The Great Council began in the autumn of the year and lasted until the summer solstice, when the Lady was once again able to speak without an interpreter.

-Sayern nar-Hazozh (The History of the Treaty), translated from Gobblededook circa 1952

Blaise grimaced. Under his breath, he muttered, "The old Sorting Hat is a much better singer."

Harry, who was sitting next to him, nodded. The Parselmouth's expression was equally pained. "Dumbledore obviously focused on the Legilimency aspects of the new hat, not its musicality."

The new Sorting Hat, an elegantly cut jet-black headpiece with a wide, stiff brim, bowed once to each of the four tables. "Thank you, thank you," it rasped. "So nice to receive such a lovely ovation on my debut…."

Blaise snorted. "Think we should tell it that we're applauding just because it's finished?"

"Of course not," Daphne chided.

"How much do you want to bet that Dumbledore ordered it to tell him everything it learns from the first years' minds?" Harry growled. His entire face was dark and angry. So was Daphne's- her sister Astoria would be Sorted tonight.

"I'm not taking that bet," Blaise replied. "We both know that the second the Welcoming Feast is over, that new hat will spill everything to its master."

They had to stop talking then, though, because Professor McGonagall was starting to call out names.

This was the biggest batch of first years Hogwarts had received in over fifteen years. Many of them had been conceived in the weeks following Voldemort's defeat. Even more disturbingly, a disproportionately large percent had names like 'Mark,' 'Lily,' or 'James.' No Harries, fortunately, but the names were still quite disturbing to the true Boy-Who-Lived. Even worse, no one had any doubt that next year's crop would be even larger.

"I'm hungry," Blaise whined as Zelda MacIntire was Sorted into Hufflepuff.

"Easy, Blaise," Daphne said dryly. "You're starting to sound like Ronald Weasley. Are you going to start eating like him too?"

He scowled but didn't answer.

"Don't worry, New Ron," Harry teased. "I'm hungry too."

Finally, the Sorting was over. Unfortunately for Blaise's protesting stomach (and many others' stomachs as well), it wasn't quite time to eat. Dumbledore still had to make his speech.

"First," the Headmaster announced, "I would like to commend our new Sorting Hat, who despite its youth and inexperience performed its task admirably." He clapped his hands together a few times. The students applauded unenthusiastically. They had no real feelings about the either of the headpieces. Most of them couldn't care less that the old Sorting Hat had supposedly been destroyed by Slytherin's monster. They didn't understand that this new headpiece had no compunctions about betraying the new students' secrets. It was loyal to Dumbledore, its creator, and Dumbledore alone.

Harry much preferred the old hat.

"Next, I would like to introduce Professor Alastor Moody, who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year."

The old man, battle-scarred and fierce, nodded.

-curses flying- shouting- a Death Eater collapsing to the floor- forced retreat- hot shame and humiliation- an oath of revenge-

Harry grit his teeth against the onslaught of memories. It had been months since his last lapse, but Moody was involved enough in Voldemort's past that his mere presence could force his recollections. Angry at himself, at Voldemort, at Moody, at the Sorting Hat- anyone and everyone involved with his cursed gift- the Slytherin rubbed at his scar. A scowl marred his features.

To think that he would have to take lessons from that man all year… well, he told himself, you'll get used to it eventually. You got used to the memories of Dumbledore popping up at the most inconvenient times, so you can do it again. And hopefully it'll be a faster process this time around- you're more experienced now.

The other students applauded politely. More than a few looked rather intimidated by the old man's revolving eye, peg leg, and assortment of scars.

Blaise used the clapping, meager though it was, as cover to ask Harry, "You sure you can handle this?"

"I'll be fine," Harry growled. He would be.

"If you insist," his friend sighed.

"Next," Dumbledore said, "I would like to introduce Professor Horace Slughorn, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House. Professor Severus Snape, his predecessor, had to step down last May due to health issues."

Harry snorted. "'Health issues'? What a lovely euphemism for getting one's arm ripped off by an acromantula."

"Probably doesn't want to scare the firsties," Blaise muttered. "Guess we'll have to scare them ourselves, eh, mates?"

His friend lowered his voice. "Or let the VV do that for us. That can be one of the first articles." He smiled coldly. "Let the parents see early on just what kind of school they've consigned their prides and joys to."

Dumbledore continued his speech. "I am also pleased to announce that Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys, has been promoted to Care of Magical Creatures professor. His predecessor, Professor Kettleburn, retired at the end of last year to spend more time with his remaining limbs. I have no doubt that Professor Hagrid is more than capable of filling Kettleburn's shoes."

The applause for this announcement was much more enthusiastic, especially at the Gryffindor table. Harry joined in, but his face was pale.

Daphne's eyes were wide with shock. "Don't get me wrong," she said faintly, "I really do like Hagrid, but…."

"He tried to raise an illegal fire-breathing dragon in a wooden house," Blaise finished. His voice was equally faint. "Oh, Merlin, I'm glad I didn't sign up for that."

"I did," Harry moaned. "And I like Hagrid too, Daphne, but now I fear for my life. Remember his pet Cerberus?"

"You mean the three-headed abomination against nature that thirsted for the blood of innocents and, rumor has it, is still running free in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Yes, Fluffy."

"Hopefully," muttered Daphne, "he won't be able to show anything truly deadly to third years. Besides, most of the truly dangerous creatures live outside of Britain."

"Dragons," Harry pointed out. "They're large, scary, magical reptiles that live in Britain."

The Greengrass girl caught both his messages. She grimaced- basilisks were easy to breed, and even if they weren't, Hagrid could find a way if he put his mind to it. He'd already acquired a dragon egg (admittedly, Voldemort had done much of the work, yet Hagird had hatched it) and an entire colony of acromantulas. And that was just what they knew about.

"Look on the bright side," Blaise advised, clapping Harry on the back. "At least you'll get loads of combat experience against a wide assortment of horrendously dangerous creatures."

"…You're really not making me feel any better."

"Last but certainly not least," Dumbledore proclaimed, "I would like to announce that Quidditch is cancelled for the year."

"WHAT?"

All heads turned towards the source of the inhuman shriek. It had originated at the Gryffindor table- from Oliver Wood, captain of their Quidditch team, to be exact. This was his last year at Hogwarts, and despite having a phenomenal team, he had yet to win the Quidditch Cup. Now, hearing that his opportunity to do so had been taken away forever, the poor seventh year looked close to tears.

Dumbledore decided to continue. "Yes, it was a difficult decision to make, but we eventually decided that we couldn't organize two competitions at once. This year, Hogwarts will be hosting the first ever Tournament of Houses."

"The what?" Harry asked.

"Beats me," Blaise shrugged.

"He did say it was the first ever," Daphne pointed out.

They weren't the only ones trying to figure out what was going on. Murmurs had erupted all over the Great Hall.

Dumbledore waited for the speculation to die down before explaining, "The Tournament of Houses is based off the Tri-Wizard Tournament, a competition which used to take place between Hogwarts and our sister schools, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. However, instead of importing foreign competitors, all entrants shall be selected from Hogwarts's own students.

"As the name suggests, it is a Tournament of Houses. Each House shall present seven students, one for each year. These students shall cooperate to complete five tasks. Four of these tasks are 'House-themed.' For instance, the Slytherin-themed challenge will require cunning and ambition. The Hufflepuff-themed task will test teamwork, loyalty, and determination. The fifth task shall take place at the end of the year, and it is designed to try the qualities of all the Houses."

Blaise and Daphne exchanged dark looks. Nothing like a heated competition to inflame old rivalries, shatter tentative bonds, or break fledgling trusts.

For the past two years, they and their friends had tried to reunite the other Houses with Slytherin. It was an uphill battle, but it had gotten significantly easier after Draco Malfoy was sent to Azkaban as an accessory to his father. Part of that was just the absence of a git, but part of it was because girls of all Houses had been kidnapped, and that had inevitably created a bond between them. This year, with both Snape and his godson gone, they had been hoping to increase the ante.

But with this new competition, they'd be stuck treading water or even sliding beneath the waves.

"Because we chose to model these games on the Tri-Wizard Tournament, we will be using the Goblet of Fire to choose our contestants." He waved his wand, and an ancient cup floated into the room. It flew through the air slowly, solemnly, before being deposited onto the stool normally used by students being Sorted. "Contestants may write their names on a slip of paper and drop it into the Goblet. It will select the competitors on the twenty-first of this month, the equinox, so you'll have more than enough time to decide whether or not to compete."

Daphne raised an eyebrow, asking a silent question to her friend. Blaise shrugged slightly, inclined his head towards Harry. The youngest Slytherin was staring at the Head Table, gaze intent.

The other Slytherin nodded. Yes, Harry would be the obvious choice to compete for their year. He was smart and fast and brave, and having Voldemort's memories wouldn't hurt his chances. But, Daphne tried to point out, as their leader, he would be the busiest of them all. Perhaps it would be better to have someone else compete, just to make sure that Harry didn't collapse of utter exhaustion.

Unfortunately, Blaise didn't get her message. The Greengrass girl sighed; they'd obviously have to discuss this aloud.

"Prizes for the tournament include seven hundred House points, fifty Galleons for every competitor on the winning team, the adoration of your peers, and eternal glory." He smiled. "So think carefully about whether or not you wish to join."

"Gee," Blaise grumbled, "money, adoration, glory, and points. I don't think that anyone will want to compete for such paltry motivation."

"One day," muttered Daphne, "you will learn that sarcasm doesn't solve all life's problems."

He waved a negligent hand. "No, Daphne, it's you who will learn that it does."

Murmurs had once again broken out around them. Students asked each other if they would put their name in the Goblet, if they honestly thought that they had a chance. Others were speculating as to whom the Goblet would choose and which team would win. Still others, confident that they would be selected, were loudly declaring their merits and planning their future strategies.

"Chop chop!" Dumbledore said, and clapped his hands. Food appeared on the tables. The students dug in.

"What do you think, Harry?" asked Blaise.

"I think," the other boy replied, "that this isn't all bad news."

That bizarre comment garnered two confused stares. "Care to explain?"

"Of course, Blaise." He nodded. A tiny smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Think about it for a second- if Dumbledore feels the need to actively discourage inter-House cooperation, what does that imply?"

Daphne understood. "That our plans were working well enough to worry him."

"Exactly!" Harry exulted. His smile widened. "And remember, you two, this is only for a year. The Quidditch junkies would never let this become an annual event- at least, not unless they start hosting this side by side with the Quidditch tournament. And even then the team captains wouldn't like it, because the Tournament of Houses would distract less die-hard fans. One year, you two. We just have to hold out for one year, redoubling or tripling our efforts, I admit, but it's only a few months. Besides," he added in a lower voice, "I'm sure that the VV help. There's no way that Dumbledore planned for that."

"True," Daphne acknowledged. "But which of us should enter?"

That they would enter wasn't even a question. That they would win the right to participate was inevitable.

Harry considered. "Not me, I think," he said. "I suspect I'll be rather busy this year. Do either of you have any burning desire to win points, honor, glory, and riches?"

"I think we should both try out," Daphne proposed. "And may the best woman win." She smirked, took a sip of her pumpkin juice.

Blaise stuck out his tongue. "I believe the correct phrase is, 'May the best man win.'"

"How about we go with, 'May the best human being win'?" Harry suggested.

The other two Slytherins thought that over a few seconds before nodding. Smiling, they shook on it. "May the best human being win."

At the Ravenclaw table, a similar conversation was taking place. "You should compete, Hermione," Luna Lovegood informed her friend. The two witches, one dreamy and distant, the other down-to-earth and overly rational, made an odd pair. Not to mention the age difference between them- third years didn't usually hang around with second years. But Truth's Messenger, despite her practical exterior, knew full well that there were more things in heaven and on earth than were dreamt of in most philosophies, and so they were friends, though not as close as Hermione was to the rest of the prophesied five.

"I might just have to," the older girl murmured. She glanced at the Slytherin table. Harry, Daphne, and Blaise were deep in discussion; they were probably figuring out which of them should place his or her name in the Goblet. Even as she watched, Daphne and Blaise shook hands.

"It would certainly go a long way towards preserving inter-House unity amidst a competition which was obviously designed to sow discord," she continued.

Hermione choked on her drink. "What?"

Luna repeated herself. "I think I might join, too," she added. "I probably won't get in- I'm not a shoe-in like you- but Daddy says that it never hurts to try."

The other girl's eyes softened. "No, I wouldn't be surprised if you really were selected. You're stronger than you know, Luna."

For a moment, the second year's mask slipped. The sorrow of an abandoned, neglected child, a girl loathed by her peers, shone through. Then she resumed her Loony persona. "If you say so, Hermione. I wonder how the Goblet of Fire works?"

"You know, I have no idea. Perhaps we could do some kind of research project on it."

She smiled. It was a genuine smile, clear and focused, a smile from Luna instead of Loony. "I would like that."

The Gryffindors, too, were immersed in discussion. The third years had already decided that Mark would be their champion. Even Neville, who knew that he had advantages which Mark lacked (i.e., his friendship with the others, his rapidly developing gift with Herbology, the training he'd received from Harry and Firenze), realized that he didn't stand a chance against the ersatz Boy-Who-Lived. If nothing else, Dumbledore would probably take all Mark's rivals from the Goblet, just to be safe.

Since everyone knew that the Chosen One, who had driven Lord Voldemort off not once but twice, who had chased a basilisk away from the school, would become Gryffindor's third year champion, their topic was how Mark would lead his House to victory.

Neville tuned his Housemates out. He looked over at the Slytherin table, where Harry was talking with Blaise and Daphne. He glanced towards Ravenclaw, saw Hermione and Luna chatting together.

Not for the first time, he wished that he had more friends within his own House. Or that he'd been Sorted into Ravenclaw with Hermione. Not Slytherin, because Slytherins scared him and he couldn't have handled Snape as his Head of House for two years. But Ravenclaw would have been nice- they weren't all part of Mark's little clique.

Admittedly, he'd heard that some of them were bullies, but he could have handled that. Besides, Hermione would have helped him.

"Wonder who else is entering?" Ron asked. "You think your brother will, Mark?"

The false Chosen One scowled. "I wouldn't be surprised," he grumbled. "Or more likely, he'll have Greengrass or Zabini enter for him. They're his people through and through." He thought for a moment. "You know those Slytherins better than I do, Neville. Which of them do you think will enter?"

"Probably both," the other Gryffindor admitted. "I suspect that they'll let the Goblet choose. I also think that Daphne's little Astoria- she was just Sorted into Hufflepuff tonight- will enter for that House."

Mark waved a negligent hand. "I'm not worried about Hufflepuff," he snorted. "They're duffers, all of them. I'm worried about how much Slytherin will cheat."

"They won't," Neville assured him. "Harry won't let them."

Mark's face tightened. "What do you think the first task will be?" he asked loudly. "It'll probably be the easiest, if only because it's the Hufflepuff task."

Neville (who had almost been Sorted into that House. The hat had changed its mind at the last minute, but it had been a close call) bit back an offended retort. He knew that Mark wouldn't listen to him.

Mark never did.

"Let's recap," Harry said. "Hermione, Blaise, and Daphne are all going to enter. Neville isn't because he doesn't think he can beat Mark- I disagree, by the way, about you not having the potential, but you're probably right about Dumbledore sabotaging the Goblet so his golden boy can win. But back on topic, Neville and I aren't competing."

Hermione stroked the head of her new kneazle hybrid, an ugly orange beast named Crookshanks. "It's inevitable that Daphne or Blaise will win- your only competition is…." She grimaced. "And you're both from influential enough families, Daphne especially, to keep the rest of the team in line."

"It's equally inevitable that you'll win," Daphne pointed out. "The other Ravenclaws in our year have nothing resembling practical experience. You do."

The Ravenclaw blushed. "Thank you."

"So two of the twenty-eight competitors will be dedicated to actually, you know, keep the Houses from each others' throats." Blaise grimaced. "Think that'll be enough? Especially as we're only third years."

"Luna Lovegood is thinking about entering," Hermione commented. "If she gets in, I'm sure she'll help us."

"I suspect that Astoria will enter as well," Daphne noted. "But even if they are both selected and decide to support our goals, we'll still have only four out of twenty-eight."

"Better than two," Blaise pointed out.

"I know that, but six-sevenths of the competitors would still be against us." Daphne sighed heavily.

"So we need to recruit the others," Blaise declared. "And those of us who do win will have to be influential on our teams- the team leaders, if you will. They'll be more likely to listen to team leaders than random contestants off the street."

"Not to mention that we need to step up our other efforts," Harry agreed. "Quadruple them. Good thing we've had all summer to work, eh?"

"I haven't," Hermione reminded them.

"Well, most of us have." Harry smiled at her. "So, do we have a plan?"

The others nodded. "We have a plan."

So. We have a plot, we have a strategy, we have Mad-eye Moody. Even better, I actually know what I'm doing this time! I've got an outline and all sorts of wonderful outliney things that help me plan and make good fanfiction. Huzzah!

Next: werewolf politics.