WC: 1167

Cabin: Evans

Task: Table Sports

The Write Stuff

"Are you sure this is the best idea, Albus?" Professor McGonagall stared at the piece of paper that the headmaster had placed in her hand.

"Yes, Minerva," Dumbledore replied, "how else would you suggest we accomplish this?"

"By asking whoever wanted to join, to join?" McGonagall suggested.

"Oh no, dear. That wouldn't work at all. This shall be far more fun," Dumbledore hummed as he backed away from her desk and back into the corridor. "Let the games begin," he cried as he reentered the throng of students heading to classes.

"That man is losing it," McGonagall sighed, the writing tournament notice dropping to her desk in utter defeat.

Two days later, the whole school was abuzz as news of the writing tournament bounced from wall to wall. Students from every year and background chattered about how they would write and what they would write and where they would write. It was all anyone could talk about for days, weeks even, until finally, the day arrived. The opening of the tournament.

Dumbledore stood up at his podium and cleared his throat, casting a Sonorus spell on himself to be heard above the constant din of the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall shook her head at his dramatics.

"As you are all aware," he began, his voice echoing off every surface, "the staff at Hogwarts have decided to arrange a tournament between the students so that those who are best qualified will be able to join the newspaper writing staff. The tournament will run for the next ten weeks with the topics being issued every two weeks and the bottom few students eliminated." He paused for dramatic effect. "This round is now OPEN."

The students broke out into excited murmurs as the first round opened, the parchment appearing on the tables, issuing the first task. Professor McGonagall lifted her china cup of piping hot tea towards her mouth, allowing the burning liquid to moisten her tongue and throat. Savouring each taste, she watched the students as they began to plan, some together, others with pieces of parchment pulled out to scribble down ideas. This was going to be interesting.

Two weeks later, Professor McGonagall found herself back in her office, regretting the moment she decided that listening to Albus Dumbledore was a good idea. Her large wooden desk was littered with articles written by the students, in all shapes and sizes. The subject topic of "Who am I?" garnered more results than would have ever been suspected, although there was quite a range of utterly pathetic offerings. For The Boy Who Lived, Harry really didn't know who he was. His two paragraphs were just depressing.

Then there were those that were expected. The Slytherins made quite the effort and while they weren't exactly inspiring, they were well written and held potential. Most were moved into the "progressing" pile along with Hermione's 5ft of parchment - that girl really needs to learn when to stop - and a number that appeared from Ravenclaw, young Luna's in the midst.

But currently, McGonagall was stuck in either shock or confusion with a number of the essays that had found homes over her desk. They had come from the most unlikely places. Ron Weasley's essay was detailed and coherent and, to be honest, overall a wonderful read. Neville Longbottom's was similar. Those two boys were confusing but they really had a grip on who they are, even if both held an air of self-deprecation. In a daze, she added them to the progressing pile and refocused on the few that mildly horrified her.

There was quite a list of Ravenclaw essays that really missed the mark. They were dull and generic, each one lacking the pull that a newspaper article would need to attract people. A wave of disappointment rushed over her as she added another essay to the eliminated pile.

By the end, she had two rivalling piles with the progressing stack just edging the win. With a wave of her wand, she transferred the names from the essays to a new page of parchment before writing the new topic at the bottom. Another wand wave and she had four perfectly duplicated parchments all ready to go. Time for the next round of writing to start.

Six weeks later, Professor McGonagall was once again sorting through the essays that had been handed in for this round. The number had greatly depleted after an abysmal round three. And this round didn't seem to be much better. Why they had decided that the topic Creatures: Friend or Foe? was a good idea, she will never understand but, alas, here they are. At least this time, Albus is subjected to helping her read through them.

McGonagall huffed as she chucked the latest parchment down on the desk.

"These are all quite well written," she sighed loudly, "and I don't know how we decide who to eliminate. Young Ron's essay on spiders is passionate, Draco and Hermione are giving us both sides of the house elves issue and yet, still both classifying them as friends. Then there's Luna's on make-believe creatures that are all friendly unless you intimidate them which was wonderful as well. The Slytherins have written coherent, interesting essays that grab the attention and some of the Gryffindors have too. We certainly have our work cut out for us."

"Well, the Hufflepuffs are out, that's for certain. There's just no punch. And we leave the last twenty to go into the final round."

"Are you sure?" Minerva asked, her forehead creasing into deep crevices. She tapped her fingers against the surface of the desk.

"We have no other choice," Albus conceded.

"Alright then, I shall transfer the names and put in the final topic." Professor McGonagall stood up from the desk and gathered the remaining essays into a bundle. "How was it that you wanted to phrase the final?"

"Does your house choice decide your character? would be the way I'd put it," Albus hummed, offering a piece of food to the Phoenix perched beside him.

"Okay. That shall cause an interesting reaction. Always a pleasure, Albus," McGonagall said, walking from the room as she shook her head slightly, leaving Albus to sing softly to Fawkes.

After the final round was completed and the essays had been collected, Minerva once again joined Albus in his office. When they had read through them all and divided them into their piles, they were left with only a few people left to run the paper. Minerva shuffled through them one last time.

"I'm not sure this is the best idea," she muttered. "After all, we're putting three Slytherins, two Gryffindors and two Ravenclaws together and expecting them to work alongside each other with no problems. This will be a disaster."

"My dear Minerva, those who work in adversity glean the greatest results," Dumbledore said calmly.

McGonagall pinned him with an unamused laser stare, burning through the side of his head. "Oh Albus, you do talk a load of nonsense."

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