Chapter Three
The Wrong Champion
:.:.:
Demetria Harris? As in me Demetria Harris?! I knew I should've moved, should've gotten up and made my way toward the staff table, but I just couldn't. My body suddenly became far too heavy to lift off of the seat, either that or I was just afraid my knees, so wobbly and unsteady, wouldn't support me. Come to think of it, that was probably why.
But everyone in the Great Hall continued to applaud, all except Durmstrang, the only ones who knew I was not of age to compete. Speaking of Durmstrang, I couldn't even stomach a glance at Karkaroff. And had it not been for Viktor who gave me a gentle push off the bench, I wouldn't have had to. So though I would have preferred to slid further into my seat and pretend I wasn't even there, I found my body moving forward while my head remained back at the Slytherin table.
I had just passed the staff table, all professors expressing their congratulations for me in a smile — all except Karkaroff of course who sat wide-eyed and mouth ajar — before all applause had ceased as I'd made my way through the door of the chamber. The brief journey into the small room could have been considered silent, had it not been for the shouting within my head.
This is such a mistake! continued to swarm through my mind. I didn't put my name in the goblet! So who did?
Fleur Delacour and Cedric Diggory stood waiting, feasting their anxious eyes upon the third champion, which had somehow turned out to be myself.
"You are ze champion of Durmstrang?" inquired Fleur through her thick French accent. She appeared just as shocked as I felt.
But before I could reply, Cedric had cut in. "You seem a bit…" he racked his brain for the appropriate term. "…small to be seventeen." Why the word 'small' required a bit of musing, I had no idea. And how exactly was that even putting it nicely as Cedric had clearly intended to do?
Regardless, I explained to them, "I'm only fourteen." That certainly widened both of their eyes. But before they could comment, there came an echo of footsteps. Pivoting, I found they belonged to Harry Potter.
Fleur had then composed herself enough to toss her curtain of long, silvery hair and say to Harry: "What is it? Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"
But before Harry could deliver whatever the message was — if there was one at all — more scurrying brought forth Ludo Bagman who'd linked his arm within Harry's and led him forward.
"Extraordinary!" he mumbled. "Absolutely extraordinary! Ladies…gentleman," he added upon approaching the fire-side. "May I introduce — incredible though it may seem — the fourth Triwizard champion!"
All right, now things were truly just getting out of hand. Not only were there now two underaged champions, but one of them was representing a school which already had a champion!
"Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman," said Fleur with a smile and another toss of her hair.
"Joke?" Bagman parroted. "No, no, not at all! Harry's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!"
Fleur frowned. "But evidently zair 'as been a mistake," she said. "'E cannot compete. 'E is too young…as is she."
She pointed to me, Bagman's gaze falling to curiosity before shrugging it off and simply saying, "Well…it is amazing. But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name — and her's — have come out of the goblet…Well, there can't be any ducking out at this stage. It's down in the rules, you're obliged…Harry and Demetria will just have to do the best they —"
The door to the chamber opened once more, this time bringing forth a much larger group. Literally, that Madame Maxime giant counted for at least three extra professors. But besides her there was also Dumbledore, Mr. Crouch, Karkaroff, and two professors I assumed were Hogwarts staff. The woman appeared older, her hair drawn back into a tight bun with square spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose. The man was sallow-skinned with curtains of greasy, jet-black hair and — Son of a banshee, that was Severus Snape!
"Madame Maxime!" said Fleur at once, striding over to her headmistress. "Zey are saying zat zese two children are to compete!"
Children? Who did she think she was calling a child? I was fourteen! In some countries, I could've been considered well into woman-hood.
Madame Maxime, when straightening up at full height, her head brushed the candle-filled chandelier.
Did I say three professors? I meant thirty-three…
"What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she imperiously asked.
"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," came Karkaroff, his eyes resting upon mine. And though I attempted to find some sort of emotion, any sort of give-away in his eyes, they were as cold and unmoving as ever, like two blue shards of ice. But then, he finally turned to face Dumbledore himself. "Two Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions — or have I not read the rules carefully enough?" He issued a short but nasty snicker.
Godric, I could only imagine what sort of punishment from him I'd receive once we were back on the ship. After all, I'd taken away the champion title from his precious Vicky.
"C'est impossible," came Madame Maxime. "'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions, and Durmstrang cannot 'ave an underaged champion! It is most injust."
"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep our younger contestants, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff once again, this time his cold orbs remaining on me. "No matter how skilled or talented they may be…" and then it had returned to Dumbledore just like that. "Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."
"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," Snape softly intervened. "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for their determination to break the rules. As for Harris —"
"I did not enter my name," I told him firmly, though one glance of malice and I was ignored.
"Neither did I," Harry admitted.
Dumbledore was now looking down at the pair of us, the expression of his eyes behind those half-moon spectacles practically unreadable. "Did either of you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?" he asked us.
"No," we both clarified.
"Ah, but of course zey are lying!" cried Madame Maxime.
"They could not have crossed the Age Line," the square-spectacled professor spoke sharply. "I am sure we are all agreed on that —"
"Dumbly-dorr must 'ave made a mistake wiz zee line," Madame Maxime insisted with a shrug.
"It is possible, of course," Dumbledore said politely.
"You didn't…!" leapt from my mouth before I could think to stop it. "…er, Professor Dumbledore, sir." I thought back to the way Fred and George had been hurled across the entrance hall. There was no way in hell Dumbledore had made a mistake with that Age Line.
"Stay out of this, Demetria," Karkaroff instructed softly. And just because I was undoubtedly already in deep enough with him as it was, I silenced myself.
"She is right, Albus," said the woman professor angrily. "You know perfectly well you did not make a mistake. Really, what nonsense! Harry could not have crossed the line himself, nor could Demetria, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that they did not persuade an older student to do it for them, I'm sure that should be good enough for everybody else!"
She shot a positively livid glare toward Snape. Thank Merlin for this woman!
"Mr. Crouch…Mr. Bagman," said Karkaroff. "you are our — objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?"
Bagman, who'd been wiping his round face with a hankerchief, turned to Crouch who stood just outside the circle of firelight, half of his face submerged in shadow.
"We must follow the rules," he said after a moment. "and the rules clearly state that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament."
"Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front," said Bagman as though that had just solved the issue.
"I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students," Karkaroff said gravely. "You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It's only fair, Dumbledore."
"But Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that," Bagman explained. "The Goblet of Fire's just gone out and won't reignite until the start of the next tournament —"
"— in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!" Karkaroff had finally exploded. It was only a matter of time what with the way he'd practically been speaking as though he were a ticking time bomb. "After all of our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!"
Great! Because, quite frankly, dying wasn't on my to-do-list until about age ninety!
"Empty threat, Karkaroff," growled a somewhat familiar voice from near the chamber's entrance. "You can't leave your champion now. She's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?"
Mad-Eye Moody had just entered the room, limping toward the fire. With every step he took, a loud wooden clunk was emitted.
"Convenient?" parroted Karkaroff. "I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody."
"Don't you?" asked Moody quietly. "It's very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter's name into the goblet knowing they'd have to compete if they came out."
"Evidently, someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!" Madame Maxime chimed in once again.
"I quite agree," said Karkaroff upon bowing to the giant headmistress. "I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards —"
"Then how do you explain your own champion's name being submitted?" challenged Moody.
"Zey could assure the win for 'Ogwarts if zey took out ze intimidating young boys of Durmstrang and made zeir champion a young girl —" Madame Maxime easily replied.
"No student of mine makes for an easy target!" Karkaroff had so quickly turned on the giant woman, his hand now encouraging resting on my shoulder. "Especially not young Harris here. She is one of the top students at —" Realization struck Karkaroff, Moody's point having been proven correct. After all, if I didn't make for Hogwarts's easy win, my name had to have been submitted for another reason.
"Are you suggesting someone submitted our names in hopes that we'd…die?" I really should have been keeping my mouth shut as Karkaroff had previously wanted, but he seemed just as interested in Moody's answer as I was to reprimand me this time.
But Moody never replied. Instead, Bagman's voice cut through the extremely tense silence. "Moody, old man…what a thing to say!"
"I didn't say it," Moody pointed out. "Young Harris did."
But even if Karkaroff did believe the theory for a moment, he certainly put a different spin on things now. "We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn't discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime," he said loudly. "Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons."
"Imagining things, am I?" growled Moody. "Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put Potter's name in that goblet. Could've been anyone putting Harris's name in. Anyone who wanted them gone."
The first person my mind rushed to was Nikolai Pavel. But he couldn't have hated me that much…could he?
"Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?" said Madame Maxime.
"Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object into thinking there were four schools competing!" Moody explained. "It would have taken an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament. I'm guessing they submitted Potter's name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category…"
"You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody," Karkaroff skeptically voiced my exact thoughts. "and a very ingenious theory it is."
"It's my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff, as you ought to remember…"
"Alastor!" Dumbledore warned. I'd almost forgotten that was Mad-Eye's real first name. "How this situation arose, we do not know. It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the tournament just as Demetria has. This, therefore, they will do…"
"Ah, but Dumbly-dorr —"
"My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it."
And though he'd waited, she responded with nothing but a glare, though she wasn't alone. Snape was looking rather furious and Karkaroff was simply livid. Bagman, on the other hand, couldn't have appeared more excited.
"Well, shall we crack on, then?" he asked, beaming. "Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honors?"
"Yes," said Crouch as though just coming out of a deep reverie. "instructions. Yes…the first task… The first task is designed to test your daring, so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard…very important…
"The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges.
"The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests."
He then turned to look at Dumbledore. "I think that's all, is it, Albus?"
"I think so," confirmed Dumbledore. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?"
"No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry," he insisted. "It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment…I've left young Weatherby in charge…Very enthusiastic…a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told…"
"You'll come and have a drink before you go, at least?" prodded Dumbledore.
"Come on, Barty, I'm staying!" Bagman said brightly. "It's all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!"
The man said no, can we leave now? I longed to say aloud. Apparently, I'll have to start writing my will first thing.
And with that (or whatever I'd just missed), Madame Maxime had taken Fleur by the shoulders and was leading her out of the chamber, both engaged in a rather fast French conversation. And had I known more Norwegian or had Karkaroff known more Bulgarian, we'd have been doing the same thing when we finally exited the room ourselves. But even once we were the only ones making our way through the deserted Great Hall, he still didn't utter a single word to me. Honestly, I would have preferred his scolding over his silence. It only caused the tension to thicken. But perhaps that was simply his way of having me suffer.
Either way, it gave me quite a bit of time to process all of this. The reality of the dangers hadn't quite sunk in yet, but the possibility that someone may have wanted me killed did. Though that couldn't have been true, for the only true enemy of mine who could have possibly entered my name in was Nikolai, and even I didn't hate him that much. It wasn't until Karkaroff and I had reached the docks that he spoke.
"Demetria." My name simply hung in the night air for a moment, a silence that seemed to last forever lingering.
"Yes, sir?" I prodded, though he still hesitated to respond.
"Just between the two of us…did you a — ?"
"I asked absolutely no one to enter my name for me," I told him honestly. He looked down at me as though searching for another answer in my eyes. "You know me, Professor — never really been one for death at a young age."
That brought not a smile upon his lips, but a smile to his eyes. "And you know me, Demetria — never really been one for watching one of my favorite students die at a young age," he told me whimsically, the grin still absent. "But I know I won't have to worry about that. You may be younger…but I know how strong you are…the skills you possess…You are the best in your year, one of the best in all. Not only will you survive…but you will win. You must prove yourself out there, Demetria… You must show everyone what you are capable of."
After I'd taken in Karkaroff's speech, having been so surprised that he didn't scold me or even yell, I felt there was something I had to ask him. "Professor?" He nodded for me to continue. "Aren't you…disappointed…that it's not Viktor?"
But rather than respond, he instead told me, "I will go in first and calm the others. They are undoubtedly in an uproar of sorts over your being chosen." And with that, he'd risen up the plank and climbed aboard the ship. Sure enough, I could hear shouts issuing from the cabins below deck.
So I had disappointed Karkaroff. Then again, it shouldn't have come as such a surprise to me since he practically treated Viktor as his superior. But he was right about one thing, certainly — I would have to prove myself if I planned on winning the tournament. Come the first task, I would have to show them all what I was capable of, and despite my age, size, and possibly even gender, I would become the others' greatest threat — "Demetria!" — no matter what.
I made my way up the plank but before climbing aboard the ship, Karkaroff stopped me from just over the railing. "You are just as good a representation of this school as Viktor would have been," he told me genuinely. "Perhaps…even better."
I smiled gratefully, which he mirrored, as I swung my legs over the rail and landed on the wooden deck with a soft thud. Karkaroff and I headed in the same direction until parting at the doors of his private cabin, he disappearing behind them and I making my way below deck. There, the small staircase led me down into the ship's lantern-lit bowels, a collection of my fellow students practically attacking me once I'd reached our array of bunk-beds and cots. Mostly, though, there was a chorus of my name.
"Demetria! How ver you able to enter your name?"
"I didn't."
"Who put it in for you?"
"No one."
"How did you trick the Age Line?"
"I didn't!"
"It should have been me." Despite all of the commotion and the shouts, my ears easily detected the hushed comment of Nikolai. It silenced all other voices, everyone — myself especially — now looking toward Nikolai from the corner of the space.
"Well obviously it couldn't've been you, considering you put my name in." No, I didn't know it for a fact, but he was the only suspect I had at that point. But either Nikolai was incredibly good at hiding the fact that he did do it, or he just truly didn't, because he gave nothing away. His facial expression, his eye expression, his voice, his movements — it all remained smooth.
"Listen, Princess," he spat in his stride over to me. "if there is a thousand Galleon prize on the line vith a life of eternal glory, you had better understand that I vant no one's name submitted but my own."
"Well, that's the only way you'd be chosen, Pavel," retorted Finn upon cutting through the small assembly. I had to admit that it was sort of a surprise to see him, of all people, jump in and defend me. But Viktor had actually chimed in next.
"Finnick has a point," he agreed. "You see, the Goblet of Fire chooses the name of the von most vorthy of competing, vich last time I checked…vas not you."
Snickers and cheers were passed along through the circle of blokes, though Nikolai didn't appear fazed in the slightest. Instead, he was quick to shoot back an insult at Viktor. "Who are you to talk, Krum?" he challenged. "I didn't exactly see your name being shot out of the goblet."
"That is because I am not the best," said Viktor simply.
"But you're better than I am," I dropped my voice and spoke to him and him only. But evidently, it was still loud enough for Grigor to join forces…though not at all with the right side.
"Clearly he is not if you managed to cross an Age Line made by Albus Dumbledore," Grigor bitterly seethed.
At first, I simply had no words. I just stood there like a fool caught off guard with my lips slightly parted. One of my oldest and best friends didn't even believe me… Grigor didn't believe me… Luckily, Finn and Viktor both quickly cleared out the crowd, the blokes all going to rest in their bunk-beds. Grigor then made his way angrily stomping up the stairs back on deck and Finn, Viktor, and I all followed.
"What was that, Grig?" I demanded.
"Vhat vas vhat, Dem?" he mimicked. Grigor's tone cut like a knife through the chilling evening air.
"You know damn well what!" I indignantly told him, despite both Finn and Viktor's attempts at quieting me so Karkaroff wouldn't wake. "Taking Pavel's side over mine?! The friend who has been there for you since he planted Dungbombs in every single one of your clothes' pockets in your fourth year?!"
"Yes, vell clearly things such as that do not matter to you anymore, considering you never mentioned to me — not vonce — that you ver entering!" argued Grigor. "You even lied and told me you didn't vant to! But you knew how much I vanted this — to be Durmstrang's champion!"
"I don't want it!" I yelled in what felt like my final attempt at getting through to him. "I never wanted it! If I could just hand the title over to you, I would! But I can't! I never put my name in! I never told anyone to put my name in!"
Grigor looked as though he might finally believe me, as though he may finally have smiled and apologized and embraced me in one of his bone-crushing hugs. His expression of stone was softening, all anger melting away from those big, blue orbs of his, until it all had flowed back into place. And just before stomping past me, deliberately colliding his shoulder with mine, his words hung in the air with the same acid tone as before.
"You had better be getting your sleep, Princess. I vould not vant you tired for your undoubted photo shoot tomorrow morning."
It numbed me from the insides out, or had that just been the icy chills of the evening? Either way, I'd just lost one of the few people who probably would have believed me when I said I absolutely did not put my name in the goblet.
:.:.:
The following morning, seeing as how there were no photo shoots as Grigor had mentioned, all I'd wanted to do was sleep. And so, considering it was a Sunday with no classes to worry about, that was exactly what I'd done. I'd actually practically slept the entire day away, for by the time I decided to rise, I'd made my way above deck and was revealed to an impending sunset. Not even having bothered to dress in any sort of Durmstrang uniform, I'd simply traded my plaid boxer shorts for a pair of leggings but left on the grey, long-sleeved Bulgaria shirt, it's sleeves hanging an extra two inches off my arms. And last but not least, my black combat boots had been laced up by the time I'd descended down the plank.
Upon making my way to the castle, I'd ducked my head into the Great Hall to find everyone already enjoying dessert. That was rather unfortunate, considering I truly was hungry. But all of a sudden, I was focused on something entirely different, for there came a voice in my ear whispering, "Who're you spying on?"
My heart skyrocketed out of my chest for a brief moment until I'd whipped around and found the cause of my heart attack to be non-other than George Weasley, Fred naturally at his side.
"Sorry I startled you, love," George apologized with a charming, yet mischievously lop-sided, grin. I'd taken a step away from the Hall's entrance to remain unseen and the twins had taken that same step to stand in front of me.
"Or should we say…Princess?" Fred teased. I took another side-step, but they'd mirrored my action.
"Or should we say…Demetria Harris?"
Upon hearing that, it had taken a moment of realization to remind myself that they'd seen me the previous night when my name was called out for champion. Ugh, champion. I'd been so very close to genuinely forgetting all about that. Well, at least they didn't seem to be connecting any dots with my name…
"That's right, Demetria —" said George in reference to my widened eyes.
"— Durmstrang champion," came Fred. "By the way —"
"— Congratulations," they both chorused.
"Didn't know you were of age," George admitted.
And though I'd opened my mouth to speak, I caught myself and simply shook my head. It was true that I no longer truly needed to pretend I couldn't speak English, but it certainly was rather amusing.
"You're not of age?" Fred inquired. I shook my head a second time. "So you got past the Age Line just like Harry!"
He beamed like a proud parent, but I simply turned to leave. It was stressful enough trying to convince people I hadn't put my name in when I could speak. I was certainly not about to attempt that explanation without words. But Fred and George both stopped me as I figured they would, blocking me every way I turned.
"Don't worry," George advised. "We believe you didn't put your name in."
I could feel my gaze actually soften as it rested upon the two of them. The corners of my mouth even raised in a small smile.
"Bulgaria, eh?" Fred commented, eyes scanning the red letters across my shirt. At least…that was what his eyes had better have been scanning… "Seems we know who you were rooting for at the Cup."
The Quidditch World Cup… Really? He was going to bring that up too? Would this bloke stop at nothing to ruin my evening?
"Speaking of," began George. "how's your leg?" And so rather than tell him, I showed him by rolling up the leggings on the correct leg until the scar from the gash was visible. "Arms?" I rolled down the leggings and pushed up my sleeves, stretching my arms out for him to survey.
"Breasts?" It was Fred's crude comment which caused me to pull the sleeves back down and attempt to maneuver past them again, but to no avail. "Sorry, sorry! Only joking!" he defended.
"Are you hungry?" George looked to me as though he already knew my answer, but I still gave a fervent nod. "Well then you'll have to say so."
"Sigurno se sheguvate," I mumbled under my breath, frustrated. (You must be kidding) And that time, I'd actually successfully glided past them and began making my way down the corridor until one of them called out to me.
It was George. "We never told you how to get into the kitchens, love!" he said in a sing-song way.
I stopped dead in my tracks and released a long sigh of defeat. George was, unfortunately, right. So upon turning, I reluctantly proceeded toward the twins, only to make my way out onto the grounds. They called out their chorus of "Goodnight, Demetria" as I continued toward the docks with an empty stomach. And no sooner had I climbed aboard the ship than did the rest of the Durmstrang lot begin their own march across the grounds. So to avoid their questioning of my whereabouts that day, I simply retired to my bunk-bed and feigned sleep until I truly did fall into a genuine slumber. But every now and again, a fierce growl from my stomach would awaken me until I finally couldn't take it any longer.
Clad in my plaid boxer shorts and still my long-sleeved Bulgaria shirt, I simply slid on a pair of Viktor's thick, wooly socks to act as slippers so I could sneak about the castle. I'd casted "Lumos!" to ignite the tip of my wand and silently crept off the ship and across the grounds. But once I'd actually entered the castle, I'd nearly had another heart attack given by the same two troublesome people.
"Boo," George whispered.
"Son of a — !" Well, that cat was out of the bag. And by the light of Fred and George's wands (because I'd dropped mine), I could see the smirks plastered across their faces. I bent down to retrieve my glowing wand. "All right, fine, you caught me — I'm British, I speak English, there."
"Actually, we already knew that," Fred admitted.
I shot back up, wand in hand. "How?"
"Lee told us," they chorused.
"That little —"
"Easy, love," George soothed. "According to him, you had him promise not to tell Fred and George…"
"So he told Fred or George," pointed out Fred. "In which case, it was George, being that you're all he's been talking about since the Quidditch World Cup."
George had then smacked his twin upside the head with a rolled up piece of parchment. And though I wasn't entirely sure, by the glow of Lumos, I thought I detected a slight rise of color to George's ears.
"Wait a minute," I said. "How did you gitsknow I'd be here?"
"Gits?" parroted Fred, hand over his heart and feigning offense. "Would we be gits if I told you we'd been waiting here because we knew you'd be hungry and planned on taking you down to the kitchens?"
I had to admit, that was incredibly nice of them, but — "Why didn't you just take me down to the kitchens earlier then?" I wasn't angry nor accusing, just curious.
"Because earlier you weren't speaking to us —" defended George.
"— let alone in English."
"Besides…"
They both simultaneously finished with: "It's more fun when it's after hours."
But their sly grins had quickly snapped into alert expressions upon hearing the sound of footsteps. George then urgently unrolled the parchment and brought his wand tip to it and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good" and I watched as ink lines began to spread like a spider's web from the wand's point. They joined eachother, they crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment until words began to blossom across the top, curly green words that proclaimed:
Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers
are proud to present
THE MARAUDER'S MAP
I didn't get a very good look at the inside though, considering George had opened it and was quickly scanning it. And soon after, he had folded it back over and had pressingly said, "Filch is headed this way."
"C'mon then!" urged Fred in a hushed tone.
He took off first, George taking me by the wrist and moving me along with him. All three of us kept our wands out to light the way and George had handed off the Marauder's Map to Fred, being that his hand was busy nearly holding mine.
"What's the Marauder's Map?" I whispered.
"Well, that's sort of a long story," said George, the three of us speeding along down the corridor.
"Then give me the short version," I insisted, George then freeing my wrist and clamping his hand over my mouth. We'd stopped running and Fred had checked the map again.
"Shite," he swore. "In here, lights out!"
Once I'd shoved George's hand away, we'd followed his brother and ducked into a bit of a narrow little cove. "Nox!" We'd all whispered. And though I wasn't entirely sure what we were waiting for, I figured it had happened once the footsteps I assumed were Argus Filch's had come close and then turned back the way he'd came.
"Lumos!" said Fred, wand pointed at the map. "Almost gone…"
"Fred, is that your hand?" asked George.
"Hm?" Fred mumbled.
Shite, it was mine! I immediately snatched away the hand that was brushing against George's…erm, arse… Oh, it was an accident! The cove was only so big, you know!
"Very saucy, Princess," purred George. I slapped his arm and stepped out of the cove, both blokes following my action.
"It was an accident," I insisted, following Fred as he proceeded down the corridor.
"If you two love-birds can't keep your hands to yourselves —" Fred began to threaten.
"What's the Marauder's Map?" I asked again, mainly just to change the subject.
"Basically it was created by Harry Potter's father and his mates to show the whereabouts of everyone in the castle —" George began.
"— and everything they were doing —"
"— every minute —"
"— of every day."
"We knicked it from Filch's office first year —"
"— gave it to Harry our fifth year —"
"— but borrowed it for this evening just in case Filch showed up —"
"— which he did."
"Must you two switch off your sentences like that?" I asked.
"You get used to it," they chorused.
Fred then brought his wand back to the map and said, "Mischief managed" causing the map's contents to dissolve. He then raised his wand to ignite the huge portrait of fruit we know stood in front of. I watched in curiosity as he reached his hand out and tickled the football-sized pear, causing a doorknob to appear.
"Ladies first, your majesty," said Fred, both he and George bowing.
I rolled my eyes but stepped through the door he'd opened for me, revealing an enormous room identical to the Great Hall in more ways than one. Four lines of tables lined the room, copper pots and pans almost making the walls glimmer, with what had to be hundreds of house-elves scurrying about, reminding me of my own house-elf back home at Harris Manor — Tinker.
"Masters Fred and George!" squaked a small, and somehow familiar, voice upon the twins' step in front of me.
"Hey, Dobby!" greeted the boys.
Dobby? I moved past them and, sure enough, standing before me now was unmistakably the very same tennis ball-eyed elf that I'd seen running about Malfoy Manor a few years prior. To see him now safe from the abuse of Lucius Malfoy was a truly comforting sight to behold.
"Dobby, we'd like for you to meet —" But introductions between us were not necessary, which George had learned upon Dobby's cutting him off.
"Miss Demetria!" Dobby excitedly cried, wrapping his little arms around my waist.
"Hello there, Dobby," I returned, affectionately ruffing what little amount of hair he had atop his head. "How're you doing?"
"Dobby is doing very well, very well indeed!" he told me. "Can Dobby get you anything, miss?"
After a moment of musing, I told him politely, "A chicken and ham sandwich with a glass of pumpkin juice, if you don't mind, Dobby."
"Not at all!" he insisted, beaming, before turning to the twins. "For Masters Fred and George?"
They still appeared rather taken back, but Fred still replied with, "Pumpkin juice also", George then adding, "Make it three." And so with that, Dobby had scurried off deep into the kitchens, the twins following me as I made my way toward one of the long tables. I sat down at the one which would have been Slytherin had we been up in the Great Hall, simply out of habit. That was when the blokes plopped down at what would be the Gryffindor table, grinning over at me.
"Really?" I asked them, though bearing a smile of my own.
"Sorry, love," said George. "We've just been sorted into Gryffindor."
Catching on to their game, I stood up and told them, "I just transferred to Hogwarts and haven't been sorted yet."
"Ah, not to worry," Fred assured me, both he and his brother now standing also. "We can help with that."
He swiftly made his way over and took me by the hand to the back of the kitchens, the front of the tables. George then appeared at my side with a fair-sized copper pot in hand. But before I could ask what it was for, he'd gently placed it over my head, my laughter echoing from within it as it narrowed my vision to slits.
"What is this?"
"Why the Sorting Hat, of course!" replied George. "So let the Sorting begin!"
Fred had leaned in and began whispering in my pot-covered ear in a voice that must have mimicked the Sorting Hat. "Hmm… certainly not Ravenclaw, you are in no way smart enough…"
"I beg your pardon!" I said half-offended yet half-amused.
"Oh, very saucy, I see…"
"She touched my arse before, Sorting Hat!" George called out.
"That was an accident!" I told him yet again.
"That will certainly count towards which House you are sorted into," Fred told me seriously, though I could envision the grin upon his face. "Wait, what's this? I see a great deal of bravery…and loyalty…Why, you've even been messing around with those devilishly handsome Weasley twins — better be GRYFFINDOR!"
Removing the pot from my head, Fred began clapping his hand against it whilst George, seated at what would be the Gryffindor table, also applauded. Fred and I then went to join him, I sitting across from the pair of them.
"Congratulations on making it into Gryffindor!" praised George, extending his hand; we briefly shook. "I'm George Weasley —"
"— and I'm Fred Weasley." Fred and I shook next.
"I'm Demetria Harris," I 'introduced'. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."
In that moment, Dobby had arrived before our table, placing down our orders. "Dobby thinks you would make a wonderful Gryffindor, Miss Demetria!" He beamed.
"Thank you, Dobby," I told him. But all at once, the grin had snapped like a rubber band into a hard line. Me — a Gryffindor? I couldn't possibly… What would Grandad — No, what would my parents think? They'd been Slytherins…Death Eaters. It had been so long since I'd remembered there was a path expected of me that I must walk. Talk about dampening the mood.
"Something wrong, Demetria?" inquired George sincerely.
I put my smile back in place and assured him, "No, nothing."
"Then in that case…" Fred began, raising his glass. "Here's to Gryffindor!"
"To Gryffindor!" The three of us clanked our glasses together before taking a swig of pumpkin juice, though my cheer was not nearly as enthusiastic.
From the first bite of my sandwich to the last, Fred and George had talked my ear off about the joke shop business they hoped to start once they'd finished school. They told me all about how they'd won a bet on the Quidditch World Cup with Ludo Bagman, but he'd been refusing to pay up…or even answer them at all. They also told me about their siblings and their parents, though really just in passing. It wasn't until we'd all finished our beverages that they asked of my own family.
Every trace of my smile had disappeared, the boys quickly observing that they'd struck a nerve. "Er, sorry," Fred awkwardly apologized. "We didn't mean —"
"No, I know," I assured him. And after a moment, I decided to break the silence, though I told not the entire truth. "They died when I was only a year old… I don't know what happened exactly. The only family I really know of is my grandad. I live with him out in Wiltshire."
"So if you live in England, why do you go to Durmstrang?" asked George carefully.
I shrugged. "Because that was where he went and he wants me to…follow in his footsteps. So he also doesn't want me becoming a huge Quidditch star like my father… He says I should do something more useful with the other skills I possess."
"Quidditch star?" parroted Fred; I nodded. "You don't mean — Your father wasn't —"
"Aiden Harris, world famous Chaser for the Tutshill Tornados," I finished proudly.
"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, dumbfounded. "That's — He was — You must be incredible!"
"I've inherited his skills," I told him simply and with a grin.
"You'll have to play with us sometime," said George. "We're Beaters."
"We always get a game or two going back at the Burrow," Fred shared. The Burrow, as they'd told me, was what they nicknamed their home.
"Oh yeah?" I said. "You're on then."
"Ace!" Fred commented. "Oh, and you should tell your grandad to piss off."
"Fred," George whispered warningly to his brother; he didn't listen.
"No seriously, Georgie," he said before turning his attention back to me. "I mean you've got to do what you want, it's your life after all. Take us, for example: our mum would much rather us getting a ton of O.W.L.s and a respectable career like our brothers —"
"— but we're doing what we want, what makes us happy, just like you ought to," George chimed in.
"It's not that easy," I told them. It wasn't as though I hadn't thought of what they were telling me before.
"Look, just…think about it at the very least," Fred suggested. And before I could protest to tell him I had, he told me, "Really think about it." He then stood and began calling for Dobby to thank him. George and I rose from our seats then also, but he'd stopped me before I could stride over to Fred and Dobby.
"Yes, George?" I prodded him when he'd opened his mouth but failed to utter words.
"You've just got to be…true to yourself," he told me simply before breaking out in a smile. "And don't be afraid to let that heart of yours decide, Princess."
"Oi! Love birds!" called Fred from the front of the kitchens. George and I merely rolled our eyes and made our way over to him.
Yeah, maybe one day I would let this heart of mine decide…
:.:.:
For the rest of the week, being that Hogwarts classes were in session, my fellow classmates and I (and most likely those of Beauxbatons) had to keep ourselves entertained on our ship (and they in their carriage). The only time we were allowed to enter the castle — or even so much as leave the ship — was during meal times. But even then, it was all just appreciated as a change of scenery, at least for me it was. Not to say the food was bad, but the company wasn't anything special. Draco was usually always gawking over Viktor and Grigor still wasn't speaking to me, so that really only left me with Finn who I'd grown a great deal closer with. Well, Finn and a Slytherin sixth year by the name of Adrian Pucey. He was always trying to get involved in our conversation and Finn would always tease me about that Pucey bloke fancying me. It seemed he was right about that.
By the time Friday had arrived, we'd grown so incredibly sick of the bloody ship that a few blokes went to request permission to wander the grounds from Karkaroff. His reply had been: "If you are all having nothing to do, perhaps I should continue with lessons." That had ceased most complaints, though not all. But after lunch that day, was possibly the only time I'd felt thankful to be a champion. Just as people had begun exiting the Great Hall, a young Gryffindor girl had strode over to me at the Slytherin table. In fact, it was the red-headed girl from that night in the forest — probably Fred and George's sister.
"Hi, Demetria," she greeted brightly. "I don't know if you remember me —"
"Oh, I do," I assured her.
"— my name's Ginny Weasley," she introduced. "I'm s'posed to take you to meet with the other champions."
"Ace!" was my fervent reply. "D'you know how long it'll take?"
Ginny and I had commenced leaving the Hall side-by-side, I trying my best to ignore the daggers Grigor was sending me, Ginny then saying: "They didn't mention it," I followed her lead toward the steps to the entrance hall. "But they did mention taking photos."
"What d'they want them for?" I inquired. "Did they say?"
"The Daily Prophet," said Ginny as we stopped outside the closed door of the right room. "Well, this is it. Good luck in there."
I looked to her rather questioningly, but thanked her all the same. "Er, thanks... I'll see you around, Ginny."
"Considering you're all my brother can talk about, I'm sure you will," she laughed. "Or well, one of my brothers anyway."
"Right, you've got, what, six?" I asked, trying to recall the number of names Fred and George mentioned the other night when speaking about their family.
"Yeah, but only three at Hogwarts." She shrugged as though it were no big deal. To me it certainly wasn't. I could relate after all.
"I'd say that's a lot, but it sort of feels like all of the Durmstrang blokes are my brothers," I said with a small smile.
"Yeah, I'd say you've got me beat there," Ginny mirrored it. "Though I doubt any of them ever jinxed your bras to dance around the house."
"Trust me, I've had my fair share of delicates dancing around the Durmstrang castle," I shared. "Waltz, salsa, you name it..."
Ginny and I continued to laugh until Fleur Delacour and Cedric Diggory had appeared just moments later behind the two of us. We immediately silenced ourselves as the two other champions opened the door and passed through, Cedric offering me a smile as he went, Fleur surveying me as though I shouldn't have even been there. And honestly, I didn't blame her. But as she gave a dramatic toss of her hair, Ginny advised me: "Don't let her get to you."
To which I replied, "I've got no reason to, it's just Phlegm — Oh, I mean Fleur."
Ginny gave one final laugh before I'd disappeared behind the door to the room which Cedric and Phlegm had just passed through. It revealed a rather small classroom with most of the desks pushed away toward the back of it, so to leave a large space in the middle. Three desks, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Set up behind them were five chairs, Ludo Bagman occupying one of them and speaking with a witch in magenta robes — a witch I'd heard of but never seen for myself — Rita Skeeter.
"So, Demetria," began Cedric conversationally. Apparently he'd just stepped away from Fleur and whatever they'd briefly discussed, because I watched the smile on her face dissolve into a glare...towards me. "you're the only girl at Durmstrang?"
"Yeah, it's just me and a heap of testosterone-filled gorillas with thick accents," I told him seriously, though my comment did earn a few laughs. Fleur, of course, didn't laugh though. If anything, her frown only deepened. What the bloody hell did I ever do to this girl?
"Oh, that's funny — You're funny, Harris," praised Rita Skeeter as her two-inch crimson nails dug around her crocodile-skin handbag to retrieve a long acid-green quill and a roll of parchment. But rather than write it down herself, she placed the tip of the quill in her mouth and sucked it for a moment before telling it: "Make sure you get that."
The quill sprang to life and began scribbling down what was apparently my funny remark on the parchment. And despite my attention being turned back to Cedric to continue our conversation, Rita had begun launching questions of her own at me.
"So, Demetria — Can I call you Dem?" But she didn't wait for my reply as she continued on. "— how does it feel to be the only girl competing in this year's Triwizard Tournament?"
"What am I zen?" Fleur scoffed, her expression that of insult.
"Oh, right…" said Rita, apparently just noticing Fleur for the first time. She then told her quill, "Scratch that. Dem, how does it feel to be chosen as the Durmstrang champion out of a group of all boys? When you submitted your name did you honestly think you'd be chosen?"
"I didn't put my name in," I told her simply. But I knew she'd try to get some sort of answer out of me.
"We can continue this interview in private if you'd rather not say it in front of the others," she whispered to me.
"I've nothing to hide," I told her. "because I truly did not put my name in the goblet."
"I wonder when you will finally give up on zat lie," said Fleur sharply.
"Actually, Fleur," I countered, keeping my irritation in check. "I don't intend on giving up on it because it's the truth."
"Oh please," she said. "You and zat ozar boy 'ave cheated some'ow."
"Harry and I didn't cheat." My anger was beginning to seep through into my tone. Luckily though, Cedric had stepped in.
"You and 'Arry 'ave — !"
"Give it a rest, Fleur," Cedric ordered her, though completely calm. "Demetria and Harry didn't put their names in."
Thank Godric for Cedric Diggory or I surely would have ripped the veela hair right out of pretty ickle Fleur's head. And as an added distraction, Harry Potter had just walked through the door which was beneficial in more ways than one, for Rita Skeeter had found new prey. I just felt a twinge of pity for Harry, the poor bloke unaware of how quickly a hunter such as Skeeter would pounce. Although, the first person to pounce on Harry was actually Bagman.
"Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come... nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment —"
"Wand weighing?" Harry repeated nervously.
"We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're our most important tools in the tasks ahead," Bagman explained airily. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot."
A sort of weight could be felt on my chest upon hearing the words photo shoot. It pained me to recall Grigor's last words to me, but they came rushing immediately:
"...Vouldn't vant you tired for your undoubted photo shoot tomorrow morning."
"I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?" I couldn't tell who Rita was speaking to, being that her eyes were fixated on Harry, but I assumed it was Bagman. "The extra champion, you know...to add a bit of color?"
"Certainly!" Bagman couldn't have cried it out loud enough. "That is — if Harry has no objection?"
"Er —" was all Harry had uttered before Rita took that as his affirmation. And in a second, she'd gripped Harry's arm and taken him through a nearby door.
"What about Cedric and I?" Fleur asked Bagman, outraged. "Are we not important enough to be interviewed?"
"Are you mad?" I dared to ask her. "That woman's a nightmare. Who in their right minds would want to be interviewed by her?"
Fleur's expression had gone sour as she turned to face me. "I just zink it is only fair to include all champions…especially since we are of age."
It was evident Fleur and I could not control ourselves. Whenever one set of claws was put away, the other's came out. This half-breed was too sodding impossible to deal with. So I turned to Bagman and asked him, "Can I leave?" Because truthfully, the remainder of my day on that ship was sounding better and better with each passing minute.
But Bagman just gave a laugh and told me, "I'm afraid not, Demetria. But not to worry, the interview will only take a moment."
"But perhaps if we are all ready now…?" Albus Dumbledore seemed to appear out of thin air with an old, pale-eyed wizard standing at his side. "We could begin?"
"Yes, of course!" Bagman told him cheerfully.
And so Dumbledore went to fetch Harry from…well, wherever that door led…and taking their seats at the judges' table were Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Crouch, and Bagman. Harry appeared thrilled to be rid of that woman as he'd hurried back into the room, Rita Skeeter trailing behind. Myself and the rest of the champions were instructed to take a seat in a chair by the door, Rita plopping herself down in a corner with her quill at the ready. Fleur and I had each occupied an end seat to be as far from one another as possible at that time, and Cedric had taken the seat next to mine. Harry came over lastly and was stuck beside Fleur…tough luck.
"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges' table and gesturing to the old wizard. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."
The old wizard, his pale eyes shining like moons, stepped into the empty space in the middle of the room. "Mademoiselle Delacour," he said. "could we have you first, please?"
Fleur swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.
"Hmmm…" He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully. "Yes, nine and a half inches…inflexible…rosewood…and containing…dear me…"
"'An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," supplied Fleur. "One of my grandmuzzer's."
"Yes," said Ollivander. "yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands…however, to each his own, and if this suits you…"
Why shouldn't it? Fleur was temperamental herself.
Ollivander then continued to run his fingers along the wand before muttering, "Orchideous!" and a bunch of flowers had burst from the wand's tip. "Very well, very well, it's in fine working order. Mr. Diggory, you next."
Fleur collected the flowers which Ollivander had handed to her, gliding back to her seat and smiling flirtatiously at Cedric as he passed her.
"Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" Ollivander enthusiastically said upon receiving Cedric's wand. "Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn…must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches…ash…pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition… You treat it regularly?"
"Polished it last night," Cedric told him proudly.
Several gold sparks shot out of the end of Harry's wand from one seat over. I couldn't help but release a giggle at his desperate attempt at cleaning his wand with a fistful of robe. And though he gave me a sheepish grin, he didn't desist until he caught sight of Fleur's patronizing glance.
Ollivander had sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric's wand, pronouncing himself satisifed and then said, "Miss Harris, if you please."
I rose and retreived my wand from the inside of my combat boot, Cedric offering me a warm smile as we passed. I placed the wand into Ollivander's hands and he turned it all sorts of ways, examining it with a scrutinizing expression.
"Curious," he whispered before speaking directly to me. "Very curious that this wand would choose you, Miss Harris."
"What d'you mean?" I inquired. For never, not even when I'd first recieved the wand at eleven years old, was it ever thought to be curious that it would choose me.
But Ollivander had ignored my question and instead asked me one of his own. "Tell me, who is it's maker?"
"My grandad's brother — my great uncle," I said. He'd died before I had the chance to meet him or at least to know him at an age that I could remember him. And though Grandad never really spoke of him (or any other family, for that matter) he'd told me all about his brother's wand-making. My wand had been one of the few left unsold when he'd passed away. I'd tried them all out but that was the one that chose me.
"Wand-maker Felix Harris?" clarified Ollivander; I nodded. His eyes then returned to examine the wand. "Ten and a quarter inches…ash… Tell me, Miss Harris…what do you know of Augureys?"
"Isn't it some sort of Phoenix?" I said after a moment. "Er, thin and mournful looking? Greenish-black feathers?" I could detect a single snicker from Fleur behind me.
Ollivander gave an odd sounding sort of chuckle. "Augureys are the phoenixes of Ireland, and were once associated with powerful, Dark wands. Their cries were thought to signify an upcoming death —"
"Do zey not sing when eet eez about to rain?" Fleur chimed in.
"That they do, Miss Delacour, that they do." Ollivander's eyes had never left mine, and that silly grin remained plastered across his face.
"Er," I absentmindedly shifted, feeling a tad uncomfortable. "so why exactly is this so curious?"
"You see…the tail feather of an Augurey has only ever been known to have been used in one wand — the very wand which has chosen you," Ollivander explained. "It had been thought that such a wand core would be fit for a Dark witch or wi —"
"I'm no Dark witch," I firmly protested, though my stomach churned upon remembering that was what Grandad had expected of me…perhaps even my parents.
"Oh, I'm quite certain of that, Miss Harris," Ollivander assured me. "Which is why the current theory remains to be that this particular phoenix's tail feather would be found in the core of a wand belonging to one who is…shall we say…?" he racked his brain for a moment in order to conjure up the appropriate word. He finally settled upon: "misunderstood."
I still wasn't entirely sure how all of that was supposed to make me feel. But regardless, Ollivander had continued on with, "Yes, yes, misunderstood. For you see, the wand itself is interpretted all wrong. Many believe that because this wand core is so very rare, it possesses extraordinary powers. But, it is actually meant for one of extraordinary powers and abilities. Truly an example of brain over brawn this creation is, Miss Harris… Avis!"
My wand had let off a blast like that of a gun, a number of small, twittering birds shooting out the end of it. They soared through the open window and into the watery sunlight.
"Excellent," commented Ollivander upon handing my wand back to me. "Which leaves…Mr. Potter."
The dark brown wood in my hands felt almost as though I was receiving it for the first time all over again. I was now aware of the power it possessed…No wait, the power I possessed…with it. And though my eyes were practically glued to the wand, I managed to tear them up and away for a split second to shoot Harry an encouraging smile which he reflected. And then once Ollivander had finished examining Harry's wand, eventually shooting a fountain of wine out of it, Dumbledore rose to speak.
"Thank you all. You may go back to your lessons now — or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end."
But just as we had all turned to leave, the man with the smoking black camera, whom I'd barely noticed, cleared his throat and reminded Bagman.
"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" he cried gleefully. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"
Son of a banshee! I'd completely forgotten about her! No doubt she would be publishing some sort of twisted article on my wand. Spreading word all over Great Britain that I was some sort of misunderstood Dark witch. Oh yes, she'd certainly have a field day with that.
"Er — yes, let's do that first," said Rita Skeeter before her eyes had found Harry's. "And then perhaps individual shots." All right, honestly, if she was only interested in photos of Harry couldn't the rest of us have left? Apparently not.
The photographs had taken an exceptionally long time between Madame Maxime casting everyone into shadow, Karkaroff continuing to twirl his goatee, and the photographer and Rita having a silent argument over who should be in greater prominence. The photographer wanted Fleur, and Rita, of course, wanted Harry; after the brief separate shots of all champions, we were finally free to go. I'd practically burst out the doors and headed down for the Great Hall, but when I heard footsteps hasening to catch up with me I just prayed they weren't Rita's.
"Guess we really didn't need to be in the photos, eh?" It was Cedric.
"I was actually surprised she didn't just leave us in Madame Maxime's shadow," I agreed.
He chuckled, a smile spreading across his handsome — Er, did I say handsome? I meant, erm, anyway… It touched his bright grey eyes and — What was I saying again?
"Well, er, I'll see you," I told him upon reaching the Great Hall. And I hadn't even waited for his reply as I made a bee-line for the Slytherin table, for the last thing I needed was a distraction during this tournament…or even worse — a reason to stay at Hogwarts.