Happy New Year, friends.


Nine

On the Manner of Receiving Brethren

Daisy avoided contact with Cedric Diggory so fervently over the next weeks that Harry was certain she was trying to prevent the formation of new memories he might find while they were practicing Occlumency. It went so far that the girl would throw herself into a crouch and rapidly untie and redo her shoelaces if they so much as spotted the Hufflepuff boy down a corridor. But Harry couldn't deny the effectiveness of her method. Despite both of them making headway in the process of mental organization, his sister could still rip through his mind like it was made of tissue, and she was coming very close to keeping him from rooting around inside her head as well.

Legilimency may have been the only magical thing—aside from Quidditch, of course—that Daisy had taken to like a duckling took to water. She almost didn't have to speak the incantation when she met his eyes during their lessons. And Mad-Eye Moody preened her for it nearly as much as Professor McGonagall preened Hermione for her good transfiguration skills. "That's the ticket," the Auror would rumble as they sat drenched in cold sweat on their rickety chairs inside his office, "The girl's a natural, isn't she? They won't be able to hide from her will they?"

Harry couldn't deny that their lessons were helping Daisy in other ways, either.

As the term progressed, each of their professors had piled work on top of study on top of work. Cheery Professor Flitwick had tasked them with several long essays on the theory of Charms; Professor Sprout had them dashing from one greenhouse to the next, gathering cuttings and fertilizers and then sending them off with diaries to record plant growth. Even the ghost of Professor Binns had finally realized that O.W.L.s were approaching and mounted tome after soporific tome onto their reading lists for History class. And Daisy was keeping up with all of it, remarkably, while their yearmates were met with a tremendous shock. Only Hermione showed any glee at the increased workload. Harry was thankful for her distraction with her new committee, The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare—S.P.E.W.—otherwise, she might have questioned how Daisy, who had been prone to procrastination for years, was keeping well ahead of her assignments.

The one thing the brunette had noticed, though, was the apparent ease with which both Harry and Daisy could throw off Professor Moody's Imperius Curse.

"I don't understand why I can't get it!" said Hermione, sat in one of Hagrid's overlarge dining chairs. "The two of them can cast it off so well. They don't even tap dance anymore." She had her tin of S.P.E.W. badges next to her mug and was sorting through them in frustration. "What if the professor's not mad, and the proctor has us try to beat one during the examination? We've only got twenty months to practice, and Professor Moody will be going away at the end of the year!"

Hagrid watched her, bemused. "I don't think that's how it goes, Hermione. I never passed any owls myself, but I reckon I would have done alright fer Defense."

Harry felt a twang of pity for the man. Hagrid had been expelled in his Third Year, convicted of a crime he did not commit. He hadn't been able to learn complex magic or take part in O.W.L exams or N.E.W.T.s, and his wand had been snapped, and now had to be hidden inside the handle of his frilly pink umbrella.

"Don't bother, Hagrid," said Ron, idly rolling a rock cake around on his saucer. "It's no use once she's convinced herself that something will be on a test. She'll be visiting Azkaban on holiday asking felons to cast that curse on her, next."

"Would not," said Hermione tartly. "And even you can fight it off after a time."

Ron made a face. "Only when he tries to make me do something really embarrassing."

"I don't know what it is, Hermione," said Daisy. She was sprawled on the rug in front of Hagrid's fireplace and had Fang stretched out and asleep across her stomach. "But when he tries to make me do something I hear a little voice in my head that says I shouldn't do it. That it isn't me trying to tap dance or sing Christmas carols. Or honk like a goose." Daisy directed this last example at Hermione and giggled when her cheeks went pink. Fang made a snuffling sort of snort and kicked one sleepy leg.

"It was supposed to be a sea lion," Hermione whispered, mortified. "Not a goose."

"That's what you're worried about?" said Ron. "Incredible." He nibbled at his cake. "Say, Hagrid, do you think we could take a break from the Skrewts, next class?" He glanced up at the giant man innocently. "Hermione may have a point. We'll need to have a look at more creatures before our owls. Maybe we could study a nice Horklump or a garden gnome."

"No, wouldn' wan' that," said Hagrid, stroking his tangle of curly whiskers. "Harmless, o'course, but they get into everything, do Horklumps. Don't you worry, yeh'll learn a lot abou' other creatures by end o' Fifth Year."

Ron's face fell. "Er, all right then."

Harry snorted. The Skrewts weren't so bad. He didn't understand why everyone was so disturbed by them. He knew they weren't much for looks, but they weren't nearly as dangerous as Buckbeak had been, or Eloise was, or Aragog, or even baby Norbert...

"Hagrid?" said Harry, a notion coming together as he remembered Charlie Weasley's wink and grin at their Platform Nine and Three-Quarters sendoff. "Do you imagine they'll have dragons in for the Triwizard Tournament? Charlie said he might be seeing us this year, but he's always away in Romania. I don't think he'd come to visit just to watch." At least Harry wouldn't have come if he'd had a job as fantastic as being a dragon keeper on a magical nature preserve.

Hagrid again tugged at his beard. "We're not supposed ter say... very important ter keep it all hush until it begins, you know." Then he winked at Harry. "But I reckon we would be able ter get a first-hand look if Charlie were to appear."

Harry didn't fight his grin. "Wicked."

He didn't know how the dragons would be involved in the tournament, or what they might have to do with them to pass the three Tasks, but being able to get up close to a full-grown dragon was almost a prize in itself. If Malfoy hadn't spotted little Norbert so long ago, Hagrid and Harry would have had a dragon of their own hidden away in the Forbidden Forest.

"You lot better be off," said Hagrid. He nodded at one of the too-small windows set into the cabin wall. Outside, the stars had begun to show themselves, glimmering silver as the cloud cover disappeared for the night. "Wouldn' want ter be tardy fer class tomorrow."

"Are you certain you won't join S.P.E.W. then Hagrid?" asked Hermione, rattling her tin. "I'm sure that if a professor joined up it would lend us some further credibility. It's only two sickles to join, but if you'd like I can reduce the fee to one."

Daisy snorted from her place by the fire at the mention of 'further' credibility and a reduction in fees. She wiggled out from under Fang and patted the big dog on his stomach as he whined.

"I told yeh no already, Hermione," said Hagrid gently. "'snot right ter go against the nature o' magical creatures."

"But," started Hermione, staring at her mostly full container of membership badges.

"No," said Hagrid, firmly this time. He stood, gathering up the empty mugs and plates, and took them over to his washbasin. "Now off with yeh."

Daisy took Hermione by the arm and hauled her bodily from the hut before she could upset Hagrid any further. Harry and Ron helped Hagrid gather the rest of the dishes and untouched rock cakes, then followed after the girls.

"Did you already try McGonagall, then?" said Ron as they picked their way up the darkened lawn. "Asked her to join spew?"

"It's not spew!" said Hermione. Her arm was still trapped against Daisy's side. "And I have tried her. But she said as our Head of House it would be inappropriate and she wouldn't want to be accused of partiality."

Harry thought it was nice of Professor McGonagall (who was normally very plain) to spare the girls feelings like that. He straightened the S.P.E.W. badge pinned to the breast of his robes and gave the girl a wry smile. "Why don't you try Professor Snape? He loves to be partial."

"Very funny, Harry." Hermione's face glowed like a lantern in the night.

When they had passed through the courtyard and the great double doors into the orangey light of the entrance hall, they were met with the sight of Mr. Filch arranging a sign at the foot of the marble staircase. He was supervised by Mrs. Norris, who was mainly grooming herself and flicking her tail across the flags as her master tried to set the board into place without magic.

Upon spotting Harry, the cat came over to rub herself against his legs and then sat waiting to be attended to. "Yes, hello there, girl," said Harry crouching to pet her. Daisy glared down at him.

"Don't encourage her," she hissed. "Or she'll never stop following you."

"Don't be cruel," said Harry. "She's not so bad."

"Children!" cried Mr. Filch, suddenly noticing that his companion had left her post. "Away from her!"

"She came over on her own!" said Ron.

"Rubbish," snarled Mr. Filch. "You must have enticed her with treats again, Potter." Finished with applying his sign to the banister, he stomped over to them and snatched Mrs. Norris up. "She's got a strict diet. I can't have her accepting strange food from little sneaks like the lot of you." He stroked the cat and crooned something softly into her fur.

"We haven't done anything yet," said Daisy, squinting at the caretaker. "Maybe we've been reformed."

"Plenty of parchment on the calendar for that," said Mr. Filch nastily. "Now away with you, it's nearly past curfew." Mrs. Norris blinked her great yellow eyes at them as her master clutched her to his chest and slunk away for the dungeons. "Come darling, I've saved a plump little mouse if you're feeling peckish."

Daisy stuck her tongue out and made a face at his back.

"Hey! What's he put up there?" said Ron.

They approached the sign.

The Triwizard Tournament

The Delegations from the Beauxbatons Academy and the Durmstrang Institute for Magic will be arriving at 6 o'clock on Friday, the 30th of October. Lessons will conclude early for all students to return to their common areas and prepare themselves to greet our guests before the Tournament's Welcoming Feast.

Students are to leave their belongings in their dormitories and assemble, in full uniform, by year and house in the Entrance Hall.

"That's only a week away," said Daisy excitedly. "I wonder if they're going to post the tournament schedule, too?" She turned to face Harry. "What do you think the Durmstrang fellows look like? Malfoy was saying how it's in the north somewhere like Russia or Finland. And they practice dark magic. The professors teach it to them. I bet they're all big and surly—even the girls."

"Since when do you believe what she says?" said Hermione, her eyes flashing. "And why do you sound so excited at the prospect of seeing dark magic, Daisy!"

"I'm not excited," said Daisy. "It's just something different, isn't it? And Malfoy said her mum was going to send her there before she got her Hogwarts letter. She can be loathsome and right, you know. You're allowed to be two things, Hermione."

"Hmmpf," said Hermione.

"Not this again," moaned Ron. "Let's get to bed. Come on, I'm knackered."


Professor Snape looked down his nose at the contents of Harry's cauldron, which was the exact shade and consistency as described in Magical Drafts and Potions, and said, "Lamentable. Two points from Gryffindor."

"But you haven't even tried it," said Harry through clenched teeth. "That's exactly what it's supposed to look like, professor."

"You are correct," said Professor Snape in a voice like spider silk. "But for the fumes."

The bloody fumes, now.

Harry bit his tongue to keep from replying. The potions classroom was rank with the smell of burning mandrake root and wintergreen. Every work table was coated in the hazy vapor that rolled off half-formed Pepperup Potion, so thick in places that the students who were brewing them couldn't be distinguished, and Snape was docking points because Harry's fumes weren't right.

Beside him, Ron's cauldron was bubbling and spitting steam in great swirling columns, the liquid inside was deep crimson—not warm red—and the professor hadn't so much as glanced at it.

Harry thought of what it was like to sit quietly and chew his food. Stay calm. Be organized. Sip your water. Chew your bread. He flipped the page of his textbook and inspected the notation on fumes. He squinted at his potion. And of course, the greasy man was right. His fumes were off. They weren't the right sort of steam; they were slightly too vaporous for that. But it wasn't so big a distinction that Harry would have noticed without a man like Snape pointing it out. And he wouldn't have lost points if a man like Snape hadn't been teaching this class.

"You're right, Professor," said Harry. "The fumes aren't perfect. I expect it's passable, though."

"Well," said Professor Snape softly, "You are an expert on your work not being perfect, but passable, by now. Bottle it... then get out of my sight."

Harry waited for Ron, Hermione, and Daisy in the corridor, doing his best not to storm off to Gryffindor Tower on his own.

It seemed that ever since he'd been able to shove his open resentment and rebellion from the fore of his mind by using his meager Occlumency skills, Snape had become doubly as vindictive as he had been before. Every class Harry found himself losing more and more House Points because his potions were not perfect replicas of what Snape himself might be able to brew.

"Only three years left, though," he mumbled to himself. Maybe by the end of his Seventh Year, he would become so good at Occlumency that he wouldn't even feel it when Snape docked points for imperfect potions. Maybe he would be able to make perfect potions by then. Or maybe Snape would be dead. Struck down by a bolt of lightning.

"Harry, come on be quick!" said Daisy as the rest of the class filed out of the Potions classroom. "We've got to get a good spot in the hall for when they arrive." She latched herself to his arm and sped off for the Tower.

Harry put his school bag on his bed and textbooks away in his trunk and fetched his pointed black hat. Ron's hat was a tad frayed; it had been handed down to him by Bill, he said, and Bill had graduated Hogwarts when Professor McGonagall's hair was still black.

"She says Fred and George made her lose her last one, you know," grumbled Ron, "but that Bill gave her the first gray one." He looked at himself in the dormitory mirror. "It'll do, I suppose. Let's hurry before they come up looking for us."

They met the girls in the common room and raced down to the entrance hall to line up.

A group of first years had already beat them to it, though, and Professor McGonagall was peering at each of them closely, arranging their robes and straightening their hats.

"Very good, Miss McDonald," she said. "Mr. Creevey, stand up straight!"

Harry grinned at Ron. He remembered when they had been new to Hogwarts and the professor had nipped at them about their posture and reminded them how to behave during feasts.

"Mr. Peakes," called Professor McGonagall, "Fix your collar. I assumed your mother would have taught you better... Not like that! Come here." Small, wide-faced Jimmy Peakes had turned red at the mention of his mother and hurried forward so that the woman could arrange his shirt.

"Ah, fourth years this way," said Professor McGonagall, having finally been satisfied with the state of her first years. She motioned them forward, then held up a hand. "There." They were stopped nearly five yards from the doors.

"But there's a big space between us," said Daisy. "Can't we get closer?"

"The second years and third years have to squeeze between you," said Professor McGonagall seriously. "You've read that sign a dozen times, Miss Potter. It clearly states that we are to be arranged by house and year."

Daisy scowled, but kept silent.

When the rest of the Gryffindors had finally arrived and been sorted out, Professor McGonagall nodded and motioned for them to follow her.

Daisy took this opportunity to slip forward into the group of second years.

"Miss Potter," called Professor McGonagall without turning around, "to the back."

"But I won't be able to see!" said Daisy. "Colin's hat is in the way."

"I will not tolerate any lip," said Professor McGonagall, halting their procession. "We are to be arranged by year. If Mr. Creevey's hat is too tall, then I suggest you stand on your toes."

"It's ok," whispered Colin, thrilled to be so close to his hero, "I'll crouch down when they come, if you can't see, Daisy."

"Oh stuff it, Colin," muttered Daisy. "I'll manage."

And with that, the professor led them from the entrance hall and down to the front of the castle where they stood near the Slytherin assembly. Professor Snape gave Professor McGonagall a cool look and said, "Managed to clean them up in time? Impressive, as always."

"Yours look a touch cold, Severus," said Professor McGonagall primly. "I'll send Mr. Filch to check on the heating in the dungeons if you'd like."

Harry held tight to the feeling of pride at her words, and the sour look that captured Snape's face when she smiled at him.

The sky had darkened by this point, and the sun had vanished behind the castle, already trading places with the shining autumn moon. There were no clouds, and the slow evening breeze had started to gather itself at the forest. Harry could hear it over the gentle murmur of the student assembly—a swish, swish, swish in the trees.

Daisy poked him with an elbow and said, out of the corner of her mouth, "Check the time, will you?"

Harry raised his arm and shook his sleeve back, exposing the face of his wristwatch. "Six."

"They're late?" mumbled Ron, shifting from foot to foot. "Can't be. Maybe they're using, er, what's it called, Hermione... conterminal time?" The redhead looked to Hermione for assistance.

"Continental, Ron," said Hermione. "But I don't think wizards use that."

Harry snorted. And then he heard it. The swishes coming from the forest had turned to fwap, fwap, fwap! Something vast and dark was tearing through the sky above the treetops, its trajectory set for the castle lawns.

"That will be the delegation from Beauxbatons," called Professor Dumbledore, striding to the head of the Hogwarts assembly. "Look there, what a treat!" Dressed in robes of shimmering blue, red, green, and gold—all four colors of his school—the Headmaster cut a striking, if slightly garish, figure. He raised one long-fingered hand and pointed to the black thing in the sky.

"A house!" cried Colin, jumping up and down in front of Daisy.

"It's not a house, Colin," said Daisy. "Settle down!"

And it wasn't. Harry watched as the black shape blasted through a patch of fresh moonlight revealing an enormous horse-drawn carriage, powder blue, with great golden wheels. The reddish light blooming from the castle windows stuck the carriage as it came over the forest, and Harry saw that the thing was being dragged through the sky by a team of titanic winged horses.

They dove.

The carriage came following after like a pale cannonball, and when it struck the lawn, Harry watched as the wheels bent and rebounded as though they were made of rubber, absorbing the impact entirely. Not one blade of grass came loose from the ground. The great horses tossed their manes, letting out a thunderous neigh, pranced in place for a moment, then went still.

And the lake exploded.

Harry thought it might have been an actual cannon being fired this time, but as the student body whirled to face the water, he saw that it had been a spout, like that of a whale; one towering gout of water had blasted from the center of the Black Lake causing a small rainstorm on the banks. Then where the spout had started, came the black mast of a sailing ship. There was a tremendous sucking sound, like the rest of the boat was trying to tear free from the bottom of the lake (or perhaps from the suckers of the giant squid), and a caravel broke through the surface and landed, leaking lakewater in torrents.

"Durmstrang!" cried Professor Dumbledore. "Marvelous!" He started to clap, glancing over his shoulder at the assembled Heads of House, who quickly followed his lead. The students followed soon after, watching as the black caravel floated closer, then turning to see a set of golden steps unfurl from the blue Beauxbatons carriage at the same time as a wooden plank struck the shore at the near end of the lake.

"Mercy me," Harry heard Professor McGonagall mutter.

Professor Dumbledore broke away from the gathered students and strode forth to the Beauxbatons carriage just as a woman emerged into the moonlight.

She was the tallest woman that Harry had ever seen, and he was immediately reminded of Hagrid. Her head brushed the roof of the carriage just standing, and if he was gauging correctly, she probably could have swung a leg up and over the back of the enormous horses without a lick of effort. Though, dressed as she was, Harry doubted she would try.

The woman was wrapped in a black satin gown that seemed to have been melted onto her form. Jewels glittered at her throat, her waist, her wrists. As Professor Dumbledore reached her and bent to kiss her hand, Harry noticed that she was rather handsome, as well. Not nearly as rough-looking or wide of feature as Hagrid was. Her face was long, and slim, and her eyes were rather large and sparkled blue-black in the night. She smiled at the Headmaster with square white teeth.

"'Eadmaster Dumblydorr." Her voice was a rolling French custard. "Good evening."

"My dear Madame Maxime," said Professor Dumbledore. "Welcome, at last, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"I see zat Karkaroff 'as arrived." Madame Maxime sniffed, looking back and forth between the Hogwarts crowd and the black ship moored at the lake's edge. "At ze same time as we, 'ow... wonderful."

Behind her, at the carriage, students were slowly climbing down the golden steps and coming to stand at her elbow, though some of them weren't quite tall enough to actually reach it. They were dressed in blue silk robes, and many were bundled up with scarves and shawls, trembling in the highland chill.

"How impractical," whispered Hermione. "Didn't they know that they were coming to Scotland in autumn?"

"A uniform's a uniform, Hermione," Ron whispered back. He was staring at the Beauxbatons girls in their thin robes. "Blimey."

Daisy chuckled. "Look there, that lot had it right."

Harry peered over her. A line of students had walked the ship's plank and was slowly stumping up the lawn. They were led by a thin white-haired man in silver and black furs. The students wore furs as well, but theirs were far bulkier than his. Bear perhaps? Or mammoth.

"Hang on..." said Ron. He grasped Harry's shoulder and started to hop up and down, just like little Colin had been doing when he'd seen the carriage come over the forest. "Harry," he said. "Harry look! Harry, there he is! From the World Cup—Krum! It's Viktor Krum!"

"Headmaster!" called the thin man as he reached Professor Dumbledore and the tremendous Madame Maxime. "It is magnificent to see you, again, as always. How are you! How are you?"

"Professor Karkaroff," said Professor Dumbledor, a touch less graciously than he'd greeted Madame Maxime. "A pleasure as always. I am well."

Despite the cheeriness of the greeting, Harry was reminded strongly of both Professor Snape and Peter Pettigrew. Karkaroff's voice was oozing and greasy in the same instant. When he smiled at Professor Dumbledore, the moonlight caught his teeth flatly, and Harry saw they were yellow and stained, just as Sirius's had been after a decade in Azkaban.

"Madame," continued Professor Karkaroff, leaning back to peer at Madam Maxime. "Bonsoir."

"Bonsoir," rumbled Madame Maxime. "Quite ze entrance you made. 'Ow are you?" She did not offer the Durmstrang headmaster her hand, as she had offered Dumbledore.

"Good, good, very well," said Karkaroff, still smiling. "A little brisk, though isn't it? I'm sure you would like to get warmed up. May we, Headmaster?"

"But of course!" said Professor Dumbledore brightly. "Right this way. Madame?" The Headmaster offered Madame Maxime his arm, which she accepted, and then they were approaching the Hogwarts assembly.

"Krum," Ron was still whispering. "Harry, Krum! He's coming! How do I look?"

"Are you a woman, Ron?" hissed Daisy. "He just plays Quidditch." She paused, a thoughtful look wrinkling her brow. "Though, I didn't think he'd still be at school." She scuffed her foot against the grass. "He must have been really good."

Harry touched her shoulder. "Daisy," he said. "You're the youngest Seeker in a century. I think you've got him beat."

"You have to say that," she muttered. "You're my brother. He actually played in the World Cup."

"Come along," said Hermione. "Look, they've left us!"

And they had. The Headmaster had paused for a moment to introduce the student body, and the Heads of House, and then had parted the crowd of Hogwarts students and led the visitors up through the courtyard and into the entrance hall.

Ron gathered himself. "Hurry up, we've got to get in there before he's gone."

"Where would he go!" said Hermione.

When they joined the rest of the throng milling about outside the entrance to the Great Hall, Harry saw that Hermione was right. The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang parties were waiting patiently as their heads spoke to Professor Dumbledore.

Harry heard the Beauxbatons students whispering to themselves in a nasal language that he assumed was French. He caught shreds of English as they passed into the hall, but they were not very nice things. 'Drab,' he heard one boy whisper, and 'Not one piece of polished wood,' said a girl.

"Do you think they'll sit here?" said Ron, claiming a spot on the bench facing the entrance. "I hope he'll sit here. Hermione, budge up, make space."

"I will not," said Hermione, planting herself firmly next to Harry.

"You want him?" said Daisy all of a sudden. She stood and turned to face the foreign students who had just started to trickle into the Great Hall. Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff were being led to the staff table by Professor Dumbledore, who was pausing every few feet to make an introduction or show off one of the House banners.

"Of course!" hissed Ron. "But we've got to make it look natural. Just leave a space—"

But Daisy had gone, striding off for the Durmstrang party clustered near the Slytherin table. Evidently, Malfoy and her lot had mirrored Ron's idea and the empty space they'd left at their benches had attracted the foreign students, but quicker, as their table was closer to the entrance.

"Harry!" cried Ron, going pale. "Go after her!"

Sighing, Harry stood and followed after his sister. "Daisy."

"No," said Daisy. "I'm going to get him to teach me how to get on a team."

"Daisy."

"Krum!" called Daisy, bursting through the group of Durmstrang students. "You're Viktor Krum, the Quidditch player. Come with me. You'll sit with us. I'm a seeker, too. The youngest in a century."

Viktor Krum, the Quidditch player, might have been tall for his age but didn't stand very straight, and so his face was level with Harry's. He had black hair and black eyebrows like two furry worms, and his nose was curved, like an eagle's beak. At Daisy's demand, his eyes went wide.

"Very good," said Krum.

He hadn't sat down at the Slytherin table yet. Harry saw Malfoy's mouth drop open, comically, at Daisy's boldness. Across from her, Crabbe had turned puce. Goyle was spluttering. He had squashed himself in next to his friend so that Krum might sit next to Malfoy.

Tracey Davis looked like she had swallowed a whole lemon.

Daisy smirked at them. "Come along, Harry."

Harry couldn't help himself, grinning widely as he passed by Malfoy, he stuck a finger out and flicked her chin up into her teeth, closing her mouth.

"Potter!" she shrieked.

Ron's eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his face when Daisy pointed Krum into the space next to him. "Daisy!" he choked. "You, you—"

"You aren't getting anything for Christmas," finished Daisy, beaming. She slid in across from him and tugged at Harry's sleeve. "Krum, these are my friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. And my brother, Harry."

"You are Girl-Who-Lived," said Krum. His accent was strong, and when he said 'girl' it sounded more like 'gorl'.

Daisy set her jaw, but nodded. "I am."

"Very good job," said Krum. He stared at the empty plate before him, and at the empty goblet and asked, "Is gold?"

"Yeah," said Daisy, her brow furrowed.

"Very good," said Krum.

"Can't you say anything else?" asked Daisy.

Krum opened his mouth but was spared an explanation as Professor Dumbledore spoke from up at the staff table.

"Good evening," said the Headmaster, and a hush swept through the Great Hall, and all chattering ceased. "Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, ghosts, and most importantly... guests!" He swept his robed arms wide. "I welcome you all to Hogwarts School with open arms, and trust that your stay here will be comfortable and most of all, enjoyable." Professor Dumbledore smiled widely at them, even as some of the Beauxbatons students grumbled. "The Triwizard Tournament will begin at the end of our feast, but now I invite you all to eat, drink, and get to know one another. As our new friends from the continent might say," he winked at Madame Maxime, who blushed faintly, "Bon Appetit!"

The serving plates were suddenly lush with food. Their regular evening dishes, and, of course, some that Harry had never seen before. They must have been added to make the foreign students feel more comfortable. It looked like a lot of stews. There was a deep red meat stew with slices of lemon cut up in it, and a large wide bowl filled with some sort of shellfish stew.

Krum sat staring at the food until Daisy waved at him. "You can have some," she said, "it's all right."

"Very good," said Krum, digging in. He reached for the stew with the lemons.

"Erm," said Harry, watching the Durmstrang boy ladle it into his bowl, "if you don't mind, what is that?"

"Is solyanka," said Krum. "Very good stew of beef and chickens. You will try it?"

Eagerly, Ron held his bowl out for Krum to fill it. Harry took a bit as well, if only to be polite.

"Beef and chickens," whispered Hermione, looking at Ron distastefully. She shook her head. "How is it, Harry? You should try the bouillabaisse, too. It's quite good; I had it when I went on holiday to France." She nodded at the untouched bowl of shellfish stew.

Krum's stew was a little too sour for his taste, though, and he didn't really want to mix in shellfish, so Harry set his bowl aside and speared a bit of potato with his fork. "I think I'm all right, Hermione."

Daisy was staring at Krum intensely as she ripped through a steak-and-kidney pudding. "So," she said after she had cleared her plate. "How did they find you, the Bulgarian team? If Durmstrang is so far away in the north?"

"My father," said Krum, dabbing at his lips with a napkin. "He is taking me to Quidditch practice with him since I am a small boy." He held a hand a few inches over the top of the dining table. "Not many of us in Bulgaria to play. Group is small. I am very good at flying." He wasn't boasting, just stating the truth.

"Your father is a quidditch player, too?" said Daisy, shocked. "A professional player?"

"For short time," said Krum, nodding. "Now he is government wizard. Very good."

"I don't understand—"

"Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?" said a new voice.

One of the Beauxbatons girls who had covered herself up with a shawl had appeared over Harry's shoulder, eyeing the kettle of shellfish stew. Now her shawl was gone; she tossed a length of long silvery blonde hair over her shoulder and pointed again at the stew.

Harry didn't have any air in his lungs to tell her that it was rude to point.

She was beautiful—oddly so—tall and spare, with clear fair skin and a face like what Harry thought fairies must have looked like. Her eyes were a deep, sparkling blue. Her mouth was small, but plump and happy.

"We didn't touch it," Harry managed at last. "You can have it."

Her smile revealed perfectly sized, perfectly spaced, even white teeth. When she brushed against him to gather the bouillabaisse, Harry could have sworn she was glowing.

"Erk!" said Ron. He had gone magenta and silent at the sight of the girl, and only gathered himself once she had flashed them a final silver smile and floated off. "Harry, she's a veela!"

"So that's a veela," said Harry, twisting in his seat to look on as the girl slipped back in at the Ravenclaw house table. Ron had told him all about the veela at the World Cup—how they looked like beautiful women but were actually magical beings, who could partially transform into bird-like creatures and could conjure fire. Harry stared even harder. They even had wings, Ron had said. He could be interested in seeing that.

"She's not a veela!" said Hermione, her voice shrill so close to his ear, jolting him from his study. "She can't be!"

"She is," breathed Ron, "incredible."

"I don't see anyone else has gone to mush!" said Hermione. Her hand was on Harry's arm, her fingernails digging into him through the fabric of his robes.

But as the girl crossed the hall, it seemed the eyes of every boy within a certain range had turned in their seats or leaned forward across their tables, to watch her travel with the shellfish stew. Many had their mouths slightly open, stupefied.

"Quit staring, Harry," said Daisy softly from beside him.

"But what if she is a veela?" he whispered back, twisting round to face his sister. Hermione was still holding onto him. "Wouldn't that be something?"

"You've already got Eloise," said Daisy sharply. "You don't need any more monsters."

"Eloise isn't a monster," said Harry, glaring at her.

"She's a dangerous magical creature who eats—oh look there, that's Percy's boss! And Mr. Bagman, too." Daisy craned her neck to look over him at the staff table.

"Who?" said Harry, turning about again to look.

"Mr. Bagman," said Krum, nodding. "Very good man."

"They've arranged the tournament, haven't they?" said Hermione, finally relaxing her death grip on his arm. "Stands to reason they'd be here for it. They might even be on the judge's panel."

Mr. Bagman seemed to be an amiable fellow. He was square-jawed and smiling and was speaking openly with the professors and the headmaster. Beside him, though, Mr. Crouch looked like a statue. He had a small mustache and very tidy hair and was sitting solemnly with his hands folded on his empty plate.

Harry finished up his meal and tried to involve Krum in their conversation, explaining about Hogwarts' grounds and the castle, and the four different houses, while Daisy pestered the boy relentlessly on what it was like to be a professional Quidditch player, and who she might talk to in order to be drafted, and what the schedules were like with him still being enrolled in school.

Unsurprisingly, most of Krum's answers involved things being very good, and he seemed to be getting flustered by Daisy's behavior. He was saved in the end, by the arrival of dessert.

"Here, try this," said Ron. "I bet they don't do apple cakes like this at Durmstrang."

"Oh," said Krum, having a bit. "Is—"

"Don't say it," growled Daisy.

Harry snorted as Krum's sallow cheeks flushed under her frown.

"Harry?" said Hermione, idly cutting her spoon through a custard tart. "What was so attractive about that girl?"

"Hmm?" said Harry, absorbed in watching Krum try to describe the taste of the apple cake without using the words 'very' or 'good'. He was having a stunningly hard time with it.

"The French girl," said Hermione. "What did you find so attractive about her?" Her cheeks were slightly rosy.

"I don't know, Hermione," said Harry absently. Daisy made a sound at his elbow, but too late. Harry swiveled. "Wait a tick, you're trying to trick me. This is a trap."

"So you did find her attractive then!" said Hermione, going pale and driving her spoon into her tart with shocking force. "You did. I knew it."

"You idiot," muttered Daisy.

"And here I am," said Harry, as Hermione's eyes filled with water. "Caught in the trap."