20. The Tournament
Old git must be losing his touch, Callie thought as she sat in her eighth detention since the start of term. Back in the day, Snape had added a personal touch to her punishments, such as the time he'd made her cut up baby mandrakes, or when he'd set her to cleaning the bathrooms in the Slytherin dormitories. When she arrived for her first detention of fourth year, he handed her Advanced Potion-Making and told her copy it word-for-word, and that was all she'd been doing for nearly two months.
"Bloody hell, it's mind-numbing," she complained to Neville and Hermione one day in the greenhouses. "Every time, it's the same thing, six hours of non-stop writing. Think he'd let me off the hook if I let him Cruciate me once?"
"NO!" Neville yelled, and she and Hermione stared at him.
"Christ, I was only kidding," Callie said.
"It's not funny," Hermione said, shooting Neville a sympathetic sort of look that Callie didn't understand. "Besides, it's illegal."
"I said I was kidding," Callie repeated, wondering why they were so upset about it. An air of awkwardness suddenly filled the room, with everyone avoiding each other's eye. Attempting to lighten the mood, she said, "Anyway, Snape wouldn't take me up on it. Think he's more of the slow torture type."
"No Hogsmeade, detention every week," Hermione mused. "This is excessive, he's abusing his power. Maybe you ought to talk to Dumbledore about it."
"Dumbledore probably knows," Callie said. "I get the feeling he's kind of-" she shrugged "-all-seeing. Plus I don't wanna rock the boat."
"You don't?" Neville said, grinning.
Callie returned a smile. "Still got something terrible coming," she said. "Best not to piss him off more until then."
"Oh, by the way," Hermione piped up, "have either of you given any thought to joining S.P.E.W.?"
S.P.E.W. was the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, an organization Hermione had started after witnessing what she deemed as unjust treatment of house-elves, first at the Quidditch World Cup, then at Hogwarts.
"I don't know," Callie said. "What are you actually planning to do with this thing?"
"We're going to fight for house-elf rights!" she explained emphatically. "Fair wages. Any wages, for that matter. D'you know the Hogwarts house-elves don't even get paid?"
"Yes, you told me," Callie said. "But Red said they don't want to get paid. It's the honor of serving that makes them happy."
"No," Hermione argued, "they've been conditioned to think that. They don't even know what they want, because they've never been given a choice."
When neither Callie nor Neville said anything further, Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out a little blue badge with the letters S.P.E.W. engraved on it. "Two sickles," she said. "Just two sickles is all it costs to help thousands of house-elves gain the rights and privileges they deserve."
She sounded like a "save the starving children" advertisement. Callie couldn't help but smile. "Fine," she said, reaching into her pocket. "Have a galleon, that's all I've got on me."
"Thank you," Hermione said, taking the gold coin and handing the girl a badge. Callie knew that she wasn't actually going to wear it, but she kept that to herself. By the time they were done in the greenhouse, Neville caved and threw in a galleon too.
"So," Callie said when she and Hermione were alone, "are you going to tell me what's up with him?" She nodded in the direction that Neville had gone off.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.
"He looked so..." Callie began, "I don't know, odd, when I said that thing about the Cruciatus Curse."
Hermione crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. "It really got to him when Moody demonstrated it." She shrugged. "You know he's sensitive."
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At the start-of-term feast, Dumbledore had announced that Hogwarts would be hosting the Triwizard Tournament, an event in which a student from Hogwarts would compete with one from each of two other schools in various tasks. Nobody had any idea what those tasks involved, but apparently the Tournament had been banned over a hundred years ago, because it had resulted in several deaths of students.
"To hell with that," Callie said one morning at the Gryffindor table. "A thousand galleons isn't worth dying over."
"Nobody's going to die," Red argued. "Think they'd bring it back if it wasn't safe?"
"Dumbledore said there'd be plenty of safety precautions," Dean Thomas added.
"Yes," Callie agreed. "But sometimes I question the man's definition of 'safe.'"
The Tournament had been all anybody could talk about since the start of the term, and Callie was already bored with it. The good news was that there would be no Quidditch games for the whole year.
On the day before Halloween, delegates from the two other competing schools, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and the Durmstrang Institute, arrived at the castle. One of the Durmstrang students, Viktor Krum, caused quite a stir amongst Callie's classmates.
"Who's Viktor Krum?" she asked during dinner that night, keeping her voice low since the Durmstrang students had been seated at the Slytherin table.
Astoria Greengrass replied, "He's the seeker on the Bulgarian Quidditch team. He played in the World Cup."
Callie furrowed her brow. "And he's still in school?" she asked.
"He's amazing," Astoria gushed.
Callie thought back to the many discussions of the World Cup she'd had to endure since returning to school. "Didn't Ireland win the Cup, though?" she asked.
"Yeah," Astoria replied. "But it wasn't his fault. Bulgaria was already down a hundred and sixty points before he caught the snitch."
"Some team," Callie said sarcastically.
Dumbledore announced during the feast that the three champions would be chosen by what he referred to as the Goblet of Fire, literally a cup of blue flames into which students were to toss their names written on a piece of parchment. The champions would be announced the following night.
Meanwhile, someone at the Slytherin table had asked Viktor Krum for an autograph, and the next person over asked for one too, and the next, and the next, and pretty soon poor Viktor was scribbling his name on strips of parchment, and people were passing them on down the table. Astoria handed one to Callie, who pocketed it.
"You didn't even know who he was!" Astoria reminded her.
"Yeah, well-" Callie shrugged "-never met anyone famous."
"Aren't you forgetting the Boy Who Lived?" Astoria said.
Callie remembered her father telling her in first-year not to make a spectacle of the boy. Echoing the man's words, she said, "Oh, he's just ordinary, like the rest of us."
But of course, nothing about Harry Potter was ever ordinary, and that fact was proven again the next night when the champions were announced.
Viktor Krum was to represent Durmstrang, Fleur Delacour for Beauxbatons, Cedric Diggory for Hogwarts... and Harry Potter, because why the hell wouldn't he end up in a situation where he could be killed?
"I'll be God damned," Callie said after the boy's name was announced.
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She and Neville were hanging out in what they had come to refer to as "their dungeon." It was the one they always worked in when they had something to brew, but it also provided a private place they could go to when they didn't want to be around anyone else.
"Can't believe they're letting him compete," Callie said as they discussed Harry's surprise entry into the tournament. "He's only a fourth-year, it's against the rules anyway."
"What do you think they'll have to do?" Neville asked. "I mean, if people have died then it can't be anything, ya know, simple."
"I have no idea," Callie replied. "Wrestle a mountain troll, hopefully. He knows how to do that already."
"Defeat a Basilisk?" Neville suggested.
"How 'bout a Killing Curse to the forehead? Bloody hell, the boy's got more lives than a cat."
They were both quiet for a moment, before Callie said, "Hey... honestly now... think he put his name in himself?"
Neville considered the idea, then shook his head. "No. He says he didn't, and you're right, he is only a fourth-year. Fred and George couldn't trick the Cup and they're sixth-years."
He had a point. "Guess you're right," Callie said. "Apparently he's loaded. Wouldn't need the thousand galleons anyway. Or the fame, or the glory."
A comfortable silence fell between them, and Callie absentmindedly played with a locket that hung around her neck. Inside was a picture of her mum and herself from years ago; she had worn it today because it was the woman's birthday. Thinking of the photo that it held, Callie was reminded of something.
"Oh, I forgot!" she said. "I was supposed to bring a muggle picture."
Neville shrugged. "It's all right, you can bring one next term."
"No, look-" she moved towards him "-it's in here. Plus you've never met my mum. She's in it."
Kneeling before him, Callie opened up the locket - still around her neck - and held it out to show him.
"That's her?" Neville asked, surveying the photo. "You look like her."
"Yeah, everyone says I'm her twin. Got her looks, dad's personality."
He took the locket between his fingers, studying it closer. "What are you six, seven here?"
"Five," Callie corrected.
Grinning slightly, he said, "You were cute."
"But I'm not anymore?" Callie joked.
Suddenly Neville let go of the locket and blushed. "No, I just meant... that..." he stammered.
"Neville, I'm kidding with you," she said, smiling. "Don't you know by now I'm a wise-arse?"
He half-chuckled, half-sighed, still looking rather bashful.
Callie couldn't help herself; she was curious now. "Seriously though," she said, taking a pause before she asked, "You think I'm pretty?"
Just as she'd expected, his face went red. He gave off the impression of a trapped animal, and his voice was a bit shaky as he said, "It's... not really a matter of opinion."
They were sitting so close to each other, face-to-face, and it would've been the perfect opportunity to kiss him. But they'd left the door open, and Draco Malfoy called out, "Well, isn't this cozy."
She and Neville backed away from each other, rising to their feet.
"Tell me Longbottom," Malfoy said, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him, as always, "has she let you shag her yet, and how much did you have to pay?"
Before Callie could spit back a retort, Neville shouted, "God damn it, Malfoy!" taking a step toward the blond and pulling his wand from his robes.
"Neville, don't, it's not worth it!" Callie said, throwing her arm out to stop him.
Malfoy smirked. "Good idea, Warbeck, wouldn't want Longbottom to hurt himself with that thing," he said, indicating Neville's wand.
"How about you and I have a go?" Callie said. "No wands. We'll see who gets hurt."
"Ooh," Malfoy said in mock fear. "Best not to threaten me, lass. Not when Snape's already got you in the palm of his hand."
"I won't have to worry about Snape when I'm through with you," she said. "I'll be in Azkaban."
"Come at me, then," he said, waving her over.
BAM! Next thing anyone knew, Malfoy was stumbling backward, throwing his hand up to his nose. When he pulled it away it was covered in blood.
"You BITCH!" he screamed.
Shrugging, she said, "You told me to."
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Callie, Malfoy, Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle stood in Snape's office five minutes later.
"What... in the name... of all that is holy," Snape growled, staring directly at Callie. She didn't respond.
"Professor," Neville spoke up, "he said that she-"
"Quiet, boy!" Snape spat. "And get out of my office!" To Crabbe and Goyle, "You two, as well."
The three of them left - Neville reluctantly - and Snape turned to Malfoy. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"No, sir, I think it might be broken," Malfoy replied. Callie scoffed and rolled her eyes.
Snape returned his attention to her. "You're just determined to get yourself thrown out of here, aren't you?"
"No, sir, not at all," she replied calmly.
"Who in the hell do you think you are, laying a hand on a fellow student?"
Malfoy cut in, "She was just mad 'cause I walked in on her and Longbottom snogging!"
"What?!" Callie said, turning to him. "If that's what you think snogging is then you oughta have a good long talk with your father."
"What was the reason for this then?" Snape asked. "Better be a damn good one."
Callie hesitated, eyed Malfoy disdainfully, then said, matter-of-factly, "He insinuated that I was a prostitute."
Whether that was a damn good reason or not, it seemed to catch Snape off guard. After a moment he composed himself, then said to Malfoy, "You believe people would pay good money... for this?" gesturing to Callie.
It was all she could do to keep her mouth shut. As offensive as it was, the fact that he'd said it to Malfoy made it so much worse.
"Sir, I was only joking," Malfoy said.
"Oh, so was I then," Callie piped in.
"Quiet!" Snape snapped at her. Then to Malfoy, "Go get yourself fixed up in the hospital wing." He paused, and then added, to Malfoy, "Five points from Slytherin."
Malfoy was stunned, his mouth dropping open. "Why?" he asked.
"Because I said so," Snape nearly shouted. "Now go!"
Malfoy practically ran from the room. Clearly he never thought Snape would take points away from him. Callie herself was quite shocked.
Snape took a seat behind his desk, looking rather tired. After a moment he asked, "What did he say exactly?"
Saying it out loud to him was wildly embarrassing. She couldn't meet his eye. With a sigh she replied, "He asked if I let Neville shag me, and how much it cost him."
Pondering that, he replied, "That's disgusting."
She didn't know whether he meant what Malfoy had said or the idea behind it.
Throwing his hands up in defeat, he went on, "I don't know what more I can do with you, Warbeck. Throw you in the snake pit with Potter and the others during the first task?"
"Tell me it's going to be something more brutal than a snake pit," Callie joked. It wasn't meant to be sassy, and he must've figured that because he didn't rebuke her.
Rubbing his head he said, "Keep your hands off him from now on. Five points for fighting."
Callie cocked a brow in surprise. "That's it?" she asked.
"Thanks to Mr. Malfoy, I now have the image of you and Longbottom... snogging in my head. I ought to break his nose for that."
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The day of the first task came and the whole school assembled outside to watch. Callie sat amongst her Gryffindor friends, and soon they discovered what the first task would entail. Each of the champions was to go into an enclosure that held a different breed of dragon and retrieve a golden egg.
"Merlin's beard!" Callie exclaimed. "How the hell are they supposed to do this?"
"Ten galleons says Diggory bites it!" Fred Weasley said excitedly.
"Twenty says Delacour bows out," George said.
"Harry's a dead man," Callie said gloomily.
Cedric was the first to face his dragon, a Swedish Short-Snout. He transfigured a rock into a dog to confuse the dragon just long enough so he could swipe the egg. Fleur Delacour used a sleeping charm on her Welsh Green. Krum simply shot his Chinese Fireball in the eye with some spell or another, blinding it. And then it was Harry, faced with a Hungarian Horntail.
Callie should've figured he'd come out victorious. The Boy Who Refused to Die performed as well as any of the older, more educated champions - better in some cases. He'd summoned his broom and flown around the dragon, snatching the egg as though it were a snitch.
"Figures he'd turn it all into a God damn Quidditch game," Callie joked to Neville as they left the stands.
Somebody was selling moving models of the four dragons at a table set up near the arena. "Want one?" Neville asked, pulling out a bag of coins.
"Fireball," Callie said. He got a Swedish Short-Snout.
"Is it wrong that we didn't get a Horntail?" he asked. "Ya know, in honor of Harry?"
"Don't think he'll mind," Callie said. "I'm sure he's just happy to be alive. For now."