"Great Agrippa. How did he get them done so fast?" Warrington muttered under his breath, scanning the Great Hall. Nearly every Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff was wearing a badge, the words on which alternated between "Support Cassius Warrington, the REAL Hogwarts Champion" and "Potter STINKS". Malfoy himself walked up to give the three their badges, accompanied by a long (and loud) speech of support. By the time he walked away, Pucey was practically shaking with repressed laughter. "Not. A. Word." Warrington grumbled, putting the badge in his pocket. There was no way that was going on his body. Adrian and Andrew, of course,were already wearing theirs.

"You know, I bet we could make a killing off Cassius Warrington memorabilia," Andrew remarked, taking in once more the sea of badges and narrowly dodging the swipe Warrington made at his head. Adrian nodded in agreement.

"I could write a biography. 'Zero to Hero: the story of one annoying Slytherin's rise to fame and glory'." Unconcerned with the glare he was receiving, he went on. "When Cassius Warrington entered Hogwarts a pudgy, clumsy child he had little idea of what the future had in store for him. Mediocre in everything, Warrington rode on the backs of his friends to scrape the grades necessary to pass his assessments." (Here a splutter of disbelief from Cassius, and a laugh from Andrew.) "But life changed when, against all odds, he was chosen as Hogwarts Champion. Well, him and a fourteen year old boy. Perhaps he was smarter than he looked. Or perhaps no one else-" At this point, words ceased coming out of Pucey's mouth as Cassius magically shut him up. A pleased smirk crossed Adrian's face at the reaction, and he began to eat toast and jam while working on the potions essay he had meant for the previous night. Warrington undid his spell and began to eat as well. Andrew eyed the essay with disdain.

"How aren't you prefect again?" he asked, sounding as though being prefect was a disease one might pick up

"Bagley has fewer detentions," Pucey responded, not looking up. "And I wouldn't be working on this now if you tossers would've let me finish last night. But no, I had to help you make a plan. So don't complain."

"You were very helpful," Warrington noted. "I don't know of half the spells you told me to learn." At this Pucey did look up, lifting his eyes to the cieling as though appealing to the heavens.

"Yes Cassius, that was the idea of my being the one to make the list." Warrington decided that no response was necessary, since distracting his friend further would only annoy him more, and instead let him return to his work. Really, he reflected, Pucey might've been champion if he was a few months older. He was certainly smart enough, although he preferred to work in the background, gaining social footing by helping others. Fawley was the opposite, all about the limelight and taking action, climbing up the achievements of others and using his looks, charm, and humor to get into the places he wanted and out of the ones he didn't.

Warrington wasn't quite as smart as Adrian, nor was he as attractive and charming as Andrew; but he worked hard to do well, and he was fairly well liked among the members of his own house, if not so much the others. It came with being a Slytherin, he supposed, which was really rather unfortunate.

"Do you think people hated Merlin for being a Slytherin too?" Warrington asked, and was met with two blank stares. "Never mind," he muttered, realizing there was no way they could've followed that thought process. The other two shrugged and went back to what they had been doing (which for Pucey was working on his essay, and for Fawley was trying to chat up Selina Moore). Warrington continued to eat his breakfast as he looked over the training regime that had been decided upon. In addition to physical exercise (Andrew was making him run) and spellwork (mostly charms, jinxes, and hexes, but Adrian had thrown in a few countercurses and advanced Transfiguration topics that were bound to be near impossible), Fawley had set up a diet, and Pucey had written him a list of five books on the history of the Triwizard tournament to give him an idea of what the Tasks might involve. With that on top of his NEWT courses, Warrington decided that this year might just kill him.

/

After nearly two weeks of his training, Cassius was highly regretting asking his friends to help him train; mostly because it meant they knew precisely how to irritate him. Adrian kept eating cauldron cakes in front of him, and Andrew kept inviting him to play wizard's chess while he was reading. Pucey didn't even like cauldron cakes. And Fawley was horrible at wizard's chess. Sometimes he really hated his friends. He felt that he couldn't be too mad at them though, especially when Fawley woke up in the mornings to help him exercise and Pucey stayed up late teaching him spells. Their expertise in their areas was incredibly useful, even if it did make him feel more and more mediocre every day.

He was reading The History of the Triwizard Tournament: a detailed account of the most noble event and its foundations (a book every bit as boring as its title suggested) in Divination one day. He wondered vaguely, not for the first time, why he was taking the NEWT level of such a horrible class-although Trelawney's droning about the mystical nature of teacups or something did provide wonderful white noise. His focus was interrupted, however, by a knock on the trapdoor.

"Ah, I sense we have a visitor," Trelawney said dreamily. Warrington tried not to snort. No kidding.

A fifth year Ravenclaw-something Edgecombe, Cassius thought-was let in and she gave a note to the professor.

"Mr. Warrington, it appears that you are needed. You will need to complete a star chart for your next class." Warrington nodded in affirmation. Star chart? He was sure she'd been talking about teacups. Ah well, he'd be making it up anyway. Warrington followed the girl down the ladder.

"So, um, why am I needed? And where?" He was pretty sure he'd never spoken to Edgecombe (Marietta! That's what it was) before, and wasn't quite sure why she would've come to get him.

"For the wand weighing. It's a very important part of the Tournament's history-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. 'The wand-weighing ensures that each competitor has a wand in perfect working condition, which is able to be of aid to him or her in the task to come' and all that. It was created after the tenth tournament when it was revealed that the Durmstrang contestant's wand had been faulty." This had been in 'The Triwizard Tournament: 101 Fun Facts for the Curious Young Wizard!', a book that had been painful to read, and he suspected had been added to his list out of spite after he'd put a potion in one of Adrian's cauldron cakes to make his hair turn blue for the next 24 hours.

"Um, yeah." Edgecombe looked considerably annoyed at being interrupted, or maybe just that he was right. He was pretty sure she didn't like him. "It's in that little classroom near McGonagall's. The empty one. Have fun, I guess." And then she was gone.

"Good talk," Warrington said to no one, proceeding to the room Edgecombe had described. When he got there, he saw that Fleur and Krum were already present, but Potter was nowhere to be seen. After a few minutes of awkwardly standing in silence, Warrington decided to make conversation (or try to, anyhow).

"So...you're from France." Fleur looked at him unblinkingly. She was definitely part Veela, he decided, thinking of the rumors about her trickling through the school. Unfortunately, that didn't help the conversation, so he tried a question."What's it like there?"

"It is much warmer and more comfortable than your castle. And we do not have any poltergeists, and the stairs do not change."

"That's nice." Warrington blinked. He wasn't sure how to respond when she had essentially just said that Hogwarts had a horrible environment. Honestly, Beauxbatons sounded boring. He wasn't sure what else to say (that hadn't even been a proper response, really), but luckily he was saved by the entrance of Dumbledore, Potter, and a woman he recognized as the Daily Prophet reporter Rita Skeeter.

Ollivander checked all of their wands (13 1/2 inches, vine and dragon heartstring, quite sturdy, ah yes it's in very nice condition Mr. Warrington), taking an especially long time with Potter's, then Skeeter's photographer got them in position for a picture with (you guessed it) Potter front and center. He could hear the article already: 'Potter, an unlikely hero, rises up as a fourth year to take the place of Hogwarts' second champion, much making up for the disappointment of the whole school that a Slytherin had been chosen'. Maybe not quite so blunt but who knew? Some of Skeeter's stuff was nasty. Warrington decided to head back to the common room instead of trying to catch the end of Divination. He passed Potter on his way out of the room and wondered vaguely if he should say anything about the competition, have a conversation with him or something, but decided that it would be too weird. They weren't friends or anything, so what would be the point? 'The Triwizard Tournament was created to encourage relations between competitors and their schools', The History of the Triwizard Tournament repeated in his mind. He ignored it and continued on his way. With any luck, he could finish that star chart before Pucey had time to torture him by teaching more complicated spellwork.

There we go! I'm totally open to any insights about how to develop these characters better. I want them to be as rounded as possible, because we need more Slytherins that aren't evil, but are still strong. I mean, they're teenagers. Also, I'm hoping the chapters will be longer, but I wanted to get two up and this felt like a good stopping point.