NeoWi— wait, what's a date?

Pressor...

Pressor, pressor, pressor... the literal translation for that word is 'hunter.' But why would this be part of the supernatural creatures in my family book?

"Pressor sunt in prima mutari Sola Stella Covina dicitur quod prima pars primo Wiccan familia primus in lucem..." I read in a mumble, easily ignoring the rocking of the carriage and the rain pouring right outside.

"What are you reading now?" Hermione asked curiously from where she sat in front of me.

Ron sat beside her, visibly utterly bored, and Harry was just as, sitting beside me with his head resting on my shoulder.

"I came across this earlier on the train. For some reason, my magic won't work on it to translate it. But... I don't know, it's just really been bugging me a lot," I spoke sincerely, rubbing a peculiar itch crawling up my right arm.

"What does this word mean," Harry asked, pointing at the page. "... pressor?"

"Well, loosely translated, pressor means hunter."

"... aren't you looking at magical creatures, though?" Harry said, shifting his head so his chin rested on my shoulder instead. I nodded. "Why would a hunter be in there?"

That's what I'd like to know...

"Maybe it's a supernatural hunter," Hermione suggested.

"Supernatural?" Ron repeated, perplexed.

Hermione nodded. "All things magical and out of the ordinary are considered to be supernatural to Muggles," she explained. "Because it's out of their every day ordinary."

"But that would suggest a Muggle would be one of those Hunters, wouldn't it?" said Ron.

"Perhaps more a Muggleborn, then," said Harry. "The Hunter has to have magical properties to be put in this list of magical creatures, I reckon."

"Or," I chimed in. "It could be someone who used to be Wiccan but was forced into a ritual to have their powers removed. Their powers never really faded, and so this no-longer-Wiccan-person used the remnants of their magic and put it upon themselves to hunt down those who cast them aside."

"I thought you didn't know the answer to that," Ron said accusingly.

"Oh, I didn't," I said. "But Ronald, there's a thing called reading."

Harry and Hermione chuckled before I was asked what it said.

"Okay, so... Pressor sunt in prima mutari Sola Stella Covina dicitur quod prima pars primo Wiccan familia primus in lucem..." I began, tracing my finger along each word I read. "A loose translation to this part would be... er... right— the first group to be transformed into Hunters are known as... the Lone Star Coven, which was part of the first Wiccan family that came to light in the very first century."

"Right, go on."

I bit my lip, my eyes squinting at the letters. "Erm... they were Wiccan wielders who had their powers taken away for using their magic for the wrong causes. The spell cast on them, however, had a side-effect that ended up giving them abilities of their own, which they used to hunt down the Wiccan practitioners."

My eyes scanned further down the page, my fingers following each word I read.

"Goddess of the moon..." I whispered, fascinated by this new discovery.

"What?" Harry asked, shifting around so he sat closer to me, looking cluelessly down at the book in my laps.

"These Hunters... despite having no magic, they have a lot of similarities to other magical creatures..."

Ron leaned forward. "Kind of like...?"

"Me," I replied, looking up at my friends. "I mean... listen to this! They have a regenerative healing factor."

"What's so glorious about a regenerative healing factor?" Ron asked me with a slight scoff.

"This healing factor that most supernaturals, like werewolves, shifters and vampires possess, allows us to heal at an abnormal rate, faster than any human being can; the extent of this regeneration is very powerful. Small cuts and minor injuries heal within seconds while larger, more damaging injuries, such as broken bones, blood loss, and vampire venom infection heal within minutes. Of course, the time always depends on how severe these injuries are— sometimes the healing can take up to hours, or even a couple of days."

"Vampire venom infection?" Hermione asked, puzzled by this particular revelation.

I nodded. "Well, you see how there're different types of shapeshifters?" My friends nodded, all three attentively absorbing the information I was giving them. "Well, there are also several types of vampires. Let's see..."

I quickly flipped through the pages, my finger tapping on the aged sheet upon finding the page I was looking for.

"We have the traditional... Original vampire. The Nosferatu; these were the first ever to exist, having been created through a magic spell by a witch who was trying to give more powers to a Hunter, so he would be able to take down the Wiccan coven that created them. She was thirsty for vengeance, angry that they had not accepted her into their coven. Her spell, unfortunately, took away all traces of humanity this Hunter had, turning him into a blood-thirsty killer."

"Well, how did they manage to..." Ron grimaced. "... procreate his species to this day?"

Hermione's eyes sparkled with thirst for this knowledge and discoveries. "Oh, I know this one," she said excitedly. "The witch tried to redeem herself and tried to find a way to reverse the spell she had cast on him, but since she couldn't find anything, instead, she found a ritual that would permit him to procreate and interact as mortals do." I smiled slightly, nodding in confirmation. "In the end, that didn't go in her favor either as he ended up using her in her own ritual, thus the first family of original vampires was created."

"By traditional... you mean like those that can really just walk in the night?" Harry asked. "Like Dracula?"

"Exactly."

"So... they have no shadow or reflection and burn in the sun."

"Well, yes. But that's a trait they share with another type of vampires. The Daeva. These, however, always had a kinder alliance with witches as the Original Daeva family actually had a witch amongst them before her children were turned into slaves to the Sun God. From then on, this race, having much more humanity than the Original vampire would act more cleverly and create alliances with the magic folk. They would always form deals amongst them, exchanging protection of their family line for enchanted jewels that would permit them to walk in the sun."

"Another difference is that these vampires can't procreate," my bushy-haired friend said.

"They're also much tamer," I added. "And they can mingle much more easily amongst the Muggle community. You wouldn't be able to tell them apart unless you had a gift or a spell that would permit you to detect them upon sight."

"Those sort of detection charms are quite hard to master, though," Hermione commented.

"But they're effectively strong," I said. "A powerful witch or wizard would be able to sense these creatures from miles away."

"Are there any more types of vampires?" Ron asked curiously.

"Oh, there are plenty. Some of them develop within mortals from a simple thirst for blood. But the most commonly known are the Nosferatu— which, as I mentioned before, are our traditional original ones— the Daeva, the Old Ones— which are actually the first Daeva vampires in existence— and the Cold Ones."

"The Cold Ones?"

I nodded, then let out a snort. "They sparkle."

"What?!"

I chuckled and shook my head, closing my book and shoving it into my bag. "I'll tell you about it later," I told them when I noticed we were nearing the gates of Hogwarts.

I barely paid mind to my friends' chatter as they rambled on about what it was that people were avoiding talking about all day. I couldn't help but wonder as well; what was going to happen differently at Hogwarts this year?

I glanced out the window of the carriage and smiled slightly upon seeing the sight we were approaching. Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, I leaned further against the window, seeing Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain.

Lightning flashed across the sky as our carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I jumped down from our carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when we were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.

Now, this is home.

"Blimey," said Ron, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, "if that keeps up, the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak— ARRGH!"

A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron's head and exploded. Drenched and sputtering, Ron staggered sideways into me, just as a second water bomb dropped— narrowly missing Hermione, it burst at Harry's feet.

People all around us shrieked and started pushing one another in their efforts to get out of the line of fire. I looked up and saw, floating twenty feet above us, Peeves the Poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again.

"Peeves!" I complained.

The poltergeist merely grinned that mischievous grin of his and shrugged at me, before refocusing on his aim, shamelessly cackling under his breath.

"PEEVES!" an angry voice suddenly yelled. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"

Professor McGonagall had come dashing out of the Great Hall; my eyes widened as I watched her skid on the wet floor and grab Hermione around the neck to stop herself from falling.

"Ouch— sorry, Miss Granger—"

I quickly pulled Hermione back, out of further harm's way. "That's all right, Professor!" my friend gasped, massaging her throat.

"Peeves, get down here NOW!" barked Professor McGonagall, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upward through her square-rimmed spectacles.

"Not doing nothing!" cackled Peeves, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!" And he aimed another bomb at a group of second years who had just arrived.

"I shall call the headmaster!" shouted Professor McGonagall. "I'm warning you, Peeves—"

Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely.

"Well, move along, then!" said Professor McGonagall sharply to the bedraggled crowd. "Into the Great Hall, come on!"

My friends and I slipped and slid across the entrance hall and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face.

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing us. It was much warmer in here.

We walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost.

"Hello, Nick," I greeted the ghost pleasantly, smiling politely at him.

"Good evening," he said, beaming at us.

"Says who?" said Harry, taking off his sneakers and emptying them of water. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving."

The Sorting of the new students into Houses took place at the start of every school year. Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice called down the table.

"Harry! Delilah!"

"Oh, dear God," Harry grumbled, dropping his head onto the table.

His feelings were greatly mirrored within me, though I managed to hide my mild irritation behind a smile. From the looks on Ron and Hermione's faces, I could tell, though, that I wasn't doing as good a job as I thought I was. I could feel it too, though; the twitch in the corner of my mouth had lifted my lips a slight bit in a look that was something between a smile and a grimace.

Colin Creevey was there, a third year to whom Harry and I were apparently something alike heroes.

"Hi, Colin," said Harry warily.

"Harry, Deli! Guess what? Guess what?! My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!"

I could feel a complaining explanation about to burst from Harry's lips, so I quickly covered his mouth with my hand and gave the younger boy a forced smile.

"That's great, Colin," I told the boy lightly.

"He's really excited!" said Colin, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh?"

I removed my hand from Harry's mouth and gave him a warning look. "Er— yeah, all right," Harry ended up saying rather awkwardly.

He turned back to Hermione, Ron, Nearly Headless Nick, and I. "Brothers and sisters usually go in the same Houses, don't they?" he said.

"Oh, no, not necessarily," I told him. "Parvati Patil's twin is in Ravenclaw, and they're identical. You'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?"

I then looked up at the staff table and felt my brows raise slightly in surprise. There seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the entrance hall floor, but there was another empty chair too, and I couldn't think who else was missing.

Then, it occurred to me. "Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

We had never yet had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. My favorite by far had been Remus.

"Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" said Hermione, looking anxious.

I scanned the table more carefully. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, who was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side sat Severus, Hogwarts' Potions master.

On Snape's other side was an empty seat, which I knew was Professor McGonagall's. Next to it, and in the very center of the table, sat Professor Dumbledore with that sweeping silver hair and beard of his shining in the candlelight. The tips of his long, thin fingers were together, and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. I glanced up at the ceiling too and smiled slightly, but it quickly went away as I came to realize something; it was enchanted to look like the sky outside, but never had I ever seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it.

"Oh, hurry up," Ron moaned from where he sat beside Harry, across from Hermione and I, "I could eat a hippogriff."

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened, and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. If my friends and I were wet, it was nothing to how these first years looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school— all of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair, who was wrapped in what I could recognize as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat.

When he had lined up with his terrified-looking peers, I caught him looking at his brother and giving him a double thumbs-up, mouthing, "I fell in the lake!" He looked positively delighted about it.

Before the ceremony could begin, I whisked out my wand and slightly flicked it about, mumbling, "Calefieri," under my breath.

For a minute or so, the room seemed to fill itself with steam. Moments later, the frigid air suddenly became warmer, and everyone was visibly dry now and much more comfortable, sighing and mumbling amongst each other, content with the comforting shift.

Professor McGonagall then placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first years and, on top of it, the extremely old, familiar dirty patched wizard's hat. The first years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was silence. Then, a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into a quite peculiar song that was unlike the one he had hung last year. Then again, he always sings something different, so perhaps this year he simply had a weirder taste. When the Sorting Hat finished his song, the Great Hall rang with applause.

"That's not the song it sang when it Sorted us," said Harry, as we clapped along with everyone else.

"Sings a different one every year," said Hermione.

"It's got to be a pretty boring life, hasn't it," Ron said suddenly, "being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one."

Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment.

"When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool," she told the first years. "When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table. Ackerley, Stewart!"

A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on, and sat down on the stool.

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat.

Stewart Ackerley took off the hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him. I caught a glimpse of Cho cheering Stewart Ackerley as he sat down and smiled slightly at the sight of the delighted boy.

"Baddock, Malcolm!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

The table on the other side of the hall erupted with cheers; I could see Draco clapping as Baddock joined the Slytherins. I rolled my eyes as Fred and George hissed at the boy as he sat down.

"Branstone, Eleanor!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Cauldwell, Owen!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Creevey, Dennis!"

Tiny Dennis Creevey staggered forward, tripping over Hagrid's moleskin, just as Hagrid himself sidled into the Hall through a door behind the teachers' table. About twice as tall as a normal man, and at least three times as broad, Hagrid, with his long, wild, tangled black hair and beard, looked slightly alarming— a misleading impression, for I knew Hagrid to possess a very kind nature. He winked at my friends and me as he sat down at the end of the staff table and watched Dennis Creevey putting on the Sorting Hat. The rip at the brim opened wide-

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted.

Hagrid clapped along with the Gryffindors as Dennis Creevey, beaming widely, took off the hat, placed it back on the stool, and hurried over to join his brother.

"Colin, I fell in!" he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. "It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!"

"Cool!" said Colin, just as excitedly. "It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"

"Wow!" said Dennis, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and pushed out of it again by a giant sea monster.

The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moving one by one to the three-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall passed the L's.

"Oh, hurry up," Ron moaned, massaging his stomach.

"Now, Ron, the Sorting's much more important than food," said Nearly Headless Nick.

"'Course it is... if you're dead," snapped Ron.

"I do hope this year's batch of Gryffindors is up to scratch," said Nick, applauding as "McDonald, Natalie!" joined the Gryffindor table. "We don't want to break our winning streak, do we?"

Gryffindor had won the Inter-House Championship for the last three years in a row.

"Pritchard, Graham!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Quirke, Orla!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

And finally, with "Whitby, Kevin!" who was placed in Hufflepuff. Professor McGonagall then picked up the hat and the stool and carried them away.

"About time," said Ron, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate.

Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome.

"I have only two words to say to you," he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. "Tuck in."

"Hear, hear!" said Harry and Ron loudly as the empty dishes filled magically before our eyes.

As dinner appeared all along the tables, and everyone started to eat, Nearly Headless Nick came to mention that Peeves had caused problems with the house-elves in the kitchen.

"There are house-elves here?" Hermione said, staring, horror-struck, at Nick. "Here at Hogwarts?"

"Certainly," said Nick, looking surprised at her reaction. "The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred."

"I've never seen one!" said Hermione.

"Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?" he replied. "They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning... see to the fires and so on... I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?"

Hermione stared at him.

"But they get paid?" she said. "They get holidays, don't they? And— and sick leave, and pensions, and everything?"

Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped, and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck.

I gagged, turning away while spitting out what food I had in my mouth in a napkin. "Oh, I've just lost my appetite..." I croaked, drinking as much water from my goblet as I could.

"Sick leave and pensions?" Nick said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it once more with his ruff. "House-elves don't want sick leave and pensions!"

Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from her.

"Oh c'mon, 'Er-my-knee," said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. "Oops— sorry, 'Arry—" He swallowed. "You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself!"

"Slave labor," said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose. "That's what made this dinner. Slave labor."

And she refused to eat another bite.

The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings.

"Treacle tart, Hermione!" said Ron, deliberately wafting its smell toward her. "Chocolate gateau!"

But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up.

When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices."

Everyone in the hall turned to look at him.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has, this year, been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched.

He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students." His gaze fell on my friends and me, earning sheepish looks from the four of us. "As is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year."

Shifting his gaze around the Hall, he then added, much to our great surprise, as well as dismay, "It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

"What?" Harry gasped.

I looked around at Fred and George, my fellow teammates of the Quidditch team from when I had been in the team two years ago. They were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak. Dumbledore went on, "This is due to some events that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy— but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—"

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers' table.

A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione gasped.

The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any I had ever seen. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred, worse than my own even. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening; one of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye— and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all we could see was whiteness.

"Oh, I've just lost my appetite..." Ron suddenly croaked, echoing what I had said earlier.

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering inquiring words of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.

The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark gray hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody."

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students chapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.

"Moody?" Harry muttered. "Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?"

"Must be," said Ron in a low, awed voice, his earlier disgust seemingly completely gone.

"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered. "What happened to his face?"

"Dunno," Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination.

Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and I saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honor of hosting some very exciting events over the coming months, events that have not been held for a long time. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard and the NeoWigan Tournaments will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" said Fred loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar."

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

"Er— but maybe this is not the time... no..." said Dumbledore, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard and the NeoWigan Tournament... well, some of you will not know what these tournaments involve, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a brief explanation and allow their attention to wander freely."

Dumbledore then went on to explain that the Triwizard Tournament was a competition established centuries ago between representatives from each of the five largest schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, WizTech Academy, Beauxbatons, Salem Witches Institute, and Durmstrang. A total of three champions would be selected, each representing their own school, and the champions would compete in three magical tasks. The schools would take it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and though it had been discontinued hundreds of years ago because of high death tolls, the British and American Ministries of Magic had now taken enough precautions for it to continue.

This year's Triwizard Tournament would be held right here in Hogwarts, along with the NeoWigan Tournament, which was very much older than the former, dating all the way back to the very first registered Wiccan wielders.

The NeoWigan Tournament followed the same concept of the Triwizard Tournament, only this one being held whenever the enchanted goblet, which was created to select its champions who happened to all be Wiccan wielders, would fire up. For the longest time, as Wiccan magic had all but faded from existence, only a few families still practicing that sort of magic, for it still prominently ran through their veins; the Goblet had not fired up once. When the never extinguishing flame in the Wiccan Goblet would flame up, it would be its warning to its seers that it's going to select its champions soon. Unlike the Goblet of Fire from the Triwizard Tournament, the Wiccan Goblet would not select three champions; its number would always change.

Once the champions were selected, the goblet would then proceed to select the number of tasks as well as the tasks themselves that the champions would have to participate in, all refusal objected; once you were chosen, you could not say no.

Dumbledore then added that the winning champion of the NeoWigan Tournament would then be delved into the final task of the Triwizard Tournament, and the final winner would then go on to receive a thousand galleons. Also, he made sure to mention that nobody younger than seventeen years old can enter the Triwizard Tournament.

A young Ravenclaw student then proceeded to ask if the same was for the NeoWigan Tournament. Luna, I briefly recalled her name to be; Seth had mentioned her a couple times, and Ginny had too.

With that usual gleam in his eyes, Dumbledore smiled at the girl and replied the Wiccan tournament was different on that account as well, for it selected people of all ages, has yet to select anyone younger than fourteen. I huffed; of course, it wouldn't be younger than fourteen. With my luck, though, I would've probably been picked either way, regardless of what age I am.

I sighed, dropping my head onto the table, vaguely aware when Hermione moved my plate out of the way as I did so. I could only hope that I would not be chosen for this crap.

"Death toll?" Hermione whispered, clearly still alarmed at this, as she shakily held the plate of apple pie I had made for her, since she wouldn't eat the food the elves made.

She, Ginny and I sat in a circle in my room, having decided to do a little sleepover.

"Honestly, I'm more worried about the NeoWigan Tournament," I said, taking a bite out of my twelfth chocolate covered strawberry; I loved chocolate, and I loved strawberries.

Ginny nodded as she dipped a finger in the chocolate dipping sauce. "I agree. Professor Dumbledore specified that the Wiccan Goblet hasn't selected anyone younger than fourteen yet, but he implied how unpredictable it is. What if it does select someone younger?"

"And he said once you're selected, you can't really say no," I added with a slight shudder.

"What would you do if you were chosen?" Ginny asked me.

I shrugged, bringing my knees to my chest. "I haven't really given it much thought," I said admittedly. "I've been hoping more that I wouldn't be chosen; I've been trying so hard to hide the fact that I'm a Wiccan wielder for so long…" I sighed. "Had I known there were others still out there…"

I didn't really know where I was going with this. Very much like my family, I didn't really stop to think if there were still more out there. I guess I had gotten so used to the fact that I was alone, that the idea that there actually be others like me still out there frightened me. I don't know why, though, it shouldn't.

"I feel like Fred and George are going to do something rash," Ginny suddenly said.

Hermione chuckled lightly, shaking her head at our younger friend. "They always do rash things, Ginny, it's who they are. You should know that by now, you know, being their sister."

Ginny rolled her eyes, flopping down on my bed. "I know that, but I'm just scared, I guess. What if they really get into trouble this time?"

I laughed softly. "Somehow, I doubt that."

The little redhead smiled at this, giggling. "You're right."

"They always find some way to get themselves out of trouble," Hermione added, agreeing as well.

Still chuckling to myself, I shook my head again before flicked my wrist, making our dishes disappear. "Alright, sweet gals, I think it's time we hit the sack."

Hermione snorted. "'Hit the sack'?"

I shrugged as the three of us slid under my covers. "I don't know; I heard some guy say it once, back in the States."

Ginny giggled under her breath. "Goodnight, Herme; night, Dels."

Hermione and I replied in unison before the three of us settled for the night, and for the first time in a long while, despite my day-long restlessness, I felt myself fall into a dreamless slumber, my body and mind simultaneously relaxing, for I hadn't had this in a long time.

—🌟 —🌟 —🌟 —🌟 —🌟 —🌟 —🌟 —🌟 —🌟 —🌟

The storm had blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the Great Hall was still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter gray swirled overhead as my friends, and I examined our new course schedules at breakfast. A few seats along, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were discussing magical methods of aging themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament.

"Today's not bad... outside all morning," said Ron, who was running his finger down his schedule. "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures... damn it, we're still with the Slytherins..."

"You honestly thought we would someday magically have no more classes with the Slytherins?" I asked, brow raised as I took a sip of my pumpkin juice.

"Well, this is a school of magic…" Ron pointed out, only earning himself a hit upside the head from Hermione, causing me to chuckle.

"Double Divination this afternoon," Harry groaned, looking down. I was surprised Harry disliked Divination so much, though, then again, not too surprised; Professor Trelawney kept predicting his death, which, I had to agree, was extremely annoying.

"You should have given it up like Deli and I, shouldn't you?" said Hermione briskly, buttering herself some toast. "Then you'd be doing something sensible like Arithmancy."

"You're eating again, I notice," said Ron, watching Hermione adding liberal amounts of jam to her toast too.

"I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights," said Hermione haughtily.

I rolled my eyes at the bushy-haired girl. "She was hungry," I admitted on her part, emitting a grin out of Ron.

There was a sudden rustling noise above us, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning mail. Instinctively, I looked up at the mass of brown and gray. The owls circled the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages were addressed. A large tawny owl soared down to Neville and deposited a parcel into his. On the other side of the Hall Draco's eagle owl had landed on his shoulder, carrying what looked like his usual supply of sweets and cakes from home. From the corner of my eye, I suddenly saw Harry's attention returning to his porridge, a clear look of disappointment etched across his face.

I nudged him on the side, before sliding a finger underneath his chin, playfully bumping it upward. "Chin up, buttercup," I said cheerfully, smiling at him, earning myself a smile in return from my best friend.

Before long, we were passing across a sodden vegetable patch until we arrived in greenhouse three, where I grew distracted by Professor Sprout showing the class the ugliest, yet most intriguing plants I had ever seen. Indeed, they looked less like plants than thick, black, giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly and had a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid.

"Dear God, that is disgusting," Hermione muttered, pressing her face against my shoulder to keep herself from looking. Hermione loved learning, but even she had her limits when confronted by rather disturbing things.

I reassuringly patted her on the head. "Don't worry; I'll lend you my notes."

"Thanks," she mumbled. "Just don't draw anything."

I snorted. I was no Da Vinci, but my drawings were pretty good; if anything, you'd think they were motionless black and white photographs rather than actual drawings.

"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout told us briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus—"

"The what?" said Seamus Finnigan, sounding revolted.

"Pus, Finnigan, pus," said Professor Sprout, "and it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves; it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, bubotuber pus."

Squeezing the bubotubers was disgusting, but oddly satisfying. As each swelling was popped, a large amount of thick yellowish-green liquid burst forth, which smelled strongly of petrol. We caught it in the bottles as Professor Sprout had indicated, and by the end of the lesson had collected several pints.

"This'll keep Madam Pomfrey happy," said Professor Sprout, stoppering the last bottle with a cork. "An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples."

"Like poor Eloise Midgen," said Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff, in a hushed voice. "She tried to curse hers off."

"Silly girl," said Professor Sprout, shaking her head. "But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end."

A booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signaling the end of the lesson, and the class separated; the Hufflepuffs climbing the stone steps for Transfiguration, and us Gryffindors heading in the other direction, down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid's small wooden cabin, which stood on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Hagrid was standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There were several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet, and Fang was whimpering and straining at his collar. As we drew nearer, an odd rattling noise reached my ears, punctuated by what sounded like minor explosions.

"Mornin'!" Hagrid said, grinning at us. "Be'er wait fer the Slytherins, they won' want ter miss this— Blast-Ended Skrewts!"

"Come again?" said Ron.

Hagrid pointed down into the crates.

"Eurgh!" squealed Lavender Brown, jumping backward.

"Eurgh" was just about right when it came to these Blast-Ended Skrewts. They looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. There were about a hundred of them in each crate, each about six inches long, crawling over one another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They were giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Every now and then, sparks would fly out of the end of a skrewt, and with a small phut, it would be propelled forward several inches.

"On'y jus' hatched," said Hagrid proudly, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"

"And why would we want to raise them?" said a cold voice.

Of course. Who else would it be? None other than stupid Pale-Face. Crap and Boiling Water were chuckling appreciatively at his words. Hagrid looked stumped at the question.

"I mean, what do they do?" asked bleach-blondie. "What is the point of them?"

Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds' pause, then he said roughly, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things— I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer— I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake— just try 'em out with a bit of each."

"First pus and now this," muttered Seamus.

Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid could have made my friends, and I pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt the Blast-Ended Skrewts. I couldn't suppress the suspicion that the whole thing was entirely pointless, because the skrewts didn't seem to have mouths.

"Ouch!" yelled Dean after about ten minutes. "It got me." Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious. "Its end exploded!" said Dean angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand.

"Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," said Hagrid, nodding.

"Eurgh!" Lavender squealed again. "Eurgh, Hagrid, what's that pointy thing on it?"

"Ah, some of 'em have got stings," said Hagrid enthusiastically. "I reckon they're the males… The females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies... I think they might be ter suck blood."

"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," said Draco sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"

"Just because they're not very pretty, it doesn't mean they're not useful," Hermione snapped. "Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?"

I chuckled and shook my head at my friend's sass, while Harry and Ron grinned at Hagrid, who gave them a furtive smile from behind his bushy beard. Hagrid would have liked nothing better than a pet dragon, as my friends and I knew only too well— he had owned one for a brief period during our first year, a vicious Norwegian Ridgeback by the name of Norbert. Hagrid simply loved monstrous creatures, the more lethal, the better.

"Well, at least the skrewts are small," said Ron as we made our way back up to the castle for lunch an hour later.

"They are now," said Hermione in an exasperated voice, "but once Hagrid's found out what they eat, I expect they'll be six feet long."

"Well, that won't matter if they turn out to cure seasickness or something, will it?" said Ron, grinning slyly at her.

"You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up," said Hermione. "As a matter of fact, I think he's right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all."

We sat down at the Gryffindor table and helped ourselves to lamb chops and potatoes. Hermione began to eat so fast that the rest of us could only stare at her.

"Er— is this the new stand on elf rights?" said Ron. "You're going to make yourself puke instead?"

"No," said Hermione, with as much dignity as she could muster with her mouth bulging with sprouts. "I just want to get to the library."

"What?" said Ron in disbelief. "Hermione— it's the first day back! We haven't even got homework yet!"

"This is Hermione you're talking to, Ron," I deadpanned. "You, as well as I, know she's been anxious about this all summer— might as well've been a wolf in heat."

I noticed Hermione's face flush red upon hearing the last bit of the sentence I muttered, understanding exactly what I meant.

She opened her mouth to say something but quickly shut it as her gaze trailed towards something behind me. That was when I suddenly widened my awareness of our surroundings and felt a presence behind me. It wasn't an irking presence, so I knew it wasn't Pale face.

I boredly glanced over my shoulder and felt myself smile slightly upon recognizing the person standing behind me. Derek was his name? No, wait— Edward. (A.N. See what I did there? hehe)

… so much for recognition.

"Delilah," he greeted me kindly, a faint patch of pink darkening his already rosy cheeks.

I stared at him, feeling my face heat up in slight embarrassment; this guy has been so kind to me ever since we've met— how could I have forgotten his name?!

"Cedric! What a surprise!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed herself, nearly startling me out of my seat, though I quickly collected myself, sighing softly in relief. Thanks, Herme; always knew I could count on you during my moments of stupidity.

Cedric directed his smile to my bushy-haired friend. "Hello, Hermione, I didn't mean to bother you guys, but I was wondering if I could steal Delilah from you for a moment."

Harry's P.O.V.

I watched as Delilah eyed the Hufflepuff with curious eyes, clenching my hands into fists underneath the table.

"Steal away," said Ron, mouth full of lamb chop. I seriously wanted to strangle him right now. "It's not like she's being of any use here."

I felt a leg shift underneath the table, and soon Ron cried out in pain as Delilah exclaimed herself, "Hey! I take offense to that!"

Cedric laughed softly before placing a hand on Delilah's shoulder. "Delilah?"

She turned and smiled back at him. "Sure, lead the way."

Delilah stood and went to climb over the bench to follow him, but stumbled and tripped, nearly falling to the ground. I reached forward and was just inches away from catching her when, suddenly, someone beat me to it.

Dammit, Cedric!

Cedric quickly helped her over the bench and kept a hold of her as to make sure she wouldn't fall over again.

She looked at him, a faint blush adorning her cheeks as she gave him a half-hearted smile. "Seems you're always picking me up," she said.

He chuckled softly, a faint blush coloring his own stupidly naturally rosy cheeks. "I guess so," he said softly. "Shall we?"

She nodded, seemingly ignoring the rest of us. "Sure." She then glanced our way— guess she wasn't ignoring us. "I'll be right back, guys."

"Take your time," Ron retorted, causing me to instantly turn and glare at him.

Dammit, Ron!

The moment Cedric and Delilah were gone, I kicked the idiot under the table right before Hermione hit him upside the head.

"Ow!" he complained. "Would you lot stop mistreating me?!"

"You are such an idiot, Ronald!" Hermione screeched.

"How am I an idiot?! The guy wanted to talk to her, so I let him! It's not like he actually needed our permission, though; Delilah's her own person, she would decide for herself. But he was still cool enough to ask us 'cause he knows the four of us are best mates." Noticing our glares, he rolled his eyes at us and gave us a pointed look. "C'mon, you can't tell me you would've said 'no.' Delilah would've been mad if we'd made the decision for her. And you lot know I was just joking about the 'not being of any use' part, right?"

I was admittedly stunned by his reply, and Hermione was seemingly so too. Neither of us knowing what to say to this, we silently returned to our meals, and I tried hard to not think about how my best friend whom I was in love with was talking with an older boy who clearly had the hots for her like most other guys in this school. Hell, I think even Malfoy has the hots for her!

"What do you reckon he's talking to her for? I mean, it's not like they share any classes together," said Ron. "And we're not even the same year. As far as I know, they've only really spoken twice."

"That's right," Hermione said suddenly. "He was at that dueling club Lockhart had created. He'd made Cedric and Deli face each other off."

"And then the second time they spoke was right before the Cup," Ron added.

"Why's the horse with my sister?" I heard a familiar voice demanding.

I glanced to my right to find Seth occupying his sister's seat. God, it was eerie how much they looked alike. Sure, his eyes were a little more deep-set than hers were, and of course, he had short hair now and was quite a bit shorter than Delilah and even myself, but they still looked very much alike.

"We don't know," I told him plainly. "He stole her from us. No thanks to Ron…"

"Oi! I'm telling you— she would've gone either way!"

I looked back at Seth and noticed his face had suddenly paled, his eyes locked on the pair speaking by the entrance of the Great Hall.

"Seth? What's wrong? What is it—"

"Were you going to add 'boy' at the end of that sentence?" I felt my face heat up in embarrassment. "Honestly, Harry. I know I come from a family in which most people can transform into ginormous wolves, but I'm not a literal dog, you know."

I was about to apologize when I felt someone approaching us. I turned and saw Delilah slowly making her way back toward us, a thoughtful look on her face. I squinted my eyes slightly when I noticed something different about her, blinking owlishly afterward when I noticed a crown of Delilah's nestled neatly on Delilah's head.

"Why in Hades would you say 'yes' to that horse?" Seth demanded, jumping to his feet.

Delilah slowly brought her hand up and suddenly flicked him across the forehead. "Calm yourself."

The boy literally growled. "Delilah!"

She shrugged, sitting back down beside me, her back to the table. "He asked me something I found… intriguing, so I said 'yes.'"

Seth slapped a hand over his forehead, his body slouching in defeat. "Gods, you're hopeless," he cried out, sluggishly making his way back to his seat beside his friend William, a good few people away.

"So," said Ron. "What did the Hufflepuff want?"

Delilah waved him off, though I couldn't help but feel a tad bit suspicious. She reached over and grabbed a few baby carrots from my plate, and I watched like a creepy stalker as she happily munched on the orange vegetable.

"Nothing to worry about," she replied through a mouthful. Swallowing the food in her mouth, she reached over again and took a sip of my pumpkin juice as Ron and Hermione simultaneously took a sip of their own goblets.

"By the way," said Delilah as she gave me back my goblet. "What's a date?"

It was suddenly eerily silent in our part of the long table. Suddenly, Hermione all but leaped over the table, barely missing the food, landed in front of Delilah and pulled her toward the exit.

"What?!" Ron exclaimed himself while I quite literally fell off my seat in shock. Hermione merely departed at high speed, dragging a very puzzled Delilah behind her, stopping by the door to seemingly recruit Ginny as well.

"See you at dinner!"