Wolf was standing on the steps leading up to the castle, facing away from it. He could feel the looks of the other students on his back; undoubtedly, he looked weird. Over the last two months, he had (apart from the whole Ginny-incident) fit in almost perfectly as a student at Hogwarts. Now, he was wearing an outfit that contrasted heavily with the Hogwarts school uniform, and he wasn't standing along with the other students that were waiting for the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to arrive. No, he stood with the teachers.
He was standing there, eyes closed, with his arms behind his back and inside his cloak, when he heard Dumbledore announcing that the delegation from Beauxbatons would be arriving. Opening his eyes, he scanned the skies; he couldn't see anything in the near-twilight, but he felt a scent on the wind... polished wood, sweat, and... malt whisky? Wolf raised an eyebrow at this, and then saw something by the horizon. Smirking at a first-year girls suggestion that it was a dragon, he raised his right hand and covered his eyes. His fingers tingled for a while, before he removed his hand, looking out at it, this time, his eyes zoomed in on it. It was a large carriage, drawn across the sky by a dozen large, winged horses. After a second, Wolf smiled. Abraxan horses... so that's why I smelled Malt Whiskey...
"My dear Dumbly-dorr", the gigantic woman said, stretching her hand out towards Dumbledore. "I 'ope you are well?"
"My dear Madame Maxime", Dumbledore said, taking her hand. Even though Dumbledore was quite tall, he barely had to bend to kiss the womans hand. "Everything is fine. I hope the trip was enjoyable?"
"Oh, it was perfect", she said. Waving her hand towards the carriage, she said "My students". At these words, everyone looked at the carriage. A number of students, boys and girls clad in light blue robes, had exited the carriage, and was currently standing in two rows in front of it. Wolfs attention was immediately drawn towards one of them; a tall, very beautiful girl with long, flowing, silver hair. But his attention wasn't drawn to her because of her looks; no, there was something wrong with her scent. She was sending out some sort of pheromones; she was not entirely human. Wolf smiled. This just got a whole lot more interesting.
"Dumbledore! How are you, dear old friend, how are you?" the tall, lanky man, wearing heavy fur robes and a fur hat, his face framed by a perfectly neat pointed beard.
"I am perfectly well, Professor Karkaroff", Dumbledore said, stretching out a hand towards the other man, who grasped it with both of his and shook it. Looking up at the castle, he smiled.
"Dear old Hogwarts... it's so nice to be here, it is... Viktor, let's get into the warmth now... You don't mind, do you, Dumbledore? Viktor has a bit of a cold..."
A bit of a murmur went through the crowd as Karkaroff waved one of his students fore wards; a lanky boy in his late teens, with large, bushy eyebrows, and a long, crooked nose. Wolf deducted from the whispers of the other students that, apparently, he was some sort of celebrity.
"So you're honestly telling me you've never heard of Viktor Krum?" Ron said, looking almost insulted.
"As I have already told you, I have not", Wolf said.
"He's one of the best Quidditch players in the world! Probably the best seeker in the world! And he's so young!", Ron continued, a look of hero-worship in his eyes.
Wolf nodded at this. He had read about Quidditch; one of the largest sports in the wizarding world. But it wasn't played where he was from; brooms froze all to quickly for you to be able to play such games.
The evening feast was almost over; the main courses had already been finished, and everyone was almost done with dessert as well. Wolf certainly looked out of place here; the largest number of students were wearing the traditional black Hogwarts robes; then came the bright blue robes of Beauxbatons, currently sitting at the Ravenclaw table; followed closely by the blood red robes of Durmstrang, who were sitting at the Slytherin table; then there was him; sitting at the Gryffindor table.
His mind snapped back to reality as the dessert vanished, and Dumbledore stood up to adress the students.
"The moment has come." Dumbledore smiled towards the sea of upturned faces. "Le Tournoi de Quatre Magicien" - Dumbledore said this in perfect French - "is about to begin. However, I would like to say a few explaining words before we carry in the chest, just to clarify the procedure we will be following this year. But first allow me to introduce a few people to those of you who do not already know them. Mr. Bartemius Crouch, head of the Department of Magical Co-operation" - he pointed towards a man with a serious face, a toothbrush mustache, his hair parted down the middle, who was met with polite applause - "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports." This time he pointed towards a man with a childish face, a flat nose, and a rather large gut, who was met with much louder applause than his colleague had received.
"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have during the last months worked day and night to organize le Tournoi de Quatre Magicien", Dumbledore continued, "and they will, along with me, Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff be part of the jury who will judge the competitors actions."
Wolf noticed how everyone stiffened at the word "competitors". Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed it himself, because he smiled as he said:
"The chest, Mr. Filch, if you would be so kind."
Filch, who had until then stood unnoticed in a corner, now walked up to Dumbledore, carrying an old wooden chest, ornately carved and set with gems. It looked ancient.
Wolf caught a scent from it, and stiffened. Whatever was in that chest, was undoubtedly ancient – after all, his grandfather had said that the last Alda-tree had been cut down over seven hundred years ago, and he would know that, considering that he owned a sword sheath carved from it. There was also something else... his first thought was that it smelled of magic, but how, he asked himself, did magic smell?
"As you all know, four people will be competing against each other in the tournament", Dumbledore said calmly, "one from each school." - there was a bit of a murmur at this, as it seemed that not everyone had worked out that Wolf would be representing his school - "They will be awarded points after how well they conduct themselves in the four tasks of the tournament. Whoever gets the highest amount of points will win the tournament, and the cup. The participants will chosen by an impartial judge... The Goblet of Fire".
Dumbledore took out his wand, and tapped the chest softly three times. The chest opened slowly. Dumbledore put his hand into it, and took out a large, crudely carved wooden goblet. It would have been just any other goblet if it hadn't been for one thing; it was filled to the brim by large, blue-white sparks. Dumbledore closed the chest, and softly put the goblet on top of it.
"Anyone who feels like entering should put their name and school clearly on a piece of parchment and put it in the goblet", Dumbledore said. "Aspirants for the tournament will have twenty four hours to put their names in. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the name of those chosen to participate, the four students most suitable to fight for the honor of their schools. The goblet will be put in the entry hall tonight, where it will be available to anyone who wishes to put their name in. And to avoid unnecessary temptation, I will be drawing an age line around the Goblet of Fire when it is in place. No one that hasn't come of age will be able to cross that line.
"Lastly I would like to tell each and every one who considers entering that this tournament is to be taken highly seriously. By putting your name in the goblet, you are signing a magical contract. You will be forced to finish the tournament. There will be no turning back. Therefore I must ask everyone to ponder this seriously. Before you put your name in, you must be prepared to give it your best shot. But now, I think, it's time for bed. Goodnight, everybody."
The entrance hall was empty. This fitted Wolf well. Dumbledores message had been met with great uproar. The common room had been aflame with talk about who should be the Hogwarts champion, and the Weasley twins plans to trick the age line so they could enter.
Wolf looked at the goblet. He understood them. After all, who wouldn't want eternal glory for themselves and their school? Stepping forewards, he put his name into the goblet.
"'Ere now! What do you think you're doing?", a voice called behind him. Spinning around, his body instinctively going into the stance of the Netherworld, he saw the scarred face of his Defense against the Dark Arts Professor, Alastor Moody. Relaxing his body but not his mind, he answered him.
"I put my name into the goblet, Professor. That is why I am here, is it not?" The professor grunted at this.
"Still can't believe it... you're so young... now, don't go standing around here; it's almost curfew, get to your bed", the professor said. Nodding towards him, Wolf exited the room. However, he had a feeling that Moody was watching him with his magical eye all the way back to the common room.
Wolf sighed. I wonder who the participants from the other schools will be, he thought to himself. I wonder what the tasks will be – he halted himself as he could hear the voice of his grandfather in his mind: "What will happen, will happen. It will do you no good to dwell over it. Instead, prepare for it. Finding wisdom in the words, Wolf slid into the Illusion of Elsewhere, and was relaxed.
"The participant from Durmstrang", Dumbledore said with a loud, carrying voice, "Will be Mr. Viktor Krum". Before Dumbledores voice had even faded, the hall broke out in furious applause; Wolf applauded politely himself. However, he didn't take his eyes of the lanky man, taking in every detail, from the way he walked, to where his eyes looked. Know your enemy.
The applause and cheer died down when the flames in the goblet turned red once again. A few seconds later, another piece of scorched parchment flew out, Dumbledore reaching out and catching it as if acting on instinct.
"The participant from Beuxbatons, will be Ms. Fleur Delacour". The room echoed with the smattering of applause as the silver-haired girl Wolf had noticed on the steps got up from her position at the Ravenclaw table, and heading out the door which Krum had passed through half a minute ago. Wolf noticed that, unlike the Durmstrang students, the Beuxbatons student very much minded not being chosen; two girls were even crying. Wolf raised an eyebrow at this. Do they really want to enter this that bad?
Once again, the goblet burned red; staying that way for a few seconds, before shooting out a piece of burnt paper. Dumbledore seemed surprised by the fact that it was paper, but he didn't seem to care as he rolled it out and read it out.
"The participant from the village of Yána, will be Mr. Wolf".
A great murmur rose through the hall as Wolf stood up from the table, barely noticing the surprised looks on the faces of his friends.
Wolf sighed. He didn't like shouting, and tonight there had been quite a bit of it.
Obviously the boy hadn't put his name in the goblet. Wolf knew how to spot a liar; the boy had been honestly surprised when he had entered the room. How come no one believed him? And besides, he had not been able to put his name in; he had been asleep when Wolf had entered their dormitory, and he hadn't snuck out during the night; Wolf was a light sleeper.
No, someone else had put his name in. The question was who.
Clearing the question from his mind, Wolf slid into the Illusion of Elsewhere, and was relaxed.