Chapter Sixty-Seven - The Triwizard Tournament
The rain from that morning had developed into a wild storm when Harry and his friends arrived at horseless carriages that conducted them from the train to the castle kept them warm and dry, but this ride was soon at an end. They were completely drenched after only a short sprint to the castle doors. Blaise had just pulled his wand, proposing to dry them with a simple charm, when the action was rendered pointless. A water balloon pelted him squarely on the top of his head before he could speak the incantation. Peeves, the school poltergeist, had decided to welcome the returning students with a torrent of balloons.
"Why?" Harry demanded, futilely attempting to shake the water from his robes, "Can't you see we're already soaked?"
"Good point, Potter!" Peeves said, checking his arm before he hurled another balloon at him, "But then a bit more water can't hurt!"
He tossed the balloon at a group of Hufflepuffs instead, then zoomed away, cackling as he went.
"You know he's just going to come back with something worse," warned Nell.
"Let's get into the Hall before he does," Blaise urged.
Harry parted ways with Nell as they entered the Great Hall and went to join their own houses. Harry caught a glimpse of Hermione and Neville, already seated at the Gryffindor table. Neville caught his eye and gave him a wave, but he made no move to leave his seat. In the past, both Hermione and Neville had joined Harry for meals at the Slytherin table, but as it was the start-of-term feast, with the sorting of the new first-years pending, he knew it was important to observe the formalities.
Harry accordingly made his way to the silver and green bedecked Slytherin table, where he was greeted by another familiar face. Colin Creevy, seated next to his friend, Herbivorous Pandey, eagerly called to Harry and offered him a seat he had saved on purpose.
Harry accepted the invitation. He used to think Colin was annoying, given his enthusiasm for taking photographs of everything. But Colin had learned to idolize Harry a little less, and he treated him more as a friend, and Harry had grown to enjoy the underclassman's company.
"My brother Dennis is being sorted this year," Colin said cheerfully, "I hope he'll be in Slytherin!"
Harry cordially expressed similar wishes, then cast his eyes around the Great Hall once more. He had directed his attention to the staff table. Hagrid: gamekeeper, professor, and Harry's friend, was not in his usual seat. He would be escorting the first-years across the Black Lake, as he did before the sorting ceremony each year.
Then his gaze was arrested by a very strange looking man, placed next to Hagrid's empty seat. He had a mane of grizzled, dark grey hair that framed a rather alarming face. His features looked like they had been carved from weathered wood, with a layer of thick, old leather stretched over the surface. The scars on Remus's face were nothing compared to the collection this man had. It looked as if every inch of him bore a mark, and a chunk of his nose appeared to be missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him truly frightening to behold. One was small and dark, but the other was large, round, and a vivid blue. It swirled about relentlessly, without blinking, while his other eye stared dispassionately forward.
"I don't believe it," Blaise said, a smile breaking across his face as he too noticed the strange man, "It's Mad Eye Moody!"
"Who?" Harry asked.
"He was an Auror," Blaise explained, "A dark wizard catcher. Mum used to tell me stories about him. She said half the prisoners of Azkaban are there because of him."
Harry looked up at the man again, and the strange way his false eye spun in all directions, even to the back of his head. He found himself wondering if the retired Auror had been the one to arrest Sirius, though he quickly decided this could not have been the case. Sirius would surely have mentioned a man as wild-looking as Moody.
"He must be Professor Lupin's replacement," Millie observed.
"He looks like he could use some defense against the dark arts, himself," Harry commented. He had noticed that Moody not only had a false eye, but one of his legs ended at the knee and was supported by a carved wooden prosthetic.
Moody's enchanted eye suddenly swiveled in his direction, and for the first time it came to a full stop, resting directly on Harry. He looked away, worried that the Professor suspected that he had been talking about him.
As he attempted to avoid Moody's eye, both the enchanted and unenchanted, his gaze fell instead on Professor Snape. He was seated next to Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher. Harry, rather than evade Snape's notice, broke into a huge grin and began waving his arms above his head in a jubilant greeting.
Snape endeavored not to notice his outburst, but Professor Sinistra saw Harry, who was making quite a spectacle of himself. She smiled sweetly, apparently pleased that Snape inspired such fondness in his students, and believing that she was doing something kind, pointed Harry out to the Potions Master. Snape was forced to return the wave, though the gesture was more of a spasm than a welcome. Harry was satisfied, however, certain that he had embarrassed the professor.
"What was that about?" asked Blaise. He knew that Harry couldn't stand Snape, and that the feeling was mutual. With all that had passed during the previous year at Hogwarts, he had never got around to telling his friends about Snape's childhood crush on Harry's mother.
He made a mental note to tell them the whole story after the feast, though he momentarily settled Blaise's curiosity by explaining, "It's a trick Remus taught me to get on Snape's nerves. Seems to be working."
What Remus had actually told Harry was that no matter how rude or cruel Snape might act toward him, Harry should always respond jovially, as if it were all a joke between two old friends. It sounded like a game to Harry's mind, and he didn't want to shrink from Snape's notice anymore. If anything, he welcomed the possibility of detention with the Potions Master, if only for the chance of hearing more stories about his mother.
Their conversation had drifted to other topics, and Harry had just begun to think of his empty stomach when the doors to the Great Hall swung open. An expectant silence fell over the students, who turned to observe the troop of first-years marching down the center aisle behind Professor McGonagall. It was time for the Sorting to begin.
Blaise had managed to dry them off with his spell as they sat at their table, but the first-years were sopping wet. They stood in a long line in front of the staff table, shivering with a combination of cold and nerves. The one exception was the smallest boy, who was wrapped in what Harry recognized as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. He poked his head over the collar, looking about the room with obvious excitement.
Colin nudged Harry's side and murmured, "That's him! That's Dennis!"
As he spoke, the boy caught his brother's eye and flashed him a thumbs up. He mouthed the words "I fell in the lake!" He seemed proud of this achievement. Colin actually looked envious.
Professor McGonagall brought forward a three-legged stool. On top of it, she placed Harry's old nemesis, the Sorting Hat. There was a time when Harry had resented his sorting into Slytherin. Gryffindor had been his first choice, but the Hat acted in spite of his wishes, and Harry was inclined to think there had been a mistake. Now, however, Harry cheered along with the rest of his house as Malcolm Baddock was sorted into Slytherin.
Colin watched with bated breath as Dennis toddled up to the stool, still swaddled in Hagrid's massive coat. Harry shared his interest in Dennis's fate, and nurtured a hope that Colin would not be separated from his little brother.
"GRYFFINDOR!" called the Hat with cruel impassivity.
Colin cried out in disappointment as his brother was welcomed at the gold and scarlet table. Dennis, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content with the arrangement. He flashed his brother a pair of thumbs up once more, then quickly fell into conversation with a second-year girl sitting by his side. Apparently, he had inherited his brother's habit of forming fast friendships.
Graham Pritchard was the final Slytherin to join their table that year. Once Orla Quirke and Kevin Whitby had been sorted into Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, respectively, there was nothing more to do but enjoy the feast. Dumbledore rose from his chair briefly. He never gave a speech on an empty stomach, and so the start-of-term announcements would wait until they were all well fed. The headmaster merely invited them to "tuck in" and the large golden platters before them were instantly filled with delicious entrees.
"Alright, Potter?" Harry heard someone call from a bit further down the table. It was Cassius Warrington. Harry, his mouth stuffed with food, could only smile a reply. Warrington was a sixth year and a Chaser on the Quidditch team. Marcus Flint, their former captain, had graduated the year before. It was common knowledge that his vice-captain, Graham Montague, should replace him, but Warrington had other plans in mind. He had made it clear to Harry that he planned to take over the team himself. The team's two Beaters, Lucian and Bole, seated on either side of Warrington, were his greatest allies in the fight.
Harry was anxious that he would succeed. Of all the team members, Warrington had been the kindest to Harry. If he were captain, Harry still had a chance on the team that year. But if Montague took over, Draco, riding Harry's old Firebolt, was sure to steal back his position as Seeker.
But after the food had been consumed and the dinner plates cleared away, Dumbledore rose once more from this throne-like chair and began the start-of-term announcements. What he said brought all of Harry's schemes for Quidditch to a grinding halt.
"It is my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
This news drew several cries of outrage from all across the Great Hall. Harry himself was so surprised he jumped out of his seat and had to be restrained by Millie. Coaxed back down, he darted a look toward Warrington, who had remained silent, but was glaring at Dumbledore with narrowed eyes.
Dumbledore held up his hands in a plea for patience, and was rewarded with renewed silence from the students, though they were far from calm.
"I assure you, I have every reason to think you will be perfectly entertained. Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year."
For once, Harry was not the only one confused by this statement. As he looked around the Hall, there were plenty of students looking bemused, though Draco Malfoy looked annoyingly smug.
Dumbledore smiled indulgently, allowing the general murmur to subside before he continued, "For many of you, this will be the first time you have heard of the tournament. It is a tradition that was first established nearly 700 years ago, though I regret to say it has not been held in over a century. The three largest European schools of wizardry, that is to say Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang, used to take it in turns to host the tournament once every five years. Each school would select a champion, and those champions would represent their institutions in three magical challenges. It was generally agreed to be an excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities, until the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."
"Did he say death toll?" Harry rasped.
Blaise nodded, "Yup, he definitely said death toll."
"There have been several attempts to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "Though none were successful. But this year, the departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports will attempt to bring the old tradition new life right here at Hogwarts. They have worked hard to ensure that no champion will find themself in moral danger."
Harry did not believe him. He had been placed in mortal danger while at school more times than he cared to remember. It was astonishing how often people seemed to forget that this was a school for children.
"Well, that explains it," Blaise muttered to Harry, "Games and Sports is Bagman's department. No wonder mum knew about this before we did…"
Meanwhile, Dumbledore had gone on to add, "The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween."
"Excellent," said Blaise, "Something good always happens on Halloween."
Millie, who had caused her own cat to be petrified on Halloween night during their second year, directed a sour frown at Blaise and said, "Define good."
"I mean interesting," Blaise countered quickly, "You can't deny that we've never had a dull moment on Halloween. First the troll, then the chamber, and last year Sirius. Now we'll get to see who's been chosen to compete in a tournament that was banned for centuries!
"But I don't understand," Harry said, "He said people had died in this competition! Why would anyone want to enter?"
Blaise's eyes sparkled as he replied, "Glory!"
Harry, dissatisfied with this answer, turned to Millie, who merely shrugged her shoulders and turned back toward Dumbledore, who had begun to detail the real appeal of entering such a tournament.
"Though I flatter myself that the honor of representing your school is reward enough, the winner of the tournament will also be awarded a prize of one thousand galleons."
He made this last comment with a familiar twinkle in his eye, showing just how far he thought honor was preferred to cash money.
The promise of such riches was enticing, indeed. Even students who, like Harry, were just learning of the competition for the first time seemed to be visualizing themselves as the Hogwarts champion. At every house table, Harry could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, their eyes glazed over as they indulged in their daydream, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and these dreams, much like Harry's hopes for the Quidditch season, were squashed.
"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the heads of the participating schools, along with the Minister of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on the contenders this year. Only students who are of age, that is to say, seventeen years or older, will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration."
This announcement was followed by more cries of indignation, stronger than the first. It felt as if Dumbledore had dangled a wonderful gift before them, only to snatch it away. Blaise was one of the most vocal in his disappointment, though Harry and Millie were of the opinion that they had no business entering in the competition in the first place.
"Did you miss the part where he said students have died in this tournament?" Millie asked in an exasperated tone as Blaise continued to shout his objections.
"You heard what he said, it won't be like that this time!" Blaise insisted, "The Ministry will make sure the champions are safe."
"You mean like how the Ministry saw to our safety at the World Cup?" Millie said with a sly smile.
But Blaise would not be discouraged. After Dumbledore had sent them off to bed, he continued to talk about the tournament as they made their way to the dormitories.
"I would enter if I could," he insisted, "Can you imagine the press coverage? And I'll bet the champions get all sorts of perks, even if they don't win the prize money."
"Don't waste your time fantasizing," Millie said with a tone of finality, "We're not old enough."
She left Blaise and Harry in the common room, walking up the stairs to the girls' dormitories without another word. Harry and Blaise followed her example, going their own way to the room they unfortunately shared with Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle.
Blaise, independent of Millie's censure of the topic, continued to speculate with enthusiasm about the tournament, its challenges, and the "impartial judge" Dumbledore had said would select their champions. Harry would not deny that he was interested, but only as a spectator.
True, his imagination had been inspired at the World Cup. After watching Krum play for the Bulgarians, he had often imagined a future in which he played as a professional Seeker. But the Triwizard Tournament encouraged no similar feelings. He had inherited a small fortune from his parents, and the prize money meant very little. He knew that Blaise was in a similar situation, as he was heir to the fortunes of not one, but six wealthy step-fathers. Neither of them was hurting for cash, but the temptation of celebrity was enough for Blaise. Harry, already familiar with being famous, did not share his friend's lust for notoriety.
When he finally laid his head on his pillow for the night, he reflected instead on the dangerous challenges the champions would face. That alone would have put him off the idea of the tournament, even if he had been of age. He had had enough near-death experiences to last him the rest of his life.