A/N: Hi, my name is Jade and I am happy that you have chosen my story to read. I would like to say that I have only a general idea where this is going to so if any of you have ideas feel free to share them with me by PM or a review.
This is a Time Travel Story. This story is AU. It has SLASH. It has underage sex later on. A lot of characters will be OOC.
If you cannot handle this then don't read this.
This will probably have infrequent posts so maybe you should follow it? School started and it is full of different happenings so…
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you can recognize!
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Back To Hogwarts
After they got back to the Burrow Harry indeed wrote a letter for Draco but a response never came so he was forced to wait until Hogwarts begun.
-o-O-o-
There was a definite end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air when Harry awoke this morning. Heavy rain was splattering against the window as he got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt; they would change into their school robes on the Hogwarts Express.
He, Ron, Fred, and George had just reached the first-floor landing on their way down to breakfast, when Mrs Weasley appeared at the foot of the stairs, looking harassed.
"Arthur!" she called up the staircase. "Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!"
Harry flattened himself against the wall as Mr Weasley came clattering past with his robes on back-to-front and hurtled out of sight. When Harry and the others entered the kitchen, they saw Mrs Weasley rummaging anxiously in the drawers - "I've got a quill here somewhere!" - and Mr Weasley bending over the fire, talking to -
Harry shut his eyes hard and opened them again to make sure that they were working properly.
Amos Diggory's head was sitting in the middle of the flames like a large, bearded egg. It was talking very fast, completely unperturbed by the sparks flying around it and the flames licking its ears. Even though he knew that nothing would happen to him; Harry hoped that the man would be burned.
". . . Muggle neighbours heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those what-d'you-call-'ems - please-men. Arthur, you've got to get over there -"
"Here!" said Mrs Weasley breathlessly, pushing a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a crumpled quill into Mr Weasley's hands.
"- it's a real stroke of luck I heard about it," said Mr Diggory's head. "I had to come into the office early to send a couple of owls, and I found the Improper Use of Magic lot all setting off - if Rita Skeeter gets hold of this one, Arthur -"
"What does Mad-Eye say happened?" asked Mr Weasley, unscrewing the ink bottle, loading up his quill, and preparing to take notes.
Mr. Diggory's head rolled its eyes. "Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says he was creeping toward the house, but was ambushed by his dustbins."
"What did the dustbins do?" asked Mr Weasley, scribbling frantically.
"Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell," said Mr Diggory. "Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the please-men turned up -"
Mr Weasley groaned.
"And what about the intruder?"
"Arthur, you know Mad-Eye," said Mr Diggory's head, rolling its eyes again. "Someone creeping into his yard in the dead of night? More likely there's a very shell-shocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot gets their hands on Mad-Eye, he's had it - think of his record - we've got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department - what are exploding dustbins worth?"
"Might be a caution," said Mr Weasley, still writing very fast, his brow furrowed. "Mad-Eye didn't use his wand? He didn't actually attack anyone?"
"I'll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window," said Mr Diggory, "but they'll have a job proving it, there aren't any casualties."
"All right, I'm off," Mr Weasley said, and he stuffed the parchment with his notes on it into his pocket and dashed out of the kitchen again.
Mr Diggory's head looked around at Mrs Weasley.
"Sorry about this, Molly," it said, more calmly, "bothering you so early and everything. . . but Arthur's the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and Mad-Eye's supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had to choose last night. . . "
"Never mind, Amos," said Mrs Weasley. "Sure you won't have a bit of toast or anything before you go?"
"Oh go on, then," said Mr Diggory.
Mrs Weasley took a piece of buttered toast from a stack on the kitchen table, put it into the fire tongs, and transferred it into Mr Diggory's mouth.
"Fanks," he said in a muffled voice, and then, with a small pop, vanished.
Harry could hear Mr Weasley calling hurried good-byes to Bill, Charlie, Percy, and the girls. Within five minutes, he was back in the kitchen, his robes on the right way now, dragging a comb through his hair. He knew what had happened. Junior had trapped Moody.
"I'd better hurry - you have a good term, boys, said Mr Weasley to Harry, Ron, and the twins, fastening a cloak over his shoulders and preparing to Disapparate. "Molly, are you going to be all right taking the kids to King's Cross?"
"Of course I will," she said. "You just look after Mad-Eye, we'll be fine."
As Mr Weasley vanished, Bill and Charlie entered the kitchen.
"Did someone say Mad-Eye?" Bill asked. "What's he been up to now?"
"He says someone tried to break into his house last night," said Mrs Weasley.
"Mad-Eye Moody?" said George thoughtfully, spreading marmalade on his toast. "Isn't he that nutter-"
"Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody," said Mrs Weasley sternly.
"Yeah, well, Dad collects plugs, doesn't he?" said Fred quietly as Mrs Weasley left the room. "Birds of a feather… "
"Moody was a great wizard in his time," said Bill.
"He's an old friend of Dumbledore's, isn't he?" said Charlie.
"Dumbledore's not what you'd call normal, though, is he?" said Fred. "I mean, I know he's a genius and everything… "
-o-O-o-
Bill and Charlie decided to come and see everyone off at King's Cross station, but Percy, apologizing most profusely, said that he really needed to get to work.
"I just can't justify taking more time off at the moment," he told them. "Mr Crouch is really starting to rely on me."
"Yeah, you know what, Percy?" said George seriously. "I reckon he'll know your name soon."
Harry did not place any hope on that. Mrs Weasley had braved the telephone in the village post office to order three ordinary Muggle taxis to take them into London.
"Arthur tried to borrow Ministry cars for us," Mrs Weasley whispered to Hermione as they stood in the rain-washed yard, watching the taxi drivers heaving six heavy Hogwarts trunks into their cars. "But there weren't any to spare. . . . Oh dear, they don't look happy, do they?"
The journey was uncomfortable, owing to the fact that they were jammed in the back of the taxis with their trunks. Crookshanks took quite a while to recover from the fireworks, and by the time they entered London, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all severely scratched. They were very relieved to get out at King's Cross, even though the rain was coming down harder than ever, and they got soaked carrying their trunks across the busy road and into the station.
Harry was used to getting onto platform nine and three-quarters by now. It was a simple matter of walking straight through the apparently solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. The only tricky part was doing this in an unobtrusive way, so as to avoid attracting Muggle attention. They did it in groups today; Harry, Ron, and Hermione (the most conspicuous, since they were accompanied by Pigwidgeon and Crookshanks) went first; they leaned casually against the barrier, chatting unconcernedly, and slid sideways through it. . . and as they did so, platform nine and three-quarters materialized in front of them. Harry did not remember that it went that smoothly the last time.
The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet steam engine, was already there, clouds of steam billowing from it, through which the many Hogwarts students and parents on the platform appeared like dark ghosts. Pigwidgeon became noisier than ever in response to the hooting of many owls through the mist. Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off to find seats, and were soon stowing their luggage in a compartment halfway along the train. They then hopped back down onto the platform to say goodbye to Mrs Weasley, Bill, and Charlie.
"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny goodbye.
"Why?" Fred asked pretending like it was arranged.
"You'll see," said Charlie. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it… it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all. "
"Yeah, I sort of wish I was back at Hogwarts this year," said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.
"Why?" George asked impatiently.
"You're going to have an interesting year," said Bill, his eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it."
"A bit of what?" said Ron annoyed.
But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs Weasley chivvied them toward the train doors.
"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs Weasley," said Hermione as they climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her.
Last time Harry had thanked her. This time he just went after his friends.
"Oh it was my pleasure, dears," said Mrs Weasley. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but… well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with… one thing or another."
"Mum!" said Ron irritably. "What d'you three know that we don't?"
"You'll find out this evening, I expect," said Mrs Weasley, smiling. Oh, how Harry was annoyed. Last time he had managed to eat it but this time he was furious with everyone that gave hints. Draco, at least told them what was happening. "It's going to be very exciting - mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules -"
"What rules?" said Harry, Ron, Fred, and George together. Harry hoped that she'd slip.
"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you… Now, behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred? And you, George?"
The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move.
"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Ron bellowed out of the window as Mrs Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from them. "What rules are they changing?"
But Mrs Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to their compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting.
Ron and Harry were playing Exploding Snap when they were interrupted by Hermione.
"Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to theirs. Harry and Ron listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door.
"…Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man's such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do. . . . "
Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice.
"Didn't we make a truce?" she said angrily. "I wish we didn't, and then we wouldn't have to put up with him."
"Hermione," Harry said in a mild tone as if to warn her.
"Yes," said Hermione stiffly.
"'Mione, I hate to be the voice of reason, but don't you remember that he is in the Snake's pit? He might be harmed," Ron said. At the sound of it Harry paled, imagining all the worst scenarios he could.
"Well, we don't know that, do we?" asked Hermione, raising her eyebrows.
"So, you want him harmed," said Harry.
"There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between us. I honestly went along with you just to appease you," said Hermione matter-of-factly.
"Come off it," said Ron. "You do not mean that, do you?"
It was a soft voice and Harry was glad that he'd have Ron if not Hermione.
"Maybe," said Hermione, shrugging.
"Come again?" Harry asked snappily
"Harry, he is Malfoy. He will always sneer down at me."
"And what is the difference between him and Snape," questioned Harry.
"It's Professor Snape," Hermione said automatically.
"Don't you think that Harry knows that? He has a crush on him for Merlin's sake!" Ron screamed at her. "For all I care Harry could have sex with him…"
While Ron ranted Harry looked at her face and realized that she had the eyes of an Imperius victim. He did the only thing he could, he stunned her.
"Mate, why'd you do that?" Ron asked.
"I think she is being held under the Imperius."
"Do you know how to get rid of it?" Ron asked worriedly.
"I do. You see, Ron, over the summer I became a Leglimens."
"Do it!"
After Harry freed her, she apologised profusely and all was well.
The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved farther north. The sky was so dark and the windows so steamy that the lanterns were lit by midday. The lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor, and Harry bought a large stack of Cauldron Cakes for them to share.
Several of their friends looked in on them as the afternoon progressed, including Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom. Seamus was still wearing his Ireland rosette. Some of its magic seemed to be wearing off now; it was still squeaking "Troy - Mullet - Moran!" but in a very feeble and exhausted sort of way. After half an hour or so, Hermione, growing tired of the endless Quidditch talk, buried herself in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, and started trying to learn a Summoning Charm.
Neville listened jealously to the others' conversation as they relived the Cup match.
"Gran didn't want to go," he said miserably. "Wouldn't buy tickets. It sounded amazing though. "
"It was," said Ron. Before he'd have bragged about it but this summer has changed him. He knew not to take things for granted and to listen to Harry. Even 'Mione backed down when it came to Harry.
Draco Malfoy had appeared in the doorway. Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle, his enormous, thuggish cronies, both of whom appeared to have grown at least a foot during the summer. Evidently they had overheard the conversation through the compartment door, which Dean and Seamus had left ajar. At their arrival Longbottom left.
"Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy," said Harry coolly.
"Red hair… what is that?" said Malfoy, pointing at Pigwidgeon's cage. A sleeve of Ron's dress robes was dangling from it, swaying with the motion of the train, the mouldy lace cuff very obvious.
Ron made to stuff the robes out of sight, but Malfoy was too quick for him; he seized the sleeve and pulled.
"Look at this!" said Malfoy in ecstasy, holding up Ron's robes and showing Crabbe and Goyle and at seeing that the two left, "Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean - they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety… You leave me with no choice but to let me buy you something that wouldn't abuse my eyes."
"What are you talking about?" snapped Ron.
"I. Will. Buy. You. New. Robes." Malfoy repeated slowly.
"Draco," Harry warned. In all honesty, to Hermione it sounded like her dad.
"I was truthful," Draco said sighing.
"Are you ok?" Ron asked.
"It's nothing," he muttered.
"Tell us," Hermione said simply.
"As I said, it's nothing."
"Draco!" Harry said with such authority that it surprised everyone in the compartment including him.
At once, Draco lowered glamours that were hiding his face and it appeared black and blue.
"Who did this?" Hissed Ron and Hermione together.
"Was it your father?" Harry asked fearing the answer. He hoped it was not affirmative.
"No. He is on a business trip. If he were here none of this would happen," Draco whispered sadly.
"Did you tell him?" Ron asked gently.
"Like it would change anything!"
"What about a divorce?"
"A Malfoy never divorces," Draco said brokenly and left, leaving the compartment's door ajar.
Ron got to his feet and slammed the sliding compartment door so hard behind him that the glass shattered.
"Ron!" said Hermione reproachfully, and she pulled out her wand, muttered "Reparo!" and the glass shards flew back into a single pane and back into the door.
"How the hell are we supposed to fix this?" Ron snarled.
"I don't know," said Hermione quietly.
"When we come to Hogwarts, perhaps we will find something that we can do," Harry whispered from his seat.
Ron's bad mood continued for the rest of the journey. He didn't talk much as they changed into their school robes, and was still glowering when the Hogwarts Express slowed down at last and finally stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station.
As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Hermione bundled up Crookshanks in her cloak and Ron left his dress robes over Pigwidgeon as they left the train, heads bent and eyes narrowed against the downpour. The rain was now coming down so thick and fast that it was as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over their heads.
First years traditionally reached Hogwarts Castle by sailing across the lake with Hagrid.
"Oooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather," said Hermione fervently, shivering as they inched slowly along the dark platform with the rest of the crowd. A hundred horseless carriages stood waiting for them, outside the station. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville climbed gratefully into one of them, the door shut with a snap, and a few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track toward Hogwarts Castle.
Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale. Leaning against the window, Harry could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as their 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 Neville jumped down from their carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when they were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.
"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 Harry, just as a second water bomb dropped - narrowly missing Hermione, it burst at Harry's feet, sending a wave of cold water over his sneakers into his socks. People all around them shrieked and started pushing one another in their efforts to get out of the line of fire. Harry didn't even bother to find the culprit. It was clear as day.
"PEEVES!" yelled an angry voice. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"
Professor McGonagall came dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop herself from falling.
"Ouch - sorry, Miss Granger -"
"That's all right, Professor!" Hermione 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!"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione 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.
Hermione sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. Pearly white and semitransparent, Nick was dressed tonight in his usual doublet, but with a particularly large ruff, which served the dual purpose of looking extra-festive, and ensuring that his head didn't wobble too much on his partially severed neck.
"Good evening," he said, beaming at them.
"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, but by an unlucky combination of circumstances, Harry hadn't been present at one since his own. He was quite looking forward to it.
Harry looked up at the staff table. 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 Harry couldn't think who else was missing.
"Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Hermione, who was also looking up at the teachers.
Harry wasn't that much bothered by it. He knew what would happen but he let Hermione fret.
"Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" said Hermione, looking anxious.
Harry scanned the table more carefully if only just for fun. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway grey hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side was the sallow-faced, hook-nosed, greasy-haired Potions master, Snape - Harry's former least favourite person at Hogwarts. Harry looked at the man. He seemed tired and Harry wished he could know why. He bemoaned the fact that he never met the man the way he was supposed to.
He was watching at Snape during the entire Sorting and he could not help himself but think that something would go terribly wrong.
"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 their eyes. Nearly Headless Nick watched mournfully as Harry, Ron, and Hermione loaded their own plates.
"Aaah, 'at's be'er," said Ron, with his mouth full of mashed potato.
"You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know," said Nearly Headless Nick. "There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."
"Why? Wha' 'appened?" said Harry, through a sizable chunk of steak.
"Peeves, of course," said Nearly Headless Nick, shaking his head, which wobbled dangerously. He pulled his ruff a little higher up on his neck. "The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast - well, it's quite out of the question, you know what he's like, utterly uncivilized, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghost's council - the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance - but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down."
This made Harry wonder if he could get rid of that menace as the Master of Death, and that made him wonder when the letter would appear.
"Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something," said Ron darkly. "So what did he do in the kitchens?"
"Oh the usual," said Nearly Headless Nick, shrugging. "Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits -"
Unlike the last time Hermione did not make a fuss about them and she continued eating in peace. Harry could not be more grateful.
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. "Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!"
Hermione just looked at him and he stopped.
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.
"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, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below the third year.
"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.
"This is due to an event 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 travelling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swivelled 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 grey 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 Harry had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. 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 they could see was whiteness.
The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words Harry couldn't hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry 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 grey 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?" Hermione muttered to Ron. "Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?"
"Must be," said Ron in a low, awed voice.
"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 travelling 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 Harry 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 honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year. "
"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley loudly.
If Harry did not know better he would have thought that Fred had no idea
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.
"Err - but maybe this is not the time… no… "said Dumbledore, "Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament. . . well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.
"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities - until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued. "
"Death toll?" Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. But her anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly to one another.
"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time; no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.
"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money. "
"I'm going for it!" Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, Harry could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbours. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more.
"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older - will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This -" Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious - "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion. " His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.
"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop, chop!"
Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.
"They can't do that!" said George Weasley, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"
"They're not stopping me entering," said Fred stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"
"Yeah," said Ron, a faraway look on his face. "Yeah, a thousand Galleons… "
"Come on," said Hermione, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."
"Wait! If any of you tries to enter I will gut you. If you want money I will give it to you but none of my brothers are risking their lives like that. Got it?" Harry ranted at them.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George set off for the entrance hall, Fred and George promising not to do anything stupid but still debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament.
"Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?" questioned Hermione.
"Dunno," said Fred, "but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George. . . "
"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," said Ron.
"Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?" said Fred shrewdly. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."
"People have died, though!" said Hermione in a worried voice as they walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase.
At the same time Harry barked," Fred, George!"
"Sorry!" Fred said.
"I expect my gran'd want me to try, though. She's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honour. I'll just have to – oops… "Neville said but his foot had sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. There were many of these trick stairs at Hogwarts; it was second nature to most of the older students to jump this particular step, but Neville's memory was notoriously poor. Harry and Ron seized him under the armpits and pulled him out, while a suit of armour at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked, laughing wheezily.
"Shut it, you," said Ron, banging down its visor as they passed.
They made their way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, which was concealed behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress.
"Password?" she said as they approached.
"Balderdash," said George, "a prefect downstairs told me."
The portrait swung forward to reveal a hole in the wall through which they all climbed. A crackling fire warmed the circular common room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables. Hermione cast the merrily dancing flames a dark look, and Harry distinctly heard her mutter "Too late for a book by it." before bidding them good night and disappearing through the doorway to the girls' dormitory.
Harry, Ron, and Neville climbed up the last, spiral staircase until they reached their own dormitory, which was situated at the top of the tower. Five four-poster beds with deep crimson hangings stood against the walls, each with its owner's trunk at the foot. Dean and Seamus were already getting into bed; Seamus had pinned his Ireland rosette to his headboard, and Dean had tacked up a poster of Viktor Krum over his bedside table. His old poster of the West Ham football team was pinned right next to it.
"Mental," Ron sighed, shaking his head at the completely stationary soccer players.
Harry, Ron, and Neville got into their pyjamas and into bed. Someone - a house-elf, no doubt - had placed warming pans between the sheets. It was extremely comfortable, lying there in bed and listening to the storm raging outside.
"I might go in for it, you know," Ron said sleepily through the darkness, "if Fred and George find out how to… the tournament… you never know, do you?"
"Ron!" Harry growled but Ron was already asleep.
Harry rolled over in bed, a series of dazzling new pictures forming in his mind's eye… He had become Hogwarts champion… he was standing on the grounds, his arms raised in triumph in front of the whole school, all of whom were applauding and screaming… he had just won the Triwizard Tournament… Voldemort was nowhere to be seen… Cedric was alive…
Harry stuffed his head into the pillow knowing that he would not be able to avoid it and somehow knowing that Voldemort will be back at the end of the year regardless of the plan Vanmoriel has made.