Chapter 2

"I will remind you one more time. You are representing not only your school, but your country. If you misbehave even once, if you take even one step out of line..."

"...a Portkey will send us to Hogwarts and detention."

"Exactly, Mr Malfoy. Please note that the Triwizard Tournament does not imply the fans' suicides. Try anything foolish and you will be going back to Hogwarts. And one more thing: upon returning from Beauxbatons, you will have NEWTs. Try not to forget about them. That is all."

"What, are you not going to warn us about the wiles of the French girls?"

"The wiles of women are a well-known international phenomenon, Mr Malfoy," Harry said dryly. "If there are no more questions, take your places, we'll be leaving in ten minutes."

Harry looked at the group of seventh-years whom he personally chosen to participate in the Triwizard Tournament on the basis of three criteria: the best student, knowledge of French and three students from each house. As usual there was a bloody battle between fairness and common sense. In the end both, sides were destroyed. Now, every time Harry imagined what these twelve strong personalities would do at the Tournament his hair stood on end. It was not obvious considering his hairstyle, though. The Hufflepuffs were the easiest. Those brave tin soldiers were ready to fight a dragon, invite a princess (or a prince) to a ball and write an essay on Numerology any time. Any sane headmaster would have only prayed that one of them was chosen a Champion. Harry wasn't a sane headmaster, though, he was "that freak Potter" - that's why he was turning cold at the idea of someone from Hufflepuff competing in the Tournament. Someone like Cedric Diggory.

The Ravenclaws were giving him a very different sort of headache. During their third year those three came to Headmistress McGonagall and asked for a time-turner because they couldn't attend all the classes without it. Minerva said that she couldn't entrust such a dangerous and fragile artefact to children who regularly couldn't enter the Common room because they had lost the scrap of paper with the password, and Harry agreed with her. Last year the three Ravenclaws came with the same request to him. They did get a time-turner although Harry still (at least once a week) found one of them reading a book outside the dormitories at two a.m. The outcome of their potential single combat with a dragon was extremely ambiguous: they could win using fifteen different spells or they could lose themselves in a copy of Hogwarts: A History and not notice a fire-breathing dragon at all.

There were also three Gryffindors: Sophonisba Fletcher, Westham Thomas and Gaspard Hagrid. Three big "so what"s (My father is a thief, so what? I was named after a Muggle football team, so what? I'm a quarter giant, so what?). These rhetorical questions were usually followed by a fight involving potions from Knockturn Alley, strange Muggle devices and various dangerous animals. With them gone, the Gryffindor team lost a Seeker, a Keeper and the commentator, the professors lost a constant headache, and Gryffindor had a small chance of winning the school Cup while Harry's chances of getting into trouble raised dramatically. They could not have been left out, though. They were the best of Gryffindor, the personification of this trigger-happy House.

And finally there were the three Slytherins. Morgana Flint was known in her House as "the Iron Lady" and to the rest of the school as "the Arse of Stone". Tom Wilkes was a straight-A student, Head Boy, the quiet one and a cynic. Hermione once said that a cynic was a man who knew the price of everything, but not the value, and Harry remembered that. This definition suited Tom Wilkes to the dot. Are you sure, Headmaster? Are you entirely sure? Of course, my boy. And the last member of the party was Abraxas Malfoy, Brax for short.

Dark-haired and grey-eyed, arrogant and careless, cheerful and cruel, Brax had an uncanny resemblance to Sirius Black. The Sirius who didn't quarrel with his parents, didn't befriend the Marauders (or anyone, for that matter) and who was sent to Slytherin without any hesitation from the Hat, to be exact. Harry didn't like Brax because he stood in the way of his love to Sirius. With each passing year, as Malfoy became more and more attractive, unpleasant and looked more like his distant relative, Harry had greater difficulties remembering the real Sirius. He realized that it was foolish to be angry at the boy for muddling his memories, but couldn't help it. He'd have been happy to leave Brax at Hogwarts, but young Malfoy had every right to participate in the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry stepped into the driver's cabin and allowed himself to groan a little. Apart from twelve teenagers he had a whole zoo: three owls, two cats, an auburn guinea pig, a graceful mongoose, an arrogant toad, a white mouse with cute pink ears that had a habit of running away from the cage and an apathetic hamster. Luckily he didn't know anything about the lizard of unknown species that Gaspard Hagrid sneaked onto the train or he'd been groaning louder.

X X X

For a whole month Harry had dreams about a dark-haired girl with a hooked nose. In those dreams he yelled at her, "Your father is a murderer!" The first glance at the Durmstrang table was an unpleasant surprise: there were four girls who had qualified.

Harry brushed off a dark-skinned beauty with a tame raven on her shoulder right away. She was sitting next to a boy who was her spitting image. That must be Ilona Korvin. A broad-shouldered teenager who was grimly crumbling some bread looked very much like Viktor Krum. Harry pitied her at the first glance. One way or other that was Snjezana Krum, and she was not the girl he was looking for. Only two were left: a busty cheerful girl with two long black braids and another in red velvet robes. The latter was facing away from Harry and when she turned hearing Hagrid's laughter Harry saw a disdainful smirk and an arrogant bird of prey profile. So that's Snape's daughter! She was prettier than she deserved, but had her detestable father's temper.

"Albena, pass me that white thing," a red-headed flap-eared boy asked. The girl didn't even turn, politeness wasn't her family virtue. A pallid blond girl next to the redhead boy silently put a plate with the "white thing" in front of him. "Thank you, Albena!" The boy smiled showing crooked teeth.

"Erm," Harry said.

The Headmaster of Beauxbatons smoothed his musketeer moustache and proposed health to his English colleague. Harry drank up, bowed politely and stared again at the Durmstrang table.

She had flaxen hair twisted into an untidy knot, barely visible brows and eyelashes, light grey eyes, prominent cheekbones, an impressive nose and a pointed chin. Was this albino rat Snape's daughter?

"It's called blancmange," the rat said. Harry recognized... not even the voice, the tone.

He spent the rest of the evening as if drugged up. Neither Brax Malfoy shamelessly flirting with French girls, nor Gaspard Hagrid surreptitiously (at least what passed as surreptitious for the large teenager) putting cheese into his pocket attracted the headmaster's attention. He listened indifferently to the story of the Goblet of Fire even though in any other circumstances he'd turned cold at the memories this artefact awakened. He mechanically ate the goulash the Headmistress of Durmstrang offered him.

He came to his senses two hours later near a high vaulted window in a corridor. Apparently he had managed to herd his students into beds in the interregnum. His mouth burned from all the pepper he ate. A tall Durmstrang boy was sitting on the windowsill and singing something quietly. Harry listened. Любо, братці, любо, любо, братці, жить(*)... Nah, it doesn't make sense, this magical translator must be broken.

"Good evening," Harry said just to check the temperamental equipment. The boy jumped off the windowsill and bowed.

"Erm," Harry managed and realized that he wasn't able to uphold the reputation of English humour. "What is this slogan on your jumper?"

"I'm a werewolf, and that's cool," the boy replied glumly.

Harry felt stupor give way to anger. Did this boy know what it felt like to have your file stored at the Department of Magical Creatures in the Ministry? What it felt like to accept any job and lose it after the first full moon? What it felt like to depend on a potion only three people in the country could brew, one of them being an escapee? What it felt like to be someone like Lupin?

"Is it? I mean, cool?" he asked barely suppressing rage.

The boy shrugged.

"I get sick in Potions before full moon because my sense of smell sharpens. The holidays at the Reservation are great, though. And girls like me. Although I'll choose a wife among our own, but it's not going to happen soon."

He smiled showing white sharp fangs and walked down the corridor. Harry didn't move, feeling like a sleepwalker again. A golden green lizard a foot long walked by, stopped, raised its head, and hissed in a hostile way.

Footnotes:

(*) a Ukrainian folk song. The text goes somewhere along "Life is beautiful".