Chapter Eight: By the Pricking of My Thumb

They could barely make out the castle's many lighted windows behind the thick sheet of rain. When the carriage finally lurched to a stop, its occupants gratefully jumped out from its safety and dashed up the steps to the warmth of the cavernous Entrance Hall.

"Shite," Cedric hissed after nearly slipping on the wet floor, Hermione grabbing his arm to steady him reflexively, "I feel like I'll never be dry —"

"AARGH!"

A large, orange balloon had dropped down from somewhere above them and exploded onto Ron's head, drenching him in a thick, transparent slime. Confused and sputtering, Ron staggered sideways into Harry, just as a second balloon dropped, narrowly missing Hermione and bursting at Harry's feet. People all around them shrieked and started pushing one another in their efforts to get out of the line of fire. Cedric looked up and groaned in frustration, Fred and George were standing on the staircase's landing, methodically carefully aiming the orange balloons bearing a Weasley's Wheeze's logo at their targets.

"This is worse than their fake wands," Cedric groaned long-sufferingly, shivering as he gave a shout and dodged another balloon.

"MR. WEAS-BOTH OF YOU!" sputtered an angry voice. "Down here at once!"

Professor McGonagall was dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on a rogue patch of goo from the balloons and grabbed onto the nearest people she could reach to stop herself from falling.

"Ouch — sorry, Miss Granger — Mr. Diggory —"

"That's all right, Professor!" Hermione gasped, she and Cedric massaging their necks.

"Both of you get down here now!" barked Professor McGonagall, straightening her pointed hat and glaring up at the twins through her spectacles.

The twins smiled mischievously and quickly banished their remaining balloons.

"What? They're already wet, aren't they?" George defended cheekily.

"Detention! With me! Every day for the next two weeks! Both of you! And 50 points from Gryffindor each," Professor McGonagall sputtered angrily. "And I am warning you two —"

Professor McGonagall appeared to be too angry to finish her threat, however, and simply glared at the troublesome pair.

"Well, move along, then!" said Professor McGonagall sharply to what was left of the disheveled crowd. "Into the Great Hall, come on!"

Hermione and the rest slid across the goo now coating the floor around them. It had turned an interesting shade of green that was almost fluorescent, Hermione noted, and she gave a yelp of surprise.

"Ron, your hair!"

Ron looked alarmed but nonplussed as everyone watched, fascinated as his roots slowly turned a dark, almost glowing shade of green.

McGonagall glared over at the twins anew, "Spell or potion?"

"Spell," they answered in unison. Though McGonagall's brogue was so thick now they were surprised they could understand her at all.

Ron meanwhile was looking more alarmed by the second and finally ground out, "What's wrong with my hair?"

"Well," Harry began awkwardly, "Y'know how Malfoy likes to insult you about its color? I-it wouldn't really be a problem at the moment."

Hermione couldn't help the small giggle that escaped her but at Ron's desperate glare she promptly clamped her mouth shut and put her hands up in a gesture of surrender, "Sorry."

McGonagall sighed impatiently, pointing her wand at Ron's head and muttering, "Finite Incantatem." Ron's hair quickly returned to its normal color and McGonagall clucked impatiently, "Now, off you go!"

They squelched their way through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face while Hermione twisted her dripping hair into a hair clip, a few shorter pieces stubbornly coming loose from its grasp.

The Great Hall was wonderfully cozy, thousands of enchanted candles floating in above their heads. Harry and Ron walked past the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws on their way to the Gryffindor table, while Hermione stayed behind with Cedric, standing close together by the Hufflepuff table as they talked.

Half the girls in the Great Hall gawked jealously at Hermione while some of the boys stared at her appreciatively. Her black robes were soaked through and sticking to her like a second skin, unknowingly revealing her figure.

"I'll try and stop by after dinner," he said.

"Good," she smiled. "I'd better go, if I stay any longer there's a chance I won't make it through the night unscathed," she said, discreetly eyeing a group of Ravenclaw girls that were glowering at Hermione with particular zeal.

Cedric was nonplussed and followed her gaze. He swallowed hard and turned back to Hermione looking a bit nervous, "Don't let them scare you away, they're harmless. For the most part," he amended.

"Right," she said, considering him dubiously. "Well, don't worry about me. It'll take more than a few lovesick puppies to scare me away," she said amusedly.

A look of relief overtook his expression, "Good to know."

She gave him one last smile and touched his arm gently as she walked down the table and sat down between Harry and Neville at the far side of the Hall. Hermione took one look at Ron and Harry's miserable, cold expressions and discreetly pulled out her wand, muttering a few quick drying spells. In an instant Ron, Harry, Neville, Ginny and herself were warm and dry.

They all looked at her gratefully, Harry and Neville offering her their heartfelt thanks. Pavarti and Lavender suddenly materialized at Hermione's side, both beaming, their eyes hungry for information.

"Why were you talking to Cedric Diggory?" "How the hell do you know Cedric Diggory?" "When did you two meet?" "How did you two meet?" they both squawked simultaneously.

Hermione cringed at their shrill tones and looked at them irritably, "For god's sake, you're going to blow my eardrums out."

"Sorry," Lavender said at a more reasonable volume. "But don't try to change the subject, it won't work. Why did you come in with Cedric Diggory and why were you two talking? I had no idea you even knew each other. I mean, you of all people."

Hermione ignored the jab at her rather anti-social tendencies and rolled her eyes, "We met at the World Cup and that's all I'm telling you. Oh, and here," she cast two more drying spells and it was enough to get their minds off their previous goal. They bounced away with chirped thanks, obviously still speculating about her and Cedric in hushed tones.

And they wonder why I'd rather read than talk to them, she mused silently. She had long realized that the other girls in her year weren't vicious in the way that Pansy was, but they were vapid and rather uncaring. All the same, she really couldn't imagine herself passing the time with girl talk. She still remembered the last time they tried to include her in of their late night chats in the dorms. Fay Dunbar had made a rather cruel passing remark about Ginny's very obvious crush on Harry that left Hermione feeling angry on Ginny's behalf and guilty for having an even passive role in the conversation. She decided then that she had better, less destructive things to do with her time. It alienated her from her peers, she knew that. But it was better than being cruel for the sake of others' entertainment.

Her gaze moved past the two girls and to the top table. She involuntarily froze, first in curiosity, then in shock. At first glance, everything seemed normal. Professor Snape, sitting, gazing down on them with a barely contained sneer, Professor Sprout smiling brightly as ever as she chatted with Professor Flitwick. But in the dark corner behind the top, stood Professor Dumbledore speaking to the most inexplicable man she had ever seen.

Her eyes wandered over the man's face in horrified fascination. It was scarred deeply, chunks of flesh clearly missing in certain places, a grotesque imitation of humanity that fell short. What was more disturbing still was what had dawn Hermione's gaze to begin with. Strapped to the man's face with a leather strap was an eye, set in a metal disk, and whirling almost ceaselessly in its home. An immense wave of guilt wash over her almost immediately for being so judgmental of the man, but her immediate impressions could not be helped.

"I wonder who the new Defense teacher is," Harry commented across from her.

Oh, of course. Well, this should be interesting. He certainly looks the part.

"Maybe they couldn't get anyone," said Ron, looking grim, "S'no wonder, too, considering what happened to the last three."

Hermione shot him a half-hearted glare at his reference to the supposed curse on the position but kept silent otherwise, not wanting to bring attention to the man before Dumbledore intended to. Though she could see that some of the other students sitting near the top table had already taken notice of the man as well.

"Oh, hurry up," Ron moaned from beside Harry, "I could eat a hippogriff."

"Don't let Hagrid hear you say that." Hermione shot back lightly.

The doors of the Great Hall opened then, and silence quickly fell. Professor McGonagall was leading in the first years, who looked as if they'd taken a swim in the lake instead of sailed across it.

Ron groaned at the sheer size of the group, prompting Hermione to nudge him reproachfully under the table. Their attention turned to the Sorting Hat and then to the top table as the professors, including the mysterious man, took their places at the table. A low murmur of alarmed and curious voices ran through the hall until McGonagall called attention once more and the Sorting began.

Nearly an hour later, with Ron looking more mutinous by the second, the Sorting finally ended with "Whitby, Kevin!"("HUFFLEPUFF!").

"About time," grumbled Ron, snatching his knife and fork eagerly.

Hermione smiled wryly at him and shook her head.

"Aaah, 'at's be'r," said Ron, with his mouth full of mashed potato. "'ey, wha's oin' on wid you an' di'ry," Ron directed at Hermione, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of steak and potatoes. "Oops — sorry, 'Arry —"

Hermione grimaced at him in mingled confusion and disgust and turned to Harry, "What did he just say?"

"Something about a diary, I think," said Harry idly, wiping Ron's mess from his robes.

Ron rolled his eyes and swallowed, "Not 'diary', 'Diggory'. What's going on with the two of you? You've been all chummy since the World Cup," Ron said sharply, his eyes narrowed.

Harry looked at Hermione as well, "Seems like you get on," he offered. It was the polar opposite of Ron's tone. No accusation, no reproach, only a friendly and curious comment. Hermione latched onto that like a life preserver and focused on Harry, hoping to avoid a row with Ron.

"There's nothing going on between us. Like you said, we get on. We're friends," she shrugged lightly.

Harry nodded slowly, studying her closely for a few seconds before turning back to his plate.

"Well, that's good. I like him, he's a good bloke," said Harry, digging into his mashed potatoes. Hermione smiled at him gratefully.

"Oh, please! He's nothing but a pretty boy git. He's just out for someone else to add to his fan club," Ron exclaimed.

Hermione leveled him with a frosty glare and Harry looked between them nervously. He couldn't pretend to condone or understand Ron's reaction, but he also really hoped this wouldn't turn into one of their infamous shouting matches.

"You realize you sound just like Malfoy, don't you?" She told him coldly.

Ron looked stunned at the comparison, the tips of his ears turned a vibrant red, and he was doing a rather good imitation of a fish out of water. However, instead of apologizing, he bent his head over his plate and the pair barely spoke for the remainder of the night.

Once the puddings had been demolished and even Ron's voracious hunger had been satisfied, Dumbledore got to his feet and the Great Hall fell silent.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must ask for your attention while I make a few announcements. First, I would like to welcome Professor Moody as our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

"Mad-Eye Moody?" Hermione mumbled to Ron, their averted row momentarily forgotten. "The man your dad went to help this morning?"

"Must be," said Ron in awe.

Professor Moody stood slightly and nodded jerkily. The limp in his gait was obvious even in the small movement he made to stand and Hermione had to nudge both boys under the table to join in the rather lackluster applause that was scattered around the Hall. Moody's normal eye was fixed on a point just above all their heads, but the mechanical eye was still darting around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students, only occasionally stopping for a few seconds on certain students.

Moody seemed entirely indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached into his cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long swig from it.

"Second," Dumbledore continued once the applause faded into an awkward silence, "to all first year students, I must inform you that the Forbidden Forest, as its name suggests, is forbidden to all students. And now for the bad news: I am afraid it is my sad duty to inform you all that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not be taking place this year."

"What?" Harry choked out. Fred and George, appeared to be in a similar state of denial, gawping at Dumbledore, evidently too dismayed to form words.

Hermione glanced over at the Hufflepuff table and saw Cedric looking almost as distraught at the news. Oh, they'll be a misery all year now.

The sad and outraged murmurs wafting through the Hall left Dumbledore undeterred, "But alas, there is still excitement to be had. For, this year, Hogwarts will be hosting one of the Wizarding World's most storied and illustrious events. The Triwizard Tournament."

Hermione felt her stomach plummet. No, they wouldn't.

"You're joking!" said Fred Weasley loudly. My feelings exactly, Hermione mused, though I don't think we mean quite the same thing.

It was enough to break the tension that had filled the Hall since Moody's introduction, at least. Nearly everyone laughed, even a few Slytherins, chuckled appreciatively.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer —"

Professor McGonagall pointedly cleared her throat.

"Er — but perhaps this is not...no..." said Dumbledore, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament. As some of you may know, it has been well over a century since the last tournament. The reason for this, of course, was the high death toll that habitually resulted in each tournament. Since then, there have been many attempts to reinstitute the tournament, none of which has been successful.

"Now, however, our Departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have triumphed and we have worked carefully to ensure that this time, no champion will find themselves in mortal danger."

Hermione breathed a little easier, but couldn't quash the uneasiness she felt. Knowing her boys, Ron would probably jump at the chance to enter. Harry, on the other hand, she knew would likely stay away from the competition, thankfully.

"The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, two of our fellow European schools, will be arriving with their final contenders in October, and an impartial judge will select the three champions on Halloween night."

At every House table, Hermione could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors and Hermione felt a sinking sense of dread when she saw the look of determination on Cedric's face. The Hall fell into silence once more as Dumbledore spoke.

"I know many of you are eager to enter this historic tournament," he said, "however, the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have decided to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know you must all be tired after such a long train ride. Bedtime!"

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.

Hermione ignored the boys' grumblings, in no mood to argue the merits of the tournament's age restriction, and set off for the Entrance Hall, which was now thankfully free of any green goo.

"Hey, pretty exciting, isn't it?"

Hermione looked to her right and smiled nervously at Cedric.

"Very," she said. "You thinking of entering?"

"How'd you know?" He asked sheepishly.

"Call it a hunch."

"Well, the timing couldn't be better, could it? I turn seventeen the last week of September after all," said Cedric, getting excited again. "So, what do you think?"

She fought hard against the instinct to warn him off it or guilt him into not entering...it really wasn't her place, but still...

"I think the whole thing is ridiculous and dangerous, but if you decide to enter, then I'll support you in any way I can, of course," replied Hermione carefully.

"Really?" said Cedric, smiling again.

"Really," Hermione confirmed with a firm nod.

Cedric's smile widened and he swept her off her feet in a hug, pulling her close. "That means everything," he said hugging her to his side as she smiled softly.

"I'll see you tomorrow," said Hermione, when they reached the bottom of the staircase.

"'Night," Cedric replied, giving her one last hug.