"He's good, but he's not Krum-good. At least, he can set you up for when he graduates," Adrian said, then added, "Or try for chaser if you're going to be such a wuss. With Applebee gone, I don't see that you have anyone else."
"Fine, I'll think about it," he replied half-heartedly.
Adrian shook his head. "Bugger off, both of you, before Hufflepuff loses 10 points for loitering. Each," he said and turned back to join Terrence.
In the end, it wasn't so much that he wanted to try his luck in the competition. He just didn't like the alternative that he would spend his days wondering what would have happened if only he had tried. It was a weight off his shoulders when he finally threw in his name into the cup at the crack of dawn on Halloween. He had deliberately chosen the time to run into the least number of people. His family and friends knew of his decision, and he didn't mind facing them if he wasn't chosen. But he figured he could do without the potential taunts from some people if he lost out to Diggory, or someone worse.
The day of the selection passed by in a rush and before he knew it, he found himself sitting in the Great Hall, waiting for the Champions to be chosen.
Krum. Okay, predictable.
Delacour. Maybe he should have paid more attention there.
His heart was pounding out of his chest, and he turned his face away from Dumbledore to stare at the table. His name wouldn't come out. Or it would. In that moment, he wasn't sure which option was worse.
"The Hogwarts Champion..." Dumbledore's words echoed through the room as it collectively held its breath in waiting. "Adrian Pucey," Dumbledore said, looking out into the crowd.
There was a distinct moment of silence before a section of the Slytherin table burst into chaotic excitement. Adrian felt his breath catch in his chest, felt someone, Kenneth likely, elbow him in his ribs to bring him out of his stupor.
"Adrian Pucey!" Dumbledore practically shouted this time, trying to rise above the other sounds in the room; the uproar of his supporters, Slytherins and Ravenclaws mostly, Tiberius at the Hufflepuff table oblivious to the shock of most of his fellow housemates, others clapping in polite acceptance. And the harsh whispers of disbelief slowly but surely rising. Adrian didn't notice any of it over the blood pounding in his ears, and later he wouldn't quite remember making the trek to join the other Champions.
What he would remember of course was Harry Potter walking as though in a daze to join them. Hogwarts would be contesting two champions in the triwizard tournament, it turned out, defying all rules of logic and reason and fair-play they so often sang into their ears.
Dumbledore lead the ministry officials out of the side room, Madam Maxine and Headmaster Karkaroff ushered their respective charges out of the room, and Professor McGonagall fussed over Potter as she lead him out. He turned to look at Professor Snape who was also watching the group, tight-lipped and scrutinizing.
"Pucey," he said, without turning to him.
"Professor?"
"I expect to see you see in my office at 7 sharp tomorrow morning. For tonight, you may go back to the den. I'm certain your Housemates will want to congratulate you."
"Yes, sir."
Professor Snape nodded once at him, and then was out of the room before Adrian realized he had not congratulated him.
Adrian walked out into the great hall, and found himself alone in the presence of the Goblet. Suddenly, the weight of his fate seemed to be coming down on him as he watched the flames dance. "People have died, you know," he could hear the echo of Tiberius's words. He shook his head to clear it, and hurried out of the hall.
He was out in the entrance hall and heading towards the dungeon stairs when someone jumped at him from behind a suit of armour. He immediately turned, ready to hex the offender and was greeted by the sight of a grinning Tiberius, his sharp blue eyes shining in the dim light.
"You just won me a few good Galleons!" he said, rolling a coin over his knuckles.
"You owe me at least half then." Adrian snatched the coin out of the younger boy's palm with ease.
"If I owe you half now, you would owe me half your winnings." He didn't bother retrieving his not-so-hard-won Galleon, but fell into step next to him as they walked down to the dungeons. "What's the deal with Potter then?" he asked
Adrian face fell, but he didn't want to complain, not to Tiberius at least. He gave him a highly-edited version of the story, ending with, "Two champions, nothing we can do about it."
"Not if I can help it," the other mumbled, frowning too.
"Try not to get me in trouble, alright?" Adrian said.
"Did they tell you what your first task is?"
"Not really. Crouch said something about testing our courage, whatever that means." Adrian knew the clue for the first task wasn't a clue at all. A surprise and a call for courage was much too reminiscent of Gryffindor, and he really didn't like that thought,
"He's a nutter, isn't he?"
"Don't call him that," Adrian said, smacking the latter lightly across the back of his head.
"Well, he is!" Tiberius defended himself.
Adrian moved away from him to take the turn to the Slytherin part of the dungeons. "You should go back to the sett. I'll see you later."
"Wait! I told my friends I'd get the details."
"Whatever I said, just dress it up nicely," Adrian said with a shrug, still walking.
"Come on! You can tell me more. I'm breaking curfew here," Tiberius said.
Adrian stopped in his tracks, turned back to Tiberius, then smirked. "10 points from Hufflepuff, , for being out past curfew." He was around the bend in the corridor before Tiberius's jinx could hit him, and walked down to the den, rolling the snatched Galleon over his knuckles and feeling lighter in his steps.
He stopped outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room, took a deep breath. And stepped inside to find the entire house gathered there. He paused by the door as Palmer stepped forward to him, and spoke to the crowd.
"Slytherins, we have a champion!" She raised Adrian's hand high in victory as the crowd burst into applause and cheer. Adrian soaked the support, glanced at Palmer as she let go of his hand. She had put in her name too, he knew, but if she held her loss against him she wasn't letting it show that night. She waved a hand to quiet the crowd.
"Pucey," Palmer called. She was holding out a hand to him. "Omnes pro uno," she said deliberately, holding his eyes and hand in an firm hold, and he knew her voice carried through the room because it went completely silent. All for one. It wasn't just the first time the motto had been invoked for him, it was the first time in all of his years at Hogwarts that it had been invoked at all.
"Unus pro omnibus," he replied. One for all. She nodded, gave his hand a shake and the crowd might as well have been under a silencing charm. It was understood that when he stepped out to represent the school, he would represent his House. It was understood that he could call on any Slytherin present to aid him in his journey to victory. His win was their win, and his loss was their loss. Of course it wasn't the iron-clad loyalty of a true Oath, but those had fallen out of a favour after the tragedy of Titus the tormented.
"Alright. Cave two is the Champion's. Exclusively," Palmer said to the crowd, and they nodded in understanding. "Years four and below, grab your poison from the table and get back to your rooms." The lower years started to shuffle their feet. "Now," she added, and they started to slink away to the far end of the room where food and drinks were piled on a table, many watching him with undisguised curiosity the entire way.
"Pucey, make us proud, yeah," she said, and went on her way, and the crowd started to slowly disperse. Adrian was glad for it. A lot was said in a little, and then they let him be. He looked around, spotted Terrence and Kenneth at their usual nook and made his way there, acknowledged his thanks at those who eager enough to congratulate him.
There was an unspoken hierarchy to the room. Palmer and her group took the prime seats, close to the fire, suitably far from the den entrance and the dorms, view of the the rest of the room. Flint and his crowd had the second-best seating, the place where the Quidditch team gathered if they had to meet in the room. That left the third-best to Pucey and his friends.
"Cave two, mate. Makes the risk to life and limb worth it, doesn't it?" Kenneth said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
"So what did Crouch have to say?" Terrence asked, shushing the other.
Adrian settled to regale them of the happenings in the anteroom. He kept the discussion light because they were casually joined by several others. They congratulated him. Vowed their everlasting support for a housemate. Said they would be there to celebrate his victory. Most threw in a bad word for Potter, vaguely hinting at it if not going off on a small rant.
Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow, he would take his mates aside and really talk. For that night, he would play the crowd.