Oct. 31st, 1994
Today is Saturday, and there was not much of a point in getting up early, especially as Maxime has announced that she will lead us into the castle some time in the morning, to enter our names in the goblet.
The announcement caused some unrest, and it's right, I don't see what the point is. I mean, why can't everybody just walk up there on their own?
The house elves prepared breakfast for us in the salle commune; I believe they are Beauxbatons elves; the croissants and the cafe were definitely not English. Iphigenie told us she had been afraid of having to eat English breakfasts for all the eight months, and I really sympathised with her. Bacon and eggs, day in, day out, for more than two hundred days, to say nothing of baked beans and sausages, horrible!
After breakfast, Maxime told us the rules we are to follow during our stay at Hogwarts.
We'll have breakfast and lunch in our carriage, and go over to the castle for dinner in the evening. On weekdays, we're going to have our regular lessons, connected to the classroom in Beauxbatons through the fireplace. ("And don't forget, all of you except for the champion, will have to do their tests at the end of the year.") Until further notice, we are not supposed to leave the carriage on our own, another stupid idea, - how about the stuff of "international relations"? However, she generously promised that this would probably be changed soon.
Must stop here, she is just signalling to us to go over to the castle.
Xxx
The air is clear and fresh outside this morning, and, although it's a lot colder than back home at this time of the year, it's nothing like yesterday evening; probably also because we all put on cloaks before leaving the carriage.
The Goblet of Fire was sitting in the huge Entrance Hall on a three-legged stool; several Hogwarts students were milling around it, but apparently all those who wished to enter their names had already done so. Among them, I noticed the red-haired boy again, whose eyes started to get bigger the moment he saw me. I noticed that his friend pointed me out to him with a smirk, and I do believe I blushed in spite of myself. Telling myself off silently, I got in line with the others, following Maxime's instructions. I really don't see why she insists on all these mindless law and order ideas. Who does she want to impress? I believe the Hogwarts students must regard us as immature helpless babies, unable to take a step on their own, always needing supervision and guidance... I'm not really sure why, but the thought annoys me a good deal.
In due course, we put the parchments with our names into the goblet, which turned red and emitted some sparks each time. This done, we filed out of the hall and returned.
No we are having some time off, which seems stupid as we are not even supposed to leave the carriage, and in the evening we'll have dinner in the castle again, where the selection of champions will be announced. The tension among us is increasing again, and it's funny: In the beginning, I entered into all this just because I knew my mother expected me to, but now I start to hope that I will be chosen for champion. Of course I'm aware that it's highly unlikely, what with everyone being a year advanced in their magical education, and all, but it would be really great ... Well, I'll know in a couple of hours.
Xxx
Writing these entries late at night seems to become a habit with me, really, and it's going to be another lengthy one, too! I'm quite confused, and I'm not even quite sure of all the reasons, I think. Suppose I start at the beginning.
When we left our carriage around half past five, Maxime was joined by the enormous teacher I had seen at the staff table yesterday evening. He was not one centimetre smaller than her. Talking animatedly, the two of them seemed to forget about us and proceeded towards the castle with such great strides that we had to fall into a kind of swift trot to keep up with them. Somewhat out of breath, we finally reached the Great Hall and took our seats.
The Hall was filled with the excited buzzing of several hundred students speculating about the goblet's choice. The murmur reached a climax, though, when a group of people in blood red robes entered, obviously the Durmstrang delegation. Leading them was a tall and thin man with a rather absurdly curled goatee (I mean, for Merlin's sake, Richelieu lived centuries ago!), who was obviously their headmaster, immediately followed by sullen-looking youngster who must be a student, although he looks several years older. I do not like him at all, although I know, of course, that it's unfair to judge a person from their looks; but his surly expression under those thick black eyebrows made me shiver involuntarily.
However, his appearance caused quite a commotion among the students, many of him seemed to know him well.
"What about him?" I asked my neighbour, a pretty Asian girl with long dark hair, who was goggling at the youth excitedly.
"What?" She snapped out of her reverie.
"That slouching guy over there," I told her, "what's so special about him?"
She gaped at me incredulously.
"You mean, - you – you don't know him?"
"No, indeed, I don't. Is this a crime here?"
"He's Krum, Viktor Krum!" And when I stared at her blankly, she continued, "the seeker of the Bulgarian national Quidditch team!"
"I see," I muttered, trying to sound impressed. I love flying a lot, but I've never seen the fascination of Quidditch. I mean, what's so great about throwing a stupid ball all over the place while trying to avoid being smashed by some other nasty balls? Honestly, all competitive sports are a nuisance. They bring out the worst sides in players and audience alike, and really are 'a war minus the shooting', as some famous Muggle writer has said. (He was British, if I remember correctly.)
However, I was not going to tell her all this, as she was so obviously besotted with the idea to be in the same room with a guy who spent his spare time dodging bludgers (and, probably, getting hit in the head by them more often than not).
After the teachers had entered, the feast began, and it was just as good as yesterday, but it seemed as if nobody was really too interested in their food. Everyone seemed to be just waiting for the Hogwarts Headmaster to finish his dinner.
Eventually, all the plates and dishes disappeared, and the Headmaster rose from his seat. A dead silence fell immediately.
After a few words that I failed to grasp. He waved his wand and almost all the candles went out, so the hall was plunged into a kind of dusky twilight, with the Goblet as the brightest object in the entire hall.
Suddenly, the white flames in the Goblet turned red, sparks were flying, and a piece of parchment flew into the air.
"The champion for Durmstrang," the Headmaster called out, "will be Viktor Krum."
Everyone broke into applause and cheering; apparently most people in the hall were familiar with his fame.
Viktor Krum did not seem to be too excited at being champion; from the way he was slouching up to the staff table and then disappeared through a door in the background, one would have imagined that he was going to do some deadly boring household chores, not compete for fame and riches in an exciting and dangerous tournament.
While I was still wondering about this strange attitude (why had he entered his name in the first place?), the next piece of parchment had shot out of the Goblet.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," the words rang out, "is Fleur Delacour!"
I was stunned, and if Margaux had not nudged me, I'd have remained sitting there. Shaking my head in disbelief, I finally got up and followed Viktor Krum into the room behind the staff table.
The room was rather small but looked quite comfortable, lined with portraits, and with a nice fire in the grate. Viktor Krum was leaning against the mantelpiece, scowling at the carpet at his feet. He glanced up shortly when I entered, but otherwise ignored me completely. Embarrassed, I walked over to the other side of the fireplace, and started looking at the portraits.
After a short time, the door opened, and a handsome boy entered, who, I supposed, was the Hogwarts champion. He smiled at me, which eased my tension a bit, and then went to stand next to me, staring into the fire.
"All right," I said to myself, "now the jury will come in and give us our instructions presently."
However, the next person who entered was the green-eyed boy I had seen twice before. His expression was quite bewildered as he looked around the room.
To ease his apparent unease, and as nobody else seemed to be going to say anything, I enquired what the matter was. I thought, of course, that he had been sent with some message from the staff or jury.
The boy did not answer, and I thought his confusion was increasing.
Suddenly, the door opened again, and the chubby middle-aged man in colourful robes, who had been at the staff table, and who, I had gathered, was called Bagman and was a member of the jury, burst into the room.
For the first time, I got the idea that there was something wrong. And indeed, Bagman's next words confirmed my suspicions.
Taking the boy's arm and leading him up to the fireplace, he addressed us:
"May I introduce – incredible as it may seem – the FOURTH Triwizard champion?"
Of course, none of us could believe this, and I thought this was some kind of stupid joke and expressed this idea. But Bagman insisted that this was definitely no joke, and even when I pointed out there must have been some mistake, - which he did not deny, - he confirmed that the boy, whose name appeared to be Harry, would HAVE TO do his best, as he put it. Evidently, he did not expect anyone so much younger to stand any real chance in the Tournament.
Soon, Headmaster Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, the Durmstrang Headmaster, and three other people, obviously some Hogwarts professors, entered.
I went over to Maxime immediately, telling her that "this little boy" was going to compete also. Perhaps I shouldn't have stressed the "little" so much, as I distinctly saw a look of annoyance in his eyes, and it really was somewhat tactless. But he WAS a lot smaller than the other champions, and three to four years younger, at that.
She put her large hand on my shoulder in what she probably meant as a reassuring gesture, but all I could do was remain standing upright with this additional weight. "Hogwarts cannot have TWO champions," she said in a very angry voice. "It's most unjust."
One of the Hogwarts professors, whom Dumbledore called Severus, and whose expression was just as surly as Krum's, if not more so, and whose hair could have used a good wash, accused the boy called Harry of having put his name into the Goblet breaking the rules, and it was obviously he detested him. In this conversation I learned that the boy's full name was Harry Potter. I knew I had heard the name before, but could not place it at the time.
Harry Potter fervently denied the accusation, and Dumbledore seemed to believe him. The professors and other jury members began a heated discussion that was interrupted when once more somebody entered.
I had never seen a person as weird, or, yes, even creepy, like this. An elderly man of average height, with long untidy grey hair, somewhat stooped, and with a wooden leg that caused a dull thud on the floor at every step. His face looked as if it had been battered with every single intrument imaginable, it was a mess of scars and burns, and some parts, especially of his nose seemed to be missing altogether. But the really frightening thing about him were his eyes: While one was normal enough, dark and perhaps rather small for the rough hewn face; the other, however, was almost twice its size, and of a bright blue. But not enough, this eye could move completely independently from the other, and sometimes it seemed to disappear altogether, as if looking INSIDE the head. It really made my flesh creep.
This spectre of a man who the others addressed as Moody, seemed to be absolutely convinced the boy Harry had not used any trick, but that someone else had put his name into the Goblet. And he added, that if anyone had got a reason to complain, it was the boy himself.
At this moment, I lost my patience. I really didn't understand what there was to complain about, if one got a chance of a lifetime like this.
"This is a chance many would die for!" I almost shouted.
Moody's answer came as a perfect surprise:
"Maybe someone's hoping Potter is going to die for it," he said, and his voice reminded me of the growl of some wild creature.
And now, at last, something clicked. Of course, Potter! THE Harry Potter! The Boy Who Lived! And suddenly, Moody's idea did not seem so absurd any more. What if there had really been some secret follower of the Dark Lord who wanted to use a chance to get at his master's deadly enemy? It would really be a most excellent opportunity. I looked at the boy again, with a new respect.
They kept on arguing some more, although it seemed clear enough already that the fact that Harry's name had come out of the goblet had formed a binding magical contract that could not be broken, anyway. After what seemed hours, and it did not help that I could only understand part of what they were saying, the Ministry of Magic official gave us the information we had all been waiting for.
The first task is going to take place on November twenty-fourth, and it will test our "daring". Consequently we were not told anything about what it will be. Obviously some dangerous thing, with an additional surprise factor. He also stressed that we were not allowed to accept any help from the teachers. I'm pretty sure, though, that Maxime will do anything to ensure that Beauxbatons wins this Tournament, and will not let herself be stopped by such rules.
Still obviously angry, Maxime put her heavy arm around my shoulder again, and steered me out of the room, through the now deserted hall, and to the carriage.
I've had quite a job calming Margaux, who feels she has received a personal injury not being selected for champion, but she's finally stopped and even offered to help me with my tasks. The was intrigued by the mysterious appearance of Harry Potter as the fourth champion, and entered into all sorts of speculations, most of them involving sinister dark wizards and Death Eaters.
I wonder how he feels. If there is anything in Moody's theory, and it seems a lot more likely indeed than that a student his age, - he cannot be higher than fifth year, but I guess he's only fourth, anyway, - should have been able to sidetrack a powerful magical object like the Goblet, let alone our time's most powerful wizard, Dumbledore. Will he feel scared? He did look confused, and certainly not happy in any way. It must quite frighten him, all things considered. Poor boy, he hasn't even got parents to talk to about this strange thing. He must feel lonely…
But then is there so much of a difference between having parents like mine, and none at all? It's a mean thing to say, of course, but this mother of mine …
It's been another exciting and tiring day, I should really get some sleep now.
A/N: Alright, what say you? It is really not so easy to fill in the blanks in a story that already exists without running into contradictions. I hope I have done reasonably well.
Yes, and a question again, there seem to be people out there who like such things.
Which famous Muggle writer had this idea that sports was "war minus the shooting"? I'll give you a hint: His most famous novel was made into a film with Richard Burton, whose name in the film is Winston. Anyone know this?