Ay Rose-o –
You lucky girl, you. Triwizard Tournament just has to be your year. I swear, Sluggy has it in for me. He probably waited seven years just so I wouldn't get a shot at the Tournament. Seriously, one day, I'll turn you into a rebel and you'll lead a mutiny against him, yeah?
You just wait. It'll happen.
It will.
What? It will! Don't look at me like that!
(Or I might just stun you and take a Polyjuice Potion to confront Sluggy. I haven't quite worked out the details, but be on the lookout. Don't say I didn't warn you.)
Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh. Yeah. Be safe and all that or whatever the parentals say to you kids these days.
Figured I'd write you in advance so you don't yell at me later for never thinking about your plans.
November 18. Mark it. First match of the season. Puddlemere United vs. the world. Nah, just kidding. We're facing off against the bloody Tornadoes.
You better be there. And bring Louis, Hugo, Lily, and even my brother—if he hasn't been too much of a prat (I know, not all Potters are as angelic as moi).
Love you kiddo, but only because I have to— James
P.S. Louis says to expect him sometime today, when you're least expecting it…
:
I snorted at the "mysterious" ending. I have lovely cousins; some of us just enjoy theatrics more than others.
Okay, so maybe we all had the tendency to be a tad overdramatic from time to time; but seriously, the Weasley family could star in a Hollywood movie. Lots of drama; lots of fun. I think we had the potential of selling a couple tickets.
And if traditional marketing didn't work out, we could just make my male cousins run around half-naked for advertisement. I hear some girls actually like it. (Don't ask me how I know, I just do. It was not a very pleasant conversation, though.)
But it was just a backup plan in case my Healer dreams didn't pan out.
Always prepared, you know.
I sighed, glancing at my watch. It was barely noon. There was still half a day left to "await" Louis' arrival.
The lucky git was off attending the wedding of one of his Delacour cousins. I'd forgotten to ask him it was a Veela one, because he's been waiting forever to be acquainted with those Veela girls.
Louis claims his sole purpose of meeting the Veelas is to connect more to his heritage, but don't believe him. I caught him and Al sharing a high-five afterward, when they thought I wasn't looking.
What can I say? I've already given up all hope on them.
But yeah, Aunt Fleur managed to convince Professor Slughorn to allow Louis a few days off—it wasn't a difficult task for her, believe me. Just ask Uncle Bill about their month-long 20th anniversary cruise; she intimidates even goblins.
An impatient hoot alerted me to the faithful messenger currently scrutinizing the Second Floor corridor. James' owl was staring expectantly at me.
"No, Buddy, I don't have anything for you."
Yes, his name really is Buddy. James had referred to him as "buddy" one time and the owl wouldn't answer to anything else since. (James was really disappointed; he wanted to name the owl Hercules, but Aunt Ginny didn't think it was a legitimate excuse to buy another.)
Buddy continued to eye me critically. Too bloody creepy, that owl.
"Go to the Owlery! They have tons of yummy treats there," I encouraged as persuasively as possible while conversing with overly-intelligent owls.
You know, just one of those things I did every other day.
Buddy narrowed his eyes, and I could almost decipher the look of acute disappointment reflected in his hazel orbs. Oh Merlin, I was going mad.
"Just go," I pleaded—before I lose my mind. I nodded emphatically towards the open windows. "Please?"
He looked at me one last time, and shook his feathers haughtily before taking off.
Ugh. I swear. Buddy was too much like his owner. James probably taught him how to drive me insane.
I needed to have a talk with James about how he trained his owl. Maybe at his game.
The 18th, was it?
I checked James' letter for verification, grinning at how genuinely excited he was about this. James had aspired to be a Quidditch star ever since we were kids, and he'd worked super hard to attain his dream.
(Including scheduling inhumane Quidditch practices. Nothing was to interfere with his plans of going pro.
Al, Louis, and I led a mutiny once.
James wasn't too pleased.)
But the invitation was really sort of a formality; of course we'd all come to James' match. If Slughorn wasn't going to let us take the Saturday off, there was an easy way around it. He loved free tickets. Or we could just ask Aunt Fleur, Aunt Ginny, or my mum down here. The possibilities were endless, and we—
The letter suddenly went flying out of my hands. Someone had run into me, knocking me off-balance, or was it the other way around?
I threw my arms back to brace the impact against the stone floors, hoping I wouldn't sprain a wrist (Louis would kill me if I couldn't play). My eyes shut instinctively.
I hated falling.
Really. It was only somewhat better in midair, from a broomstick. That way, there was a farther distance to cover before actually landing on solid ground.
I gasped.
I could feel something supporting my waist, my neck—and it wasn't the floor.
Someone had caught me.
My eyes flew open, and I instantly wished I hadn't opened them.
Fantastic.
The person staring down at me was way too familiar for my liking.
Hello, Beauxbatons guy.
Why me?
Scorpius Malfoy smirked at me. "You need to watch where you're going."
I let out a breath I wasn't aware of holding, my face heating up. "Maybe you're the one that needs to watch where you're going."
He pulled me upright. "I just saved you. Are all Hogwarts girls this unappreciative?"
"Only to you," I said sweetly. "Maybe you should go around looking for other girls to save."
Scorpius handed me James' letter. "Maybe I don't want to."
My lips curved. "Thanks."
His eyes widened dramatically. "Did you just say what I think you said? You actually thanked me? I thought I'd have to wait all day to hear that."
I stuck my tongue out at him and laughed. "Oh, and you really would have?"
"Scor! Come on! Headmistress is waiting for us," a heavily-accented voice urged. Four French guys stood at the far end of the hall.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek to repress the smile. They were very easy on the eyes.
"Hold on!" Scorpius called back. He turned back towards me. "We're all practicing our English," he said, smirking. "You should tutor me."
I frowned, perplexed. "You speak perfect English…" Why was that? Why didn't he sport a French accent like the rest of his peers? And how did it take me this long to realize?
Scorpius laughed, beginning to walk away. "Oh and Rose? Maybe I would have."
I stared at his retreating figure. What?
The rest of the day flew by without much event, but at dinner, the anticipation was palpable in the air. Everyone was waiting for the big moment, waiting for the unveiling of the Goblet of Fire once more.
Therefore, even though there was a magnificent feast laid out, dinner seemed to drag on forever.
Fortunately, I'd found something else to amuse myself with.
I was currently grinning at a sulking Potter. He was quite put-out after meeting Emily Dashkov, his Durmstrang buddy.
"You aren't intimidated by her, are you?" I asked innocently.
"Have you seen her?" Al demanded. "She could defeat three Mountain Trolls with her bare hands!"
I rolled my eyes at him. "Are you jealous because she's more muscular than you?"
I felt slightly guilty for aggravating Al even further because I knew he was very anxious about the Champion selection, but I figured he needed a distraction. While Al was generally relaxed and a lot of fun, he could be ultracompetitive, too—especially in situations where he felt the need to live up to a standard: in this case, his dad.
Exasperated, Al scowled at me. "Oh please, have you seen these babies?" He flexed his arms, looking very impressed with himself.
I slapped my hand against my forehead.
Yes, in case anyone was wondering, I'm frequently subjected to these showcases of "manliness". I'm such a supportive best friend (read: VICTIM!).
"There's nothing more to say," I muttered to the refined wood table, ignoring the git next to me.
"Spite is an ugly color on you, Rose," Al chided.
"I thought that was one of those things you were never supposed to say to a girl," mused an all-too-familiar voice.
I lifted my head in excitement. "Louis!"
He grinned, but ignored me otherwise. "Or was that calling them fat?"
"Hey mate!" said Al cheerfully, greeting him with their special handshake. "Welcome back! How did the wedding go?"
"Boring as hell, Al. Seriously, no fun at all. And to think, we have Tori and Teddy's to look forward to in a few months." Louis shook his head, groaning. "Anyway, it's good to be back; that is, if you discount homework, studying, Rose…"
I crossed my arms petulantly. "I was going to give you a hug, but then I remembered how much I can't stand pricks."
We looked at each other in silence, committing to the ultimate stare-down. Al stood behind Louis, making weird faces at me.
(Cheater!)
Damnit, now I really need to blink. .
Five seconds later, Louis and I both burst out laughing.
"Rosie-dooby-doo!"
"Louis-tatouille!" I giggled, hugging him. "I missed you!"
Okay, so he was only gone for four days. But for us, it was a lifetime!
"If anyone asks, we're not related," Al remarked, slowly inching away from us.
Louis and I exchanged a look of mutual understanding, turning to Al at the same time.
"Albus in Wonderland!" We cackled synchronically before collapsing lovingly on him.
Okay, so we were definitely drawing the attention of… most of the Great Hall. But who cares?
Al sighed in resignation. "Well, there goes my reputation," he said, smirking slightly as he patted my back and attempted to shove Louis away from us.
"What reputation?" Louis said, laughing while Al flipped him off. "So, you guys both entered the Tournament?"
"Yeah, mate. Wish you could've gotten back sooner."
Louis shrugged. "Eh, you know I'm not that into this type of stuff."
And it was the truth. Pretty much the only thing Louis was competitive about was Quidditch, but that was it. We all felt the pressure of living up to our parents' names, but he was able to deal with it way better than Al and I—particularly Al.
I've finally realized that my parents just want me to be the best I could be; it had nothing to do with some silly societal expectation.
Of course, I had my own reasons for wanting to be great, but they had nothing to do with whatever other people thought of me. That didn't matter. Not anymore.
On the other hand, Al always worked so hard trying to prove to everyone that he was good enough to be the son of Harry and Ginny Potter. It was completely unnecessary, but that was just what Al did.
So because he wanted this so badly—to be chosen as Hogwarts' Champion—I didn't anymore. I did want it, but I was okay with not being selected if Al could have the opportunity.
Then again, I didn't want him to be picked either, because a part of me worried about the dangers of the Tournament, and I didn't want Al to get hurt, even though it was supposed to be safe and…agh, I was sounding like my mum.
"Well, we're all hoping for Al to be picked. He'd be a kick-arse Champion," I said, grinning at Al.
Louis chuckled. "Definitely," he nodded supportively; we both knew exactly what Al was feeling at this moment. "Oh, I almost forgot." Louis reached into his backpack and handed me a parcel. "Here you go, Rose. From Jamesie."
I took it tentatively from him, glancing suspiciously at the packaging. The frolicking Muggle M&M wrapping paper seemed innocent enough; but with James, you could never be too careful.
I tore the wrapping off gingerly. Inside was something made of a smooth fabric, folded in—
Pshhoo! Pshhoo! Bing! Bang!
What the hell!
James' present suddenly flung itself onto my head, and started emitting fireworks!
"What the hell is going on?" I shrieked at Louis and Al, both of whom were laughing uncontrollably.
Traitors. I hope you choke on your pumpkin juice.
"What?" Albus held his hands up in innocence. "I had nothing to do with it, I swear. But…you really got to hand it to James." And with that convincing argument, he dissolved into laughter again; at least he was kind enough to conjure a mirror for me.
Gazing into the mirror, my brain immediately began plotting 1001 Ways to Kill James Sirius Potter: Extended Edition.
The hat glued to my head flashed the logo of Puddlemere United, the team my dearest cousin played for. And every 11 seconds or so, multi-colored streamers and confetti would burst out, spelling the words: PUDDLEMERE UNITED IS THE BEST!
And if that wasn't bad enough, let's punish Rose some more! There was also a bright fluorescent arrow pointing down at me, broadcasting JAMES POTTER'S #1 FAN!
At least the arrow was in a nice electric blue. That was always a plus. I liked blue.
Regardless, I tugged fiercely at the hat—uselessly, of course. I gritted my teeth at the unsurprising failure of an attempt.
I always argue with James over Quidditch. Dad had drilled into me from birth that the Chudley Cannons were the best Quidditch team in the history of the universe.
I vaguely remember sitting in my crib and staring up at my dad quizzing me on Cannons' flashcards while Mum berated him about not investing as much effort into my infant education, but that could just be my imagination.
But because of that, I always defend the Cannons against James.
And thus, he resolutely embarked upon his mission to convert me into the greatest Puddlemere United and James Potter fan—ever.
I was not impressed in the slightest.
"James is going to die," I hissed at Louis and Al, who, being the supportive best mates they undoubtedly are, were still laughing.
"The hat looks great on you, Rose," Al guffawed. "Who knew James had such great taste?"
Maybe I should add another Potter to my "TO KILL" list. I hope Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny don't mind. I'm sure if I pleaded my case to them, they'd understand.
Besides, Lily's always expressed interest in being an only child.
"And you," I turned to Louis. "You helped deliver this!"
"Hey, don't blame the messenger!" Louis said defensively, although the effect was somewhat ruined by his laughter.
"I'm going to be writing an extremely strong-worded letter tonight," I told my traitorous best mates—it was what Mum did. "And, you will both be there to help."
It was a miracle how quickly the blood drained from their faces.
"Rose, really—"
"It's—"
"Completely unnecessary—"
"You know that—"
Suddenly, the M&M paper used to wrap James "present" fluttered up in front of our faces.
Al reached out for it. "James says that he'll only give you the countercharm if you take a picture of his victory."
I rolled my eyes, exasperated. "Fine. Anyone have a camera, then?"
"Oh, hey look! I just coincidentally have mine with me," Louis said cheerily.
I eyed it suspiciously. "How convenient, Louis."
He grinned innocently. "Well, you know me. Always here to help."
Pfft. Innocent my arse. You could never trust those Weasleys. Or us Weasleys, I guess. Or…yeah, the Weasleys are always up to no good.
I quickly snapped a picture of myself with James' thoughtful "present".
I shot them an expectant look.
Al grinned, referring back to the paper. "Okay, now all you have to—"
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Professor Longbottom coming towards us.
"Hello Rose. Is everything—" he paused, his eyes widening as he stared at the danger zone above my head. Oh wow, he was actually reading the words the hat was spelling!
A look of frustration washed over him. "Damn, I owe Ron 50 galleons!"
"What?"
I couldn't believe they were betting on this!
My own dad! (Well no, that part really wasn't all that surprising.)
"Er, right. Never mind that. Guys," Uncle Neville began more firmly. "I came by to tell you three to keep it down over here…or…or detention!"
"Professor," Louis said disapprovingly. "You really shouldn't be talking. You're the one betting on students here."
"Yeah, I reckon that's child endangerment," remarked Al. "Don't you agree?"
Uncle Neville glanced at us nervously. "Oh, would you look at the time. I have to go, lots…of chicken needing to be cut. I need to feed…the plants."
First of all, eww. I refuse to believe all of his plants are carnivores. That's just wrong.
Second of all, I still can't believe they bet on this!
"Ay Rose," said Al. "Look over here." He waved his wand at me, murmuring, "Encama jetruse."
I beamed. "Thanks, Al!"
He chuckled. "Yeah, the hat's gone, but James says the highlighter sign will remain for at least a couple hours."
I reexamined myself in the mirror. The electric blue letters winked obnoxiously at me.
Ugh. James better watch his back the next time I see him.
Oh well.
I turned, grinning evilly at Louis. "But I'm still blaming the messenger!" I announced, flinging an arm around Al, purposefully scooting us both away from Louis.
"Wow," said Louis, aghast. "I see the two of you have formed a disgusting alliance while I was away." His eyebrows rose so dramatically, I had to turn my giggle into a coughing fit.
"Yep," I confirmed solemnly. "Al's the only one for me."
Al nodded in affirmation, throwing his arm around me as well. "Too true. You're just not good enough for us, mate."
Louis donned his most horrified face. "Fine, I see how it is. I don't need you guys, anyway. I have…" he surveyed the immediate area. "Hugo! Come here, old buddy, old pal."
My brother briefly detached himself from his food, looking even more horrified.
Al and I were in hysterics.
Moments later, after the exchange of some very creative curse words, Louis ran back to us. "Take me back, please! I don't want to be stuck with those dwarfs!"
"Oi! We resent that!" remarked a chorus of disgruntled voices from further down the Gryffindor table.
"Only if you promise never again to deliver suspicious goods for James," I said.
"You're no fun," said Louis, scowling at me.
Al grinned. "Yeah mate, but you're more than welcome to be our slave for life—"
Al broke off as the chatter in the Great Hall died abruptly. The golden plates had returned to its original spotless state.
It was time.
As Slughorn got to his feet, every single person directed his or her attention to the front of the room, where the Goblet of Fire had been moved.
Aunt Maxime and Pafvel looked as tense and expectant as everyone else, but the two Ministry officials who would also be judges for the Tournament—I recognized them as Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, Dad's friends—simply appeared nostalgic.
"Damnit, I missed the food," Louis muttered to Al, glaring at the empty plates.
I rolled my eyes, reaching into my bag and tossing him a roast beef sandwich. I'd stowed it away earlier in case he didn't arrive in time for dinner.
I also wasn't opposed to a midnight snack.
"Thanks, Rose!" Louis whispered.
I inclined my head, not bothering to look at him.
"I know that everyone is excited, but the Goblet is just about ready to make its decisions," said Slughorn. "When the Champions' names are called—" He paused suddenly.
Shit. His gaze landed on me, pleasantly surprised.
"Miss Weasley, beautiful hair accessory, but please try to control it." He gave me an encouraging thumbs-up. "On the plus side, your headmaster is forty galleons richer. I told Minerva she would lose!"
Oh my…agh. I'm…agh. Flabbergasted. Stunned. Shocked. Did everyone make a bet on this? What was there even to bet on?
I was suddenly all-too-aware of all the eyes in the room on me, and I was positive my face was horribly flushed. Why did there have to be Anti-Apparition Wards in the castle? Why couldn't I just disappear when I so needed to?
Urgh.
James.
(I think, from now on, I'll just blame James for everything.)
Professor Slughorn cleared his throat. "As I was saying, when the Champions are called, I would ask them to please come to the front of the Hall and enter the next chamber." Slughorn indicated the door behind the staff table. "There, they will receive their first instructions."
No one moved a muscle or made a single noise as he waved his wand, distinguishing all the candles inside the floating carved pumpkins.
We were plunged into a state of semidarkness, the only light shining being from the Goblet of Fire, whose dancing blue-white flames were mesmerizing. The brightness of it was almost painful, but I was sure no one dared to lose sight of it.
Suddenly, the flames turned red and sparks began to fly from it. Then, a tongue of flame shot out, a charred piece of parchment fluttering out from it—the whole room gasped.
Slughorn caught it. "The Champion from Durmstrang," he read clearly, "will be Aleksandr Ivashkov."
I clapped and cheered along with everyone else, enjoying the atmosphere. We watched as a tall brown-haired wizard with a serious expression rose and walked to the front, disappearing through the doors leading into the next chamber.
Many of his fellow Durmstrang people looked quite disappointed—although "disappointed" may have been an understatement. Two of the girls who hadn't been chosen had dissolved into tears. Pafvel shot them a disapproving glare.
"Lucky guy," Al muttered under his breath.
I squeezed his arm reassuringly.
The cheering soon died down, and everyone focused attentively on the Goblet. Seconds later, it turned red once more and a second piece of parchment flew out, propelled by more flames.
"The Champion for Beauxbatons," said Slughorn, "is Scorpius Malfoy."
Even more applause broke out, and I saw my Beauxbatons buddy stand up, seeming perfectly at ease. I sighed. It figured he would be the one to be selected. As he walked towards the door in front of the Hall, he caught my eye and grinned.
I couldn't help it. I grinned back.
Louis raised an eyebrow in interest. Apparently he saw whatever exchange I had with Scorpius.
I mean, it wasn't even that big of a deal.
So yeah, Louis! Stop being so paranoid!
I shrugged and whispered, "He's my foreign buddy. I'm sure Slughorn will tell you yours after this."
"Right," he nodded. But that knowing look in his eyes still bothered me. I ignored it.
When Scorpius had vanished into the chamber, silence immediately took the Hall once more. I could almost taste the excitement in the air. Hogwarts was up next.
Turning red again, sparks showered from the Goblet as a third piece of parchment shot out.
I took a deep breath, grabbing Al's and Louis's hands on either side of me.
"The Champion for Hogwarts," Slughorn called—Please let it be Al, or please don't let it be him, or—
"—is Albus Potter."
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