By the time Beth made it down to breakfast the next day, the Durmstrang lot were already there. They had all gotten up early to put in their names; now that the deed was done, they had the day to themselves while Karkaroff was off reacquainting himself with the faculty. Richard abandoned the prefects' table for once and came to eat with them.
"Professor Karkaroff says it's all right if we keep sitting at your table!" Gypsy said cheerfully, almost as soon as he had sat down. "He knows Snape from somewhere, and when I reminded him that we had the purest blood in the school, that was all it took! He won't let us sit anywhere else now!"
Richard laughed. "Splendid," he said. "In an ends-justify-the-means sort of way." He was in quite a good mood at having gotten past the Age Line.
"So what do they do at Durmstrang?" Melissa asked, digging into her omelet. "Make the Mu-- er, Muggle-born sit on the opposite side of the dining hall?"
"But there aren't any Mudbloods at Durmstrang."
Beth stopped eating. "There aren't any?"
"No." Gypsy shook her head. "Headmaster Karkaroff won't admit them."
"Where do all the Muggle-born go to school then?"
"Oh --" Gypsy waved her hand. "There are lots of little schools. Near my house it's St. Nikita's. But they're all so tiny that their programs aren't nearly as good, and since all the purebloods get accepted at Durmstrang, it's only the Mudbloods who go there anyway."
Beth thought about asking her not to use the term Mudblood, but didn't, still being uncertain of where having a Squib parent put you on the spectrum.
"Sort of a shame, that," said Richard offhandedly. He cast a glance at Beth. "You never know what he could be missing."
Beth turned a brilliant red.
Gypsy favored Beth with only the most disinterested of glances before going on enthusiastically. "Oh Richard, did I tell you? We'll all be staying here all year, even though only one of us will actually compete. Isn't it the most wonderful thing? I can't imagine anything better than spending my last year of school back at Hogwarts with all of you!"
She laid a slender hand on Richard's arm.
"Wonderful," Richard agreed.
"Oy, Beth! Guess what I heard!"
Aaron Pucey leaned over Beth's shoulder, plate in hand, and started loading it with waffles. Irritated, Beth tore her eyes from the sight of Gypsy's hand on Richard's arm. "What?"
"Warrington's done it! He got up really early this morning and put his name in the goblet." Aaron paused to pile on some pancakes as well. "Isn't that tremendous?" He grabbed the maple syrup and flooded his plate.
"Tremendous," said Beth absently. Her gaze slid back towards Gypsy; she stopped herself and looked down at her plate.
"What do you know," said Melissa. "I didn't really think he'd go through with it."
"He did," Aaron beamed. "If you ask me, he's got the best chance of being chosen, too. Better him than Pretty-Boy Diggory." He vanished down the table to sit with Warrington and some of the other Quid-heads.
The two girls exchanged slightly worried glances. "I think he does have a chance," said Beth, looking down the table at Warrington. "That's what scares me."
Melissa smiled. "You have to give him credit for ambition."
"I just hope he doesn't make it," said Beth fervently. "I mean, it'd be great to have a Slytherin champion and all, but he's just not ... smart enough."
"But I bet he could beat up all the other champions," said Melissa brightly.
"There is that," Beth agreed.
There was a burst of laughter from the Entrance Hall. Nearly everyone turned to see what had happened. Along with several other students, Mervin Fletcher, practically crying with laughter, staggered to the table and immediately collapsed into hysterics. Through the howls he managed to gasp out:
"Weasleys -- Age Line -- big white beards!"
And it was about fifteen minutes before they could get him to make any sense.
Apart from lunch, nobody saw the Durmstrang students all day. Bruce and some of the guys went flying; they came back with red cheeks, chapped lips, and wet hair from the light drizzle that had begun to fall in midafternoon. Oren Bergeron tried to teach some yo-yo tricks to some of the firsties, but was forced to quit when they wouldn't stop making fun of him for knowing such a "Muggle" game. Evan trounced Mervin at chess five times in a row. Mervin gave up and turned over his pieces to Audra, who had been watching quietly, and who defeated Evan so quickly that he didn't notice until her softly spoken "Checkmate."
Beth spent the day by the fire, getting to know her new Alchemy III textbook. (Snakes, Snails, and Puppy-Dog Tails: Really Really Advanced Alchemy by Nicholas Flamel.) She had been thinking about the final project for the past several weeks, conceiving and discarding ideas, and all she knew for certain was that she wanted to work on it by herself. She wanted to come up with something useful, something new and creative. Maybe, she thought, scratching at her left arm, she could invent a better remedy for poison ivy.
Warrington spent the day in the common room as well, surrounded by admirers and well-wishers. Even his success on the Quidditch team had never earned him this kind of fame or respect. He was thoroughly enjoying all the attention, as the most popular Slytherin candidate, and if he got sick of hearing "I wish I was old enough to enter," he never showed it. Beth did notice that he would occasionally cast a hopeful glance at the sofa where Antigone lounged, doing her nails, but the girl did not return his gaze a single time.
Draco hung around in one corner, sulking about the age limit with his two buddies. Pansy stayed at his side to comfort him. Blaise got absolutely sick of hearing his voice and went back to her dormitory to study, after coming over to Beth and having a nice long rant over it.
By dinnertime, however, the lazy afternoon atmosphere grew charged. The ones who had put their names in the Goblet could be seen sneaking out of the common room to fix their hair or freshen up their robes. (Bruce and Aaron, who had gotten rowdy on their broomsticks and both ended up in the mud by the side of the lake, had plenty more to freshen up than that.) Slytherins were expert at covering their emotions, but the thrill of competition was obvious nonetheless. Only three people showed no excitement at all: Evan Wilkes, Audra Verona, and Antigone von Dervish.
"Honestly," said Antigone lazily, as they made their way to the Great Hall, "I certainly don't care who the Hogwarts champion is. What difference does it make to me?"
"You want him to be handsome, don't you?" said Beth, tongue firmly in cheek.
"Well of course," said Antigone. "But even a silly wooden goblet wouldn't choose an ugly champion."
Warrington, walking just a few paces away, blushed red from his toes to the roots of his hair.
Dinner was excellent. Conversation went on at a steady pace, but tonight the Durmstrang and Slytherin students mostly spoke among their own classmates. The atmosphere was heavier, with a subtle sense of rush, an underlying anxiety that Beth felt twisting her own gut when she thought about the choosing to be done later that night. She could tell that no one was really paying attention to what they ate; their eyes kept flicking to the burning goblet at the front of the room.
The desserts came and went without fanfare.
The moments ticked past.
Finally, Dumbledore rose to his feet. Instantly, a hush fell on the Great Hall; every eye was trained on the old man at the front of the hall.
"Well," said Dumbledore, "the goblet is almost ready to make its decision." He was as calm as ever. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber where they will be receiving their first instructions."
Beth hazarded a glance at Richard; he was craning his neck in the direction that Dumbledore was pointing, and looked as though he'd give his left leg to be invited into that chamber.
Dumbledore swept his wand into the air and half of the candles in the hall immediately snuffed out. The remaining candlelight flickered on the faces of the students; looking down the table, it was almost frightening to see Slytherin and Durmstrang mingled, their expressions hungry, the greed in their eyes exaggerated in the half-dark. It made even the most mild-mannered among them look desperate. For a moment Beth could understand what made them the most feared students in the school; but then she cast her eyes around the Great Hall, and saw that many of the others looked the same way.
Whoosh! In an instant, the blue-white flames in the Goblet of Fire turned brilliant red and began crackling like a sparkler. A long flame erupted skyward, shooting a small piece of paper into the air, and the fire immediately turned blue again. Dumbledore caught the parchment in midair.
"The champion for Durmstrang will be Viktor Krum."
Viktor swore under his breath. That was the last thing Beth heard before the Great Hall became a roar of applause, no doubt fueled by Viktor's vast fame. (Beth noticed that the Quidditch players at all four houses were cheering extra hard.)
"Bravo, Viktor!" came Karkaroff's booming voice. "Knew you had it in you!"
Viktor shot him a covert glare. The other Durmstrang students whooped and cheered, flocking around to pat him on the back, and reluctantly he rose from his seat and slunk to the front of the room, where he disappeared into the next chamber as quickly as possible.
When he was out of sight the Durmstrang students resumed their original spots. "At least he'll have somet'ing to do vhile missing nine months of practice vith the Vultures," Josef said cheerfully, settling in beside Bruce.
Gypsy looked at the door to the side chamber and sighed a little. "Poor Viktor. This was the last thing he wanted."
Before anyone could ask what she meant, the goblet flamed red in the semi-darkness and shot out a second parchment. Dumbledore snatched it up on the way back down, and once more the Great Hall collectively held its breath.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"
Everyone cheered and craned their necks to see which of the Beauxbatons students went by Fleur Delacour. A tall girl with long, silver hair stood and strode to the front of the room, smiling with both grace and pride. She was staggeringly beautiful. Not a boy in the Great Hall took their eyes from her until the door to the side chamber had closed her from view.
"Flower of the heart," said Bruce softly. Melissa shot him a glance and he turned pink. "That's -- the translation," he said awkwardly. "Her name. In French."
"I know what it means," said Melissa coldly, but before anything could escalate, the hall fell silent for the third time. Anticipation lay as thick as morning mist. Bruce's eyes were fixed on the gleaming blue of the goblet's flame. Warrington appeared to be panting slightly. Richard had his fists clenched on the tabletop, and -- it could have been a trick of the light -- but it seemed that small beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. Suddenly it seemed unbearably stuffy in the spacious hall ... surely they could choke on the anticipation that had built up ... Richard was muttering something inaudible ...
The goblet flamed red and Beth almost jumped out of her seat. Dumbledore reached out and grabbed the paper, and in a clear voice announced:
"The Hogwarts champion ... is Cedric Diggory!"
It was as if a tidal wave had broken over the Great Hall. A roar of ecstatic screams and cheers erupted from the Hufflepuff table, drowning out everything else in the room. Gradually the rest of Hogwarts joined in as Cedric Diggory, beaming, extracted himself from his wildly celebrating classmates and made his way to the room past the staff table.
Beth mustered a few halfhearted claps just to show that she was a good sport; looking down the table she saw that she wasn't the only disappointed one. Richard swallowed hard and applauded in a polite, if stiff, manner. Warrington refused to cheer at all, and sat looking sullenly at his placemat while Antigone, down the table, turned up her nose at him. The Durmstrangers, in fact, were cheering for Diggory more enthusiastically than any of the Slytherins, and looked a little puzzled that he wasn't being strongly supported by his schoolmates. Among them, only Gypsy wasn't showing any surprise.
Dumbledore was on his feet again, spreading his arms effusively at the front of the room. "Excellent!" he cried, over the fading exultation. "Well, now we have our three champions."
Beth met Richard's gaze. He grinned a bit feebly and said, "At least it wasn't Potter." Beth grinned back.
"I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster," Dumbledore went on, beaming at all of the assembled students. "By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real ..."
Dumbledore broke off abruptly. The fire in the goblet had turned red once more, and was spitting sparks just as it had done three times before. A long sliver of flame shot into the sky and another piece of parchment fluttered out of the goblet ...
Dead silence fell on the Great Hall. Very slowly, the headmaster caught the parchment and held it in the light of the goblet, which went blue and suddenly went out. In the darkness, Dumbledore cleared his throat and said ...
"Harry Potter."
The jaws of a hundred Slytherins clattered to the floor. There was only a very short moment where everyone in the Great Hall sat stunned by the news; then Warrington stood up in the direction of the Gryffindor table and roared, "What?"
The silence was shattered. Whispers and hisses rose on all sides, escalating into angry or bewildered babble. The tall blonde Maria-Regina stood up alongside Warrington, very red in the face. "Vhat?" she demanded, looking very much like the Slytherin beside her. "Who said you could haff two?"
Now more students, from all four houses and all three schools, were standing up to get a look at Potter, who sat frozen in his seat.
"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore repeated, and his voice was calm but emotionless. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"
"He's going to lose a hundred house points for this," said Mervin fervently, as if saying so would make it true. "He's going to get in so much trouble ... expelled, probably ..."
"Don't get my hopes up," groaned Bruce.
Very slowly, Potter approached the staff table at the front of the room. He didn't look proud that he had gotten away with something so huge, or even embarrassed -- if anything, he seemed as bewildered as anyone. He paused in front of Dumbledore, who said, "Well ... through the door, Harry," and Potter turned and walked into the side chamber. The door shut loudly.
Beth and Melissa looked at each other, mouths agape. Before either of them could fully articulate their shock that somehow, Potter had bested them again -- and by October, no less -- Dumbledore rose from where he had been bent in swift discussion with the other adults at the staff table and got to his feet.
"Your attention please," he said clearly, and somehow the hall fell silent. Ludo Bagman got up from his seat and scurried into the anteroom. "I would appreciate everyone's cooperation as this unexpected event is handled as swiftly and as fairly as possible. Delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, it is the wish of your headmasters that you return to your respective quarters, where you will be joined by your professors and champions later tonight. Hogwarts students, your prefects will escort you to your dormitories. Your heads of house will be along soon. Thank you in advance for your understanding, and I wish all of you a very happy Halloween."
He clapped once, and the lights sprang back on. Once again, excited babble rose among the students as Dumbledore and a number of professors vanished into the side chamber where the champions presumably waited.
Richard leapt into action. "Slytherin, down to the dormitories," he called, over the tumult. "You can talk about it when we get there ... the best thing we can do now is keep out of the way ..." The Slytherin students slowly began to stream past into the Entrance Hall. Draco Malfoy shoved his way through the crowd, positively livid, and stopped in front of Richard, glaring imperiously although he was easily a foot shorter than his prefect.
"Are they really going to let that half-blood, Muggle-loving orphan compete in the Tournament?" he demanded.
"I don't know," said Richard shortly. "Go down and start a petition against it."
Draco turned red in the face and swept away, muttering venom beneath his breath.
Richard turned to Gypsy and the Durmstrang students, who stood in a huddle at the end of the table. "Do you ... want an escort to the ship?" he offered awkwardly.
"Vhe'll be fine," Maria-Regina said hotly, and stormed off. One by one, the Durmstrang students followed her out of the castle. Richard bent and whispered something in Gypsy's ear as she went by; she nodded and moved on without looking up at him.
Beth and Melissa made their way to him, elbowing through the crowd. "What --" Melissa began, but Richard leaned toward them and muttered:
"Vase Room at midnight. This is worth talking about."
Quickly, they nodded and moved past.
"Why is it always Potter?" said Bruce, frustrated, as they reached the common room. "Two hundred students in the school, and it's always Potter."
"Dumbledore favors him," Aaron said knowingly.
And everyone assembled knew that it was true.
They met at midnight. It was difficult to get out of the common room; students were still awake and sputtering about the Goblet's decision to have two Hogwarts champions -- neither, it was agreed, ambitious or cunning enough to have a real chance at winning -- and eventually Richard had to exercise his power as prefect and send everyone to bed, just to clear the way.
In the Great Hall they had been stunned. Now, in the Vase Room, the Slytherins were furious.
"He is absolutely not going to get away with this," vowed Blaise, and Morag nodded in vehement agreement. "He's going to suffer."
"A foul an' laithful trick," swore Morag, with high Scottish spirit.
On the low divan, Herne was deep in thought. "Potter might be in danger," he said uncertainly.
"That's not what worries me," said Richard suddenly.
The babble quieted as each member turned to look at him. He was somber and troubled at the front of the room, far unlike his usual effusive manner.
"The Triwizard Tournament means two things to the Champions," he said. "A chance for glory -- and a brush with death."
There was an unsettling silence.
"It's supposed to be a lot safer this year," Bruce said, with almost a hint of disappointment.
"It might be," said Richard grimly, "if Diggory hadn't added his own little element into the mix."
There was a moments' pause as they grappled with his words. Suddenly it all became clear to Beth -- she looked up from the Ledger in cold horror, meeting Richard's gaze wide-eyed.
"The Transcongus Brew," she said breathlessly. "Oh no --"
"The what?" said Oren Bergeron eagerly.
Melissa turned toward him. "Two years ago we caught Diggory mixing a potion out of one of the restricted books. It said it would give him great glory, talent, intelligence, power, everything in exchange for a short life. And he's just been getting more popular ever since --" She cast a helpless look at Richard. "But it couldn't have meant his life would be that short. Would it?"
"It would." Richard drew a deep breath and the light of ambition rose in his eyes. "But there's something that the potion didn't count on, and that's the Society." He gripped the sides of the podium fiercely. "We know about what he's done. We can do something about it. Chaps, we've got our quest for the year -- the Society has to do everything, everything in its power to keep Diggory alive."
There was a hush. Then Evan Wilkes, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, drawled, "Why would we want to do that?"
"Grow a heart," said Melissa in disgust, but Evan stood up and took a few strides toward the group.
"He's brought this on himself. We'd be risking our reputations, our secrecy, and maybe even our own lives to save him from something we might not even be able to change. I want to know why."
Everyone turned to look at Richard expectantly. For long moments he and Evan locked gazes, the Vase Room dead with silence. Finally, to everyone's surprise, Richard ducked his head and blushed slightly. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I just get the feeling that we're in the wrong somehow if we stand back and don't interfere. As if we have to be part of the solution, or we're part of the problem. And if Dumbledore finds out that we knew all along, and did nothing ..."
Aha, Beth thought. Dumbledore's high opinion of the Society was Richard's strongest motivator.
"I didn't think the Society was founded for the greater good," Evan sneered.
"No, it's for improving Slytherin's reputation," Melissa broke in suddenly. "It'll look good on us if we help someone else. And Dumbledore told us to offer our champions every ounce of support we could muster. Remember? Saving his life probably counts. Right, Rich?"
"Of course," said Richard gratefully. "If Diggory's going to be famous, it'll be better if he thinks well of us."
A self-serving explanation must have been what Evan was looking for, because he leaned against a nearby vase, satisfied -- at least, as satisfied as he ever looked.
Herne raised his hand. "You know how last year Dumbledore told us to try and protect Potter --?" he said, but Richard interrupted.
"I'm not worried about Potter," he said shortly. "Everyone's going to be looking out for Potter because he's obviously in danger -- too young to compete, and all. But Diggory ... I don't think anyone knows the danger he's in ... least of all Diggory himself."
The door to the Vase Room creaked open and everyone turned to look. Gypsy Arendt slipped inside, a dark cloak wrapped tight around her blood-red robes.
"I see Mrs. Norris is still alive," she said, a note of bitterness in her soft voice. "I don't blame you for starting without me. She had me holed up in a classroom for fifteen minutes." She strode to the front of the room and took a seat on the low divan. "What have I missed?"
Richard looked uncomfortable. Then he said, "Gypsy ... how much do you want Viktor to win the Tournament?"
Gypsy looked at him from slightly narrowed eyes. "What kind of a question is that?" she asked, sweet voice laced with razors.
"We, er ..." Richard shifted slightly. "We're planning to give a little help to one of the Hogwarts champions. Not enough to help him win, just to ... er ... see him through to the end ..." Quickly he described the situation.
Gypsy pursed her lips. "Help Diggory if you must," she said, "but I won't betray Viktor. He needs all the support he can get."
Bruce snorted. "He just caught the Snitch at the Quidditch World Cup -- how much support does he need?"
Gypsy turned on him. "That's just it," she said seriously. "He's so afraid of what people will say if he loses ... or if he wins ... he was seriously considering not putting his name into the Goblet at all, but Karkaroff watched us too close for that." She sighed softly. "If I do any cheating, it'll be for Viktor. But I won't stop you from helping Diggory if that's what you think needs to be done." She met Richard's eyes, and he flushed and cleared his throat loudly.
"All right then," he said, "Project Diggory begins immediately."
There was a pause. Then Bruce said, in a voice both resigned and resolute, "What do you want us to do?"
Richard thought for a moment. "We'll help him with his tasks. If he knows what they are ahead of time, we can prepare him so that he doesn't die of shock, or meet something unexpected. There'll be three of them, so we'll have to be in tip-top shape all year."
"Come on, Rich," Melissa teased, "we're always in tip-top shape. Gloria serpens, after all."
"Gloria serpens," said Richard fervently, "and good luck to Cedric Diggory."
~~~~~~~~
Bruce actually misheard Fleur's name. "Delacouer" would be "of the heart"; "Delacour" is actually "of the court" or "of the courtyard". I don't think that's quite as appropriate as the other spelling.
