AN: Sorry for a delay in my posting and a heads-up for a future delay as well. Past week has been very busy and this week will be very busy. Real life preparations for a big event on-going.
Chapter 6 – Confrontation
"Well, it's a Sunday. What are your plans for the day?" Astoria asked, spreading butter on her toast.
"No plans, pass the salt," Anya replied, to which Astoria obliged. "I'll probably end up in the library studying."
"How about we go for a walk around the Hogwarts grounds," Astoria suggested brightly. "You never wandered out of the castle aside from Herbology, and that's just a fraction of the outdoors Hogwarts has to offer. It's quite relaxing to just take a stroll."
"I don't see why not," Anya shrugged, not denying the relaxing effects of a mindless stroll, having done the same back in the streets of Arkhangelsk.
Soon the two girls found themselves strolling near Hagrid's hut, Astoria recounting her elder sister's run-in with the infamous Blast-Ended Skrewts. The tale ended with a few minutes of tentative silence until Anya broke it.
"Alright Astoria, how about you get straight to the objective of this entire jaunt," Anya said casually. "You have a burning question that you're just dying to ask about without any outside interference."
"How?" Astoria stopped dead in her tracks, a slight crack in her upbeat facade as her eyes widened in shock at getting called out.
"The little things, there's that slight hesitation before every question you ask. As though you wanted to ask something else, but never found the opening to do so. So what did you want ask me?"
"What's the weapon you keep in your robes that you favour over your wand," Astoria asked with equal shrewdness and curiosity, grinning in expectation.
Anya was completed shocked, stumped and surprised. This was definitely not on the list of things she expected. Moody calling her out for her pistol, sure. Astoria, no way. However, all she showed the younger girl was a graceful arch of her eyebrow.
"What!? How!?" Astoria demanded, her grin completely wiped clean off her face. "You can call me out over the slightest things. But when I do so, you don't even stumble. I can't even get a good read on you, and that just doesn't happen, I can even figure out Daphne at times but you..."
"Let's just chalk it up to experience," Anya smiled gently, shifting slightly to deny the girl vision of her wand holster as her hand surreptitiously wrapped her wand. "Now how about you tell me how you figured it out?"
"It's simple really," Astoria said proudly. "The first time I saw you on the Hogwarts Express, your right hand jumped straight into your jacket when my sister barged in. At first, I – like my sister – assumed it was your wand you were reaching for, but then I realised you were left-handed based on your preference for it when taking textbooks from your trunk. Which means that what you immediately went for back then was a weapon other than your wand as you would have used your left hand had it been your wand. Judging by how instinctive your movements were, you were more comfortable with it than your wand. Since you feel more comfortable with it than your wand, I can assume you keep it with you at all times, even now."
Anya could feel her gentle smile fighting to tug itself wider. The second-year in front of her was observant, very observant, and she had the sharp wit to correctly work out what she saw. Anya could not help respecting Astoria, she picked out her concealed weapon within the first day of meeting each other, this girl was not lying when she said she was a 'true Slytherin' back at the start-of-term banquet.
"Ten points to Slytherin, Ms Greengrass," Anya jokingly said, nodding her head in confirmation and further tightening her grip on her wand.
"Well, well, what is it?" Astoria burst out, her countenance switching from shrewdness to excitement in a heartbeat, eyes lighting up in a happy twinkle. "Is it some kind of special magical focus? Something simple like a knife? Something from Russia?"
Anya stared hard at Astoria for a solid minute, regarding the girl's expression, posture and every single possible detail. The younger Slytherin's excitement had only started to fade before Anya relaxed the grip on her wand. At the least the some of the girl's childlike innocence was genuine, and Anya did not peg her as one to spill secrets.
"If I show you, not one word of it will reach anyone else's ears, understood?"
"Crystal clear."
Anya looked around her surrounding ensure there was no one else around, refraining from shutting her left eye as she did so, there was no point giving Astoria more secrets. Once she was sure of their isolation, she simply drew out her pistol from a concealed holster within her robes and showed it to Astoria.
Whatever Astoria had been expecting, this was not it.
"What is that?" Astoria inquired in wonderment.
"Pistolet Makarova," Anya answered. "It is a firearm, a common type of Muggle weapon."
"Muggle weapon?" Astoria repeated, doubt and a hint of disgust creeping in her voice. "I thought Muggles just used their fists or maybe swords and bow. What in Merlin's name is a firearm?"
"Swords and bow?" Anya laughed in disbelief. "That was centuries ago, at least say they use muskets and I can still forgive you. You ought to take Muggle Studies as an elective for next year."
Astoria pouted at that, crossing her arms in annoyance.
"A firearm, or a gun, is-"
"Oh! A gun," Astoria exclaimed in realisation. "I saw it mentioned in the Daily Prophet when Sirius Black escaped last year. The Muggles were told that he was armed with a gun, 'a metal wand Muggles use to duel'. That's what a gun is right? How do Muggles even use a wand? And metal? Aren't they less magically sensitive than wood?"
"Simple, because a gun is not a wand of any kind, it doesn't use magic."
"Then how is it dangerous if it doesn't use magic, it doesn't look dangerous at all."
"If wizards here in Britain actually knew how dangerous and widespread these are in the Muggle world, I'm pretty sure the hard-line Purebloods of the Wizengamot can rally more support for their anti-Muggle bills."
"Are they really that dangerous that you would choose a Muggle weapon over a wand," Astoria said in disbelief, sticking her nose up in the air. "I mean, sure, Zabini said some Muggle inventions are better than their wizard counterparts, but for weaponry? There's no way wizards are inferior in that department."
Anya spoke no words, she simply took action. She levelled her pistol against a nearby tree and emptied the clip in rapid succession. Aiming at the base of the branches on the tree, the bullet ripped through a branch each. The spin from the bullets violently severing the branches whole from the tree. Eight soft thumps of her pistol. Eight branches dropped on the ground, their fall almost synchronised.
Astoria simply stared in shock, her mouth silently jabbering. She had seen curses that could produce flashier results, but not at the discreetness and speed this Muggle weapon - gun - was able to create. There was only a little bit of sound, no bright jets of light, it would be hardly noticeable to any opponent. The 'spell' or whatever it was, seemed to instantly hit its target the moment the weapon came into action, there was no dodging this unlike some curses. And rate at which it delivered its effect was what shocked Astoria the most. Four seconds to sever eight branches at fifty feet, even skilled duellists struggled to cast spells accurately at that rate from such a distance.
Sure, there were curses that could do a better job, but none so subtly swift. She had to admit, Zabini had a point on Muggles and their inventions. You can look at them with disdain, that was what she was taught from cradle, but you had better respect what they can come up with. She now understood why Anya reflexively favoured this over her wand when threatened.
"Oh..." Astoria mumbled.
"Oh indeed," Anya loaded in a fresh magazine before stowing it back into her robes. Granted, her body, pistol and bullets had been magically enhanced, but it was a good way to teach Purebloods the capabilities of Muggles. "Don't underestimate the Muggles by comparing them to us wizards, it's like comparing apples and oranges."
"But these Muggle guns can't compare with high powered curses like the Blasting Curse," Astoria pressed.
"Amongst all the weapons Muggles use these days," Anya responded smoothly. "This pistol would probably be the first-year cutting curse of Muggle weaponry if we compare Muggle weaponry to curses."
"What!?" Astoria yelped. "Then what will be the Blasting Curse of Muggle weapons?"
"Very, very, very big explosion." Anya answered simply. "Would probably level the whole of Hogwarts if not for the wards."
"Muggles are that powerful?"
"But they can't mend a broken shoe without a specialist and a set of tools. Apples and oranges, Astoria."
"Uh... Anya?" Astoria said shyly.
"Yes?"
"Do you think... you can let me have a go at using the gun?"
"Another time, Astoria," Anya smiled. "Come on let's go back to the castle, lunch ought to be starting soon."
XXXXX
Harry had a plan and he felt like the time was right. The sun was shining, the birds were tweeting. Anyone would be in a good enough mood to be dragged off into a deserted corridor for a potentially awkward type of questioning. Or so he hoped.
Lunch was just over and good food probably contributed to good mood as well, Ron was a solid evidence to that statement. Harry had cleared up the rest of his homework in order to escape Hermione's enforced study regimentation and he was now starting his hunt for Anya. To his anger, he found Anya at the entrance of the Great Hall, with a wand pointed at her. Owner of said wand was Malfoy, who was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. He was examining a book in his hand.
"What rubbish is this Seryy?" mocked Malfoy. "A Tale of Two Cities by - who's this? Charles Dickens? Muggle trinkets and now Muggle literature, who taught you would sink so low."
A small crowd had started to form at this point.
"You see here Seryy," Malfoy said snidely. "It's about time you break the bad habit of associating yourself with Muggles. It's bad for a charming lady like you and it's bad for the Slytherin image."
"Lay off her Malfoy!" Harry said loudly from the sidelines, drawing his wand and pointing at Malfoy.
"What?" Malfoy spat with a sneer. "Fallen head over heels for Seryy, scarhead?"
"You want me curse you that badly Malfoy?" Harry raised his wand higher.
Anya merely stood idly, unperturbed by the ongoing confrontation.
"Why are you just standing there Seryy? Too scared?" Crabbe demanded, irked by the girl's lack of reaction.
Anya simply shrugged with a wide grin, showing that she was neither scared nor concerned with the ongoing scene. Honestly, she was just stalling for a teacher or even Filch to pass by.
Apparently, Crabbe was having none of it. Too used to having his victims cower in fear, the calm demeanour of the girl goaded him into action, he swung his meaty fist straight towards Anya.
Harry immediately shifted his aim to the bulky Slytherin, but Anya was faster. Twisting her body and placing her hands on the oncoming arm, she shifted into Crabbe's centre of gravity and leveraged on his forward momentum. With one fluid motion, she brought the walking lard over her shoulder and onto the floor.
The small crowd exploded into gasps and a few brave cheers from several young Gryffindors. Without missing a beat, she spun around and delivered a swift jab into Goyle's diaphragm, who was moving forward for a punch of his own. The hit left him crumpling onto the floor, gasping for breath.
Straightening herself up, Anya strolled over to Malfoy, ignoring the shaking wand pointed at him and extended an open arm expectantly. Malfoy complied, returning Anya her novel, she took it and left without a word.
"Hold on," Malfoy stammered. "You're not going to strike me?"
"Why would I? Despite drawing your wand, you had absolutely zero intention of harm unlike the other two. If getting attacked is what you desire, ask Potter there, I'm sure he will happily oblige."
And also because Nathaniel and Grey told me not to harm you.
Harry paused for moment before running after Anya, ignoring the dumbfounded blonde.
"Seryy, wait up," he called out, catching up to her side. It was now or never.
"Why was Malfoy picking on you?"
"Muggle novel," she flashed the book to Harry before stowing it.
"You read Dickens?" Harry asked incredulously, recalling the abridged editions from his primary school days.
Anya simply nodded, keeping the frost between the two. Harry walked along in silence before carrying out his plan, he hadn't done this since his second year in Hogwarts.
"Do you understand me?"
"Are you hissing at me?" Anya stared at the Gryffindor with great curiosity.
"You don't understand Parseltongue?"
"Parseltongue? Why would I understand that?"
"I taught you would," Harry looked away with slight embarrassment, he had been sure that speaking in Parseltongue to draw out a positive response from her would have been a sure method of confirmation. After, all the books he had spent the past week reading up on emphasised the idea of Parseltongue being hereditary. Honestly, that was all he was banking on.
"This may sound a little off," Harry continued on. "But do you mind talking about your parents? I'm a little curious about them, sending you here to Hogwarts for studies."
"I mind," came the girl's cold reply. "And let's leave it at that."
"Do you take your looks after your mother or father?"
"Seriously Potter, what are you aiming for?" Anya stopped and turned to face him. "Are you trying to imply that we're are some kind of long-lost siblings just because we look similar? Because that's pretty daft."
Harry tried to say something but the expression on his face prompted the Slytherin to press on. "No way, that's what you're actually thinking?"
"Well, I did have a sister," Harry retorted hotly, abandoning all pretense. "And she went missing a long time ago, so you know, maybe I thought..."
"Maybe you thought wrongly," Anya said smoothly. "Since when did you have a sister? If you did she's probably dead"
"What makes you think she's dead?"
"In case you have forgotten, Potter, you're famous for being the sole survivor of the Killing Curse. When Voldemort visited your parents home that night, I'm pretty sure anyone in that building would have died given his reputation. No hard feelings, but that fact alone ensures that your entire family probably passed on that night."
"That's not all, I was told Voldemort didn't use the Killing Curse on her, just a curse that cut her right eye."
"A curse from a dark wizard nonetheless," Anya stated. "And a curse that cuts, do you see any magical scars on my face?"
Harry froze. It had been one thing to heard it from Hermione, her bossy manner of speech made it easier for Harry to ignore. However, hearing it from Anya with that blunt tone hit him differently. It hit him hard. Harry started to feel the cracks in his theories as reality slowly seeped in.
"Yeah... sorry about that," Harry mumbled. "I've got to go, just remembered something important."
Harry turned to leave, as soon as he was out of sight he ran, all the way back to his common room and to his empty dorms. He felt so stupid for believing in his pipe dream, and slightly guilty for disturbing the girl. The dam of emotions cracked and he broke down into sobs, realising that his sister was truly gone.
The next few days saw a constantly depressed Harry, the elation of the arrival of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons delegates was completely lost on him, as was the climatic revelation of the Goblet of Fire.
"Harry you look like a mess," Hermione said worriedly, Harry had filled her and Ron up on his failed venture. Needless to say, she preferred a hopeful, annoying Harry to a downright depressed Harry.
"Oh, you noticed?" Harry retorted, turning back to his breakfast.
"Come on Harry," said Ron as he dug into his second helping. "Just focus on the Goblet and take a gander at the contenders."
Fred and George were on the floor, their beards the cause of laughter in the Great Hall. They had attempted to register as Champions - via names on gold-coloured parchment - rather than Junior Champions - silver parchment instead. The two climbed onto their feet and resigned to dropping in their silver parchments.
"Bugger," George grumbled as he returned to the table. "Could have sworn an Ageing Potion would do the trick."
"Fret not, brother dear - because I am," Fred said as he stroked his beard. "After all, there is the Junior Champion slot. Why didn't you enter young Harry?"
"Just want a peaceful year this time," Harry replied moodily, staring as a Beauxbaton boy placed his name in.
From the Slytherin table, Anya left the crowd of green and headed for the Goblet, dropping her silver parchment into the flames.
"Ok, let's not take said gander at the contenders," Ron said hastily, receiving a glare from Hermione.
"Ms Seryy of the Slytherin?" George observed.
"Can't have a Slytherin as a champion," Fred commented. "Junior or not."
"I dunno brother. Amongst the snakes, she is the only respectable contender."
"Only because she floored Crabbe-"
"And Goyle."
"Too true, you may have a point brother."
"I always do."
With that, the twins were ushered away by Professor McGonagall to the Hospital Wing to sort their beards out. Harry stared after them enviously, wishing he could have had the close bond they shared.
"Alright, it's safe to look again Harry," said Ron, earning a swat from Hermione.
"Harry, if it hurts that bad, you should write to Sirius," Hermione suggested.
"Hermione, just leave it. I'll deal with it sooner or later."
Soon, the day came when the Goblet of Fire would reveal the Champions. Everyone from all three schools were assembled in the Great Hall, the air was filled with an excited buzz that even had Harry on the edge of his seat.
"The Goblet of Fire will require a few more minutes before finalising its choice," Dumbledore announced, standing in front of the Goblet. "The Junior Champions will be revealed first before the Champions. Can the chosen contenders kindly head to the room behind me."
The first silver parchment sprung from the blue flames and Dumbledore caught it.
"The Junior Champion for Beauxbaton is Jean Poitiers."
An explosion of claps came from the French delegates and a merry brown-haired boy was promptly shoved forwards by his cheering friends. Dumbledore gestured the boy to a doorway behind the Great Hall and boy was soon out of sight.
"The Junior Champion for Durmstrang," said Dumbledore as he snatched another piece of silver parchment. "Is Mihail Dulovo."
Another rousing wave of applause erupted from the Great Hall and this time a stocky Bulgarian rose from his seat, disappearing behind the same doorway.
"For the last of the Junior Champions," Dumbledore said dramatically as the last silver parchment shot out. "From Hogwarts, Anya Seryy."
This time, the Slytherin table was the main contributor of the applause. There were a few jeers from the Gryffindor table, but those who had witnessed her takedown of Crabbe and Goyle - especially their victims - clapped hard for her. Anya was stood up as Zabini clapped her on the back, following the previous two into the back room.
"A Slytherin champion?" Ron exclaimed, aghast at the idea. "We can't have that."
Harry was silent, his mood dampened as he heard her name. She had become merely a wicked reminder of the sister he lost.
"Oh shut it Ron," said Hermione. "Would it kill you to show some school spirit, this isn't the Quidditch Cup."
"Besides, she fully capable of being a Triwizard champion. I share Runes class with her and she's a prodigy in Runes, she's even better than me," Hermione grudgingly admitted. "And I heard from Professor McGonagall that she is beyond our year in Transfiguration as well."
"There's someone better at studies than our Hermione?" Fred exclaimed in shock.
"What a scandal," George added.
"What a shame."
"No wonder she got to be Junior Champion," George finished with a hint of jealousy.
"Well, anyone who puts Crabbe and Goyle into a heap on the floor deserves to be a champion," Dean snickered from the side and everyone around laughed appreciatively at the memory, even Neville.
"Aw shut it mate," Seamus Finnigan jested. "You only say that because she's bloody cute and you've got the hots for her."
The laughs got even louder before the Goblet of Fire beginning sputtering blue flames once more and the first golden parchment shot out.
"Finally, the real deal," Ron yelled happily, banging the table in excitement.
"The Beauxbaton Champion is... Fleur Delacour."
The blonde girl stepped forward and left the Great Hall, much to the sad tears of some who were not chosen. Competition for the place of the actual Champion was a lot less warm.
"The Champion for Durmstrang is Viktor Krum."
He received the loudest applause by far, his surly demeanour did not change and he made his way over.
"And the Champion for Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory."
The Hufflepuff table erupted in crashing waves of applause, never had they ever been in the limelight and they were all too ready to show their house spirit.
Just as the applause died down and Dumbledore moved up to address the crowd, spark shot once again from the Goblet and another golden parchment leapt out. Dumbledore moved and caught it as it fluttered in the air, puzzling everyone around.
"Harry Potter."
The silence was ominous and the tension palpable. Harry could feel all of the whole Great Hall's eyes on him, it was as disconcerting as his second year with the Heir of Slytherin fiasco.
"Harry Potter!"
The voice had grown louder and Harry found himself being forced out of his seat, escorted by Professor McGonagall. He soon found himself in the same room as the champions, all staring at him curiously.
"What is it?" Fleur asked as she saw Harry enter. "Do they want us back in the Hall?"
There was a sound of scurrying feet as the contingent of adults entered the room, Ludo Bagman taking the lead. He grabbed Harry by the arm and ushered him towards the champions.
"Extraordinary!" he muttered, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce to you, the fourth Triwizard Champion."
The looks on the champions varied from shock to amusement, with Poitiers frowning in bewilderment. "Wait, are you saying that Hogwarts gets to have two Junior Champions?"
"No, not a Junior Champion," Bagman said, waving the golden parchment in front of the French boy. "He's a full-fledged Champion, his name came out in this golden parchment."
Harry Potter. Triwizard Champion. Hogwarts.
"You see here? If he had been chosen as a Junior Champion, it would have said 'Triwizard Junior Champion' and the parchment would have been silver."
Now it was Fleur who was frowning. "But evidently there has been a mistake, he is too young to be a Champion and compete in the same Tasks as us. He is too young."
"Madame Maxime!" Fleur whirled over to her Headmistress. "This little boy is to compete with us too? As an actual Champion and not one of the Juniors?"
The tall lady spoke up. "Well Dumbly-dorr, what is the meaning of this?"
"I'd rather like to know myself too, Dumbledore." Professor Karkaroff added. "Three Hogwarts Champions? And the underage boy there is to compete in the senior Tasks? I don't remember seeing that in the rules."
"And how is this supposed to work out?" Madame Maxime said. "The Junior Champions are supposed to help a senior counterpart for each of the Tasks, one to each. How will this play out when there are an odd number of total champions. Is one of the Champions supposed to go without help, or is one of the Junior Champions supposed to help two Champions? This is most unjust."
Professor Dumbledore was now looking down at Harry. "Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire as a senior Champion, Harry?"
"No," Harry replied, very aware of everyone watching him closely and the soft noise of disbelief from the Bulgarian Junior Champion.
"Did you ask an older student to put it for you?"
"No."
"Did you even register for the Triwizard Tournament, Junior Champion or Champion?"
"No."
"Ah, but of course he is lying," cried Madame Maxime.
"Mr Crouch… Mr Bagman," said Karkaroff. "You are our – er – most objective judges here. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular."
All eyes flicker to the two Ministry representatives, Mr Bagman looked uneasily at his counterpart, who took the lead, speaking in a curt voice. "We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the Tournament."
"Well, Barty knows the rulebook from back to front," said a beaming Bagman, as though the matter was finally closed.
Karkaroff was not amused and tried to press for a resubmission of names lest he withdrew Durmstrang from the Tournament. That was when Moody stepped in, binding magical contract and a suspected foul play on Harry's life placed a halt on the argument and Bagman leapt at the opportunity to steer the conversation back to calmer waters.
"Well, shall we crack on, then?" he said, rubbing his hands together in excitement and smiling at everyone in the room. "Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honours?"
"Yes," Mr Crouch said, seeming to come out if a deep reverie. "Instructions, the First Task. The First Task is to test the Champions your daring, so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard… very important. The Champions are not permitted to ask for help or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the Tournament. The Champions will face the First Task armed with only their wands. They will receive information about the Second Task when the first is over."
"For the Junior Champions," Mr Crouch turned to the younger students, barring Harry. "This task is to test your innovation and creativity. Although I mentioned that your senior counterparts can only enter the First Task armed with a wand, there is an exception. Junior Champions will be tasked with creating something for their assigned Champions in order to help them out with the First Task. The item you have made will be the only other item the Champions can bring along with their wand for the First Task. What you create will have to be proposed to your assigned teachers who will oversee you in your process of creation. Points will be assigned based on your creations, you may – as Junior Champions – ask your assigned teachers for help, but points may be deducted based on the level of help requested. Furthermore, as part of fostering international cooperation, Junior Champions will rotate themselves in helping each Champion from the three schools for each task. As a result of the recent hiccup, both Hogwarts Champions will be lumped as one. Thus Junior Champions who will be assigned to assist Hogwarts will have to help both Mr Diggory and Mr Potter. Since Junior Champions will end up helping every school, this handicapped is hopefully distributed among everyone for sake of fairness."
"The First Task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. Junior Champions, for this First Task, you will each help Champions from your own schools." Mr Crouch finished crisply before turning to Dumbledore. "I think that will be all Dumbledore."
"Indeed Barty, are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight?"
"No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry. It is a very busy, very difficult time the moment… I've left young Weatherby in charge… very enthusiastic… a little over-enthusiastic if truth be told."
"You'll come have a drink before you go, at least?"
"Come on Barty, I'm staying," Bagman added brightly. "Things are much more interesting here in Hogwarts than t the Ministry."
"I think not Ludo," said Crouch, with a touch of his old impatience.
"Professor Karkaroff – Madame Maxime – a nightcap?"
But the other Headmaster and Headmistress had already left, bringing along their Champions along with them.
"Harry, Cedric, Anya, I suggest all three of you go up to bed," said Dumbledore, smiling gently at the three. "I'm sure Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Slytherin will have much to celebrate over."
With that, the three were dismissed from the room, walking down back to the Great Hall together, which was now empty.
"So," said Cedric with a slight smile. "We're playing against each other again!"
"I suppose," said Harry, his head in complete disarray over the events of the past thirty minutes.
"So… tell me… how did you get your name in as a senior Champion?"
"I didn't, I didn't put it in. I was telling the truth."
"Ah… ok" said Cedric, though there was doubt behind that voice. "So, Seryy, it will be a pleasure working with you for the First Task."
"Same here," said the girl.
"You believe me don't you, Seryy?" asked Harry, eyeing at the girl. That this rate, anyone believing in him was a plus.
"Yes," the girl nodded. "I believe you, I also believe that you should be saying something along the lines of what Cedric just said. But nonetheless, I hope it will be a pleasure to work with you."
"You believe me?" Harry croaked in disbelief as the three reached the Entrance Hall.
"You're an open book, Potter," said Anya. "And I believe in what I see, namely the expression on your face."
"Well, see you both then," Cedric bade the two fourth-years goodnight as left for the Hufflepuff common rooms. Anya followed suit, leaving Harry behind to figure out the mess he had been dragged into.