Note: Apparently flowerier is a word. Who knew? Before I wrote this this first scene, I didn't, that's for sure. Ah, the things you learn. Like, for instance; just based on reviews I've gotten, there is asimply absurd amount of Dumbledore hatred in the fandom. Which is fine, but being mad at me for not having an Evil Dumbledore(tm) is weird.
You know what else is?
I burned down Hogsmeade twice. Bad luck for it. And yes, I did do it on purpose.
CHAPTER TEN: TOURNAMENTS ABLAZE
The idea had come to him in a dream, of all things. He could only half remember it, but the drive to recreate what he saw was enough to bring him out here. It was rapidly becoming the place where he did his magic when away from school; Petunia's garden. He shaped a rough outline from wet earth; the basic outline of a man. Then using his pinky, he poked two eyes into the head.
Now came the tricky part. This was the bit he wasn't sure was possible. Even for him. He made a claw with his hand and breathed into it, channeling power into his breath. The result swirled lazily in the cage made of his fingers and palm. He held it over the little mud man and willed the power down, murmuring under his breath as he did.
"Wake." he murmured, and his jaw dropped. The little construct's eyes lit up with a bright yellow glow and it stood up. It looked around the garden before spotting the open gate and making a run for it. He watched it pelt forward, slipping and sliding on the tile stone. Part of him still couldn't believe it worked.
It worked, the rest of him assured, and it's also getting away, so you might want to do something about that.
The mental image of a little mud man running down Privet Drive, scaring Mrs. Number Six and her daughter's cat was enough to jolt him into action, and he ran after it. He chased it around the side of the house and was following it across the front lawn when it quite literally fell to pieces. One moment it was sprinting across the grass and the next its arms had fallen off and its legs just sort of dissolved.
He stared at the pile of earth that had once been a construct. His construct. He'd done it! Giving in to the urge to dance a jig, he danced up to the front door and let himself in. "Not bad for something that came to me in a dream, eh?" he asked himself. He knew he'd have to try again, only next time bigger. Or maybe more power. Or both. Yes, he decided, definitely both.
That would have to wait, though. Because in six hours Sirius was coming to get him, and they were going to something called the Quidditch World Cup in an effort to have some sort of bonding event. When he'd sold the idea to his parents, who were understandably concerned about letting one of their children run off with an ex-con for the weekend for parts unknown, he'd used much flowerier language. It had taken a lot of talking, and promises to check in with Neville and his gran, they'd given in.
Another jig was danced, this one costing him a month's allowance.
It was a stupid place to put a lamp, anyway.
One of their conditions was that they had to meet Sirius before allowing Harry to go anywhere with him. Said meeting had defined awkward for all parties, even after Vernon learned of Sirius' role in saving his son's life. Especially after that.
"Sirius?"
"Yeah?"
"What are those?"
"What are...ah. Those, Harry, are Veela."
"And those are..."
"Wait a minute. You'll figure it out."
"..."
"Harry?"
"..."
"Haarrry?"
"Ohhh. Wait, I- what? Sirius! Stop laughing at me!"
The World Cup had been brilliant. No, beyond brilliant. It had been one of his best experiences in recent years. The food, the people, the tents, the sheer size of the place. It was just staggering. Until Harry had gone there it hadn't really hit him that there were other magical schools in the world besides Hogwarts. It seemed stupid now, but for some reason he hadn't been able to fathom the idea until the evidence almost literally hit him in the face.
The Quidditch wasn't too bad, either. Not having played the game in, well, ever kind of put a damper on really getting into it. He wasn't complaining. It wasn't as if there was nothing else there. Before the match had started Sirius had bought them a pair of something called omnioculars, which after four hours use Harry was sure should be banned for moral reasons.
That being said, the true high point of the whole thing had come after all the excitement. When the game had ended he and Sirius had returned to the tent his godfather had rented for them to use. They'd broken out the drinks- sodas for Harry, beers for Sirius- and sat down to discuss the match.
Once the empty sodas and beers had built up on the table, the conversations shifted and the mood turned somber.
"Suppose you want to know why I went to prison, eh?" Sirius asked, examining the lip of his beer. Harry shifted in his seat. Yes, he did. Very much so. The haunted look in Sirius' eyes at the mere mention of the words 'Azkaban' or 'prison' did a good job of dissuading him from asking.
"I mean, yeah. But you don't have to."
"I think I do. For both our sakes."
Harry waited for Sirius to start talking, or do...anything. When he reached for another beer, then checked the motion and sighed forcefully, Harry almost jumped.
"There were four of us, at first. Me, your dad, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew." Sirius' eyes were unfocused, lost in the past. "We were best mates for seven years. Called ourselves the Marauders. Then James met Lily. After that nothing was the same."
"How do you mean?" Harry asked. His godfather gave a sad chuckle.
"She became his world. He didn't have as much time for us anymore. I don't blame him for it, Lily had that affect on people. After school they got married, pretty much right away. Didn't surprise anyone, except maybe Lily's parents. Then came the war. I...you know what happened, right? I don't have to tell you?"
He knew. Even if he hadn't, he wouldn't have forced Sirius to bring it up because he already looked like he was moments away from bursting into tears as it was. So Harry nodded, and gestured for his godfather to continue.
"Well, that's a relief. Anyway, for some reason, Voldemort was obsessed with your parents. Tracked them down and tried to kill them no matter where they went. So, they went into hiding about a month after Lily found out she was pregnant with you."
"Why would they do that if he could find them every time? Why not fight?"
"Because everyone- everyone- who fought him died, Harry. I am not exaggerating when I say that there is exactly one person on this Earth who could beat Voldemort in a open fight. What's more, this time was different. This time they used the Fidelius."
Harry frowned. He'd heard that word before. Had Hermione mentioned it? Something about...secrets, maybe. "What is that?"
Sirius sighed, picked up the beer he'd passed over the first time, and took a pull. "It's an immensely complicated piece of magic. I won't bore you with the details because I don't know them, but you take a secret and you put it in a person's soul. So long as that person does not tell anyone that secret, it can never be found."
Harry put the dots together in quick succession. "Who had the secret of where my parents were?"
"Peter." Sirius growled, sounding almost canine in his anger. "We had the bright idea to tell everyone I was the secret keeper. Throw everyone off Peter's trail, see? Then he did the predictable, did Peter." he paused for a minute to calm down. "He was always a coward. I think it was the reason we made him part of us. He couldn't rat on us that way. One day Peter went to Voldemort and told him where to find your parents. He killed them, tried to kill you, and died. I went after Peter. He tricked me. Framed me. And I ended up in jail."
If someone were to ask him what he was feeling in that moment, he would have no idea what to tell you. Anger, sadness, grief, pity, hate, sympathy, relief. Fear. It dammed him up, prevented him from speaking, from doing anything.
"And now," Sirius looked...better somehow. "thirteen years later, I'm a free man. Thanks to you. Even if you don't want me in your life, I'll always have you to thank for that." The still thin wizard stood and headed towards his room.
You're not going to leave it at that, are you?
Harry found his voice and managed to choke out, "Sirius."
The man turned, tired and hopeful. "Yeah?"
"I'm glad you're here."
Sirius smiled, managing to convey a bevy of emotions one gesture. "So am I, kiddo. So am I."
The silence that reigned in the kitchen of Sirius' apartment was shattered by the man himself slamming the paper down and snarling "That...utter...bitch!"
Harry jumped. Rita Skeeter had dumped the future of the world into his lap and left him to deal with it. He took breaths and tried to control his anger. He wasn't stupid. He knew what she was trying to do. She was using him to create fear, to make money. And he did not like it.
His hands shook. So did the table. And the cabinets, and the windows, and the furniture in the living room. "How could she do this?" he hissed. "How could she take all of that fear and pain and- and twist it like she did?"
"Harry. Harry. Look at me. Look. At. Me. Take a deep breath. Calm down."
Harry inhaled, filling his lungs and emptied them slowly. The rattling ceased, and the nimbus of light playing around his hands faded and though he couldn't see it, the tattoos on his face ceased to glow. "Okay," he blew out another breath. "Okay, I'm okay."
"Good." Sirius glanced warily at his cabinets, looking like he half expected them to start shaking again or maybe explode. "Rita is a parasite. She takes things and she warps them."
"Why?" Harry demanded. "Why do this?"
"To make people afraid. Scared people want to know what's going on, so they go and buy her paper. That's all that matters to her. I've met her, and I can personally say that she is one of the most distasteful human beings I've ever met, and I spent thirteen years in Azkaban."
Harry made noise of wordless frustration. "I don't get how she could do it. Well, that's not true. I get how, I just don't get why. Who would even think to do something like this?"
"Her." was the flat reply.
"Obviously. So what happens now? Apparently I have to save the world again."
Sirius' grin was feral, lupine, and without an ounce of humor. Harry would have felt sorry for the person who had inspired that grin, but since he knew who it was, he didn't mind at all.
"Leave it to me." Sirius growled.
Rita Skeeter wasn't going to know what hit her until it was far too late to do anything about it.
Harry returned to Privet Drive to watch Sirius' retribution from a safe distance. He didn't have to wait long. The article had been released the morning after the Cup, he'd spent that weekend at Sirius', and by Monday afternoon, Rita Skeeter was suspended for six months without pay and fined for being an illegal Animagus, whatever that was. He was so involved in reading the paper's retraction that he didn't notice Hedwig's presence until she bit him.
"Ow! What was that for?" he asked, rubbing his ear. She stuck out her leg, letter attached. He got the impression she'd done the exact same thing, minus biting, several times now. He checked the envelope to see if he recognized the writing. When he didn't, his curiosity grew. "Who's it from, then?"
Hedwig hooted and turned away.
"Fine. Don't tell me. I'll figure it out myself."
If owls could snore, she did. He huffed a laugh and opened the letter, knowing the instant he read the first three words who had sent it to him.
Hello Harry Potter,
No, I won't call you just Harry. You should let that go of that dream, it aches to be free. Anyway, I'm writing to tell you that after reading Rita's article, we can't be friends anymore. How could you not be everywhere in the world at the same time? How dare you fail to be omnipresent? You are Harry Potter, you can do anything. The fact that you failed to prevent rumored death just goes to prove that you are a horrible scapegoat. You rogue.
Seriously though, don't listen to her. She's a hag. My dad used a different word, but threatened to make me wash my quill with soap if I wrote it. He's quite odd.
Cheers,
Luna.
Well.
That was...
There weren't words for it, really. No, there was exactly one word for it:
Luna.
Harry laughed harder than he had in days and folded up her letter. He searched for a safe place to put it, settling on his trunk. Dudley would never look there. It was only after he'd secured the parchment at the bottom did he realized what she hadn't mentioned. The event that had been occupying his thoughts for the better part of three months.
He snorted, and laughed again. Only Luna could write a letter like that and forget to mention that hey, she'd kind of kissed him. Twice. Once in front of the entire school.
Well, if she wasn't going to mention it...he'd have to. But he'd do it on the train. Better to do this sort of thing in person, right?
Harry made his way down the train. The sheer number of eyes on him was unnerving. To their credit, most weren't hostile. Merely curious. It was still more attention he'd gotten from his peers...ever. He waved his hand at his trunk, eyes flashing bright, and heard something that sounded frighteningly like a giggle. With his trunk floating half a foot off the ground behind him, he turned his head to look.
It was a giggle. Its source was a brown haired Ravenclaw who, even with his horrible memory for names, faces, and just about everything, he was sure he'd never met before. Now she and a compartment of her friends were giggling at him and blushing. The brunette waved at him and, not knowing what else to do, he waved back sheepishly. This dissolved the compartment into giggles and he hurried away.
Weird. He hadn't been expecting that. Just what was in that article, anyways? In all the furor around Sirius' reprisal he'd never actually gotten a chance to read it. And since his parents drew the line at daily owls at the house, he still had no idea what Rita Skeeter had written about him. Passing another compartment of girls, he decided that getting to a compartment without girls in it was more important than figuring out why they were giggling at him.
Luckily he found one. Unluckily, it was the very last one. The one the older years came to when they wanted to have a smoke on the back deck. As a result the whole place smelled like tobacco until Harry opened a window and blew the smell out with a small conjured breeze. After storing his trunk he settled down on a bench to wait for his friends to find him.
"Hey, mate."
"Hi, Harry!"
He sat up, grinning. Looked like he wouldn't have to wait long.
His grin faded slightly when he didn't see who he'd been gathering his courage to talk to for the past three weeks. This did not go unnoticed, to his dismay. While Neville was hoisting his and Hermione's trunks into the overhead bins, she sat across from him with an eyebrow arched. "Looking for someone?"
He smiled innocently at her. "No. Should I be?"
She huffed, an annoyed sound. Neville took the seat next to him and proceeded to not help at all. "Come on, your memory isn't that bad. You heard from Luna recently?"
Harry paused. It could be an innocent question, or it could be a trap. Innocent until proven guilty, Harry. He went with the truth. "Yeah, she sent me a letter after Skeeter's article came out. Still got it in my trunk. Hang on, I'll pull it out."
"You still have it?" Neville asked, and Hermione shared a look, before turning to him in unison. He looked bewildered between them. When had they started doing that?
"Yeah. Why?"
Another look. This was getting ridiculous. "No reason." This time Hermione spoke, and then Harry decided it was time to go on the offensive.
"So how long has this been going on?" he asked, waving between them. He grinned widely when Hermione turned very, very red and Neville started finding his shoes very interesting.
"I don't know what you're talking about, mate." Neville told him, having moved onto his shoelaces. "There's nothing going on."
"Yeah." Hermione very obviously forced a laugh. "Not at thing."
Harry nodded. "Okay. You two are horrible liars, by the way."
"I am not!" Hermione protested, proving his point.
"Anyway!" Neville said loudly at the same time, finding the courage to cease carefully inspecting his footwear. "You'll never guess what I overheard my gran talking about with Sue Bones' aunt."
Harry was going to suggest something about the prices of the new range of magical hip replacements when the compartment door opened and he rather forgot about what he'd been going to say. Because she had just stuck her dirty blonde head in the door, smiled at Neville and Hermione, and then focused on him. Something special entered her smile when she saw him, something that made him smile back. "Hello, Harry Potter." she said.
"Hey, Luna."
This was not what he had planned for. Harry, in the weeks he'd spent on this, had run dozens of scenarios through his mind. Some had, he freely admitted, were more realistic than others. The one where he and Luna confessed their love for each other and tore each others clothes off, for instance, was one of the less sensible ones. Regardless of their content, everything he had planned on hinged on a singular ability. One that appeared to have escaped him.
The ability to speak.
It was horrible. Luna was just...sitting there, looking frankly amazing, and there he was acting as if his tongue had mysteriously fallen off. It was mortifying. Beyond that, his shoes had become very interesting all of a sudden.
Say something, Harry.
What do I say?
Anything! Just talk!
Harry broke free from his inner argument to see Luna smiling at him. He opened his mouth to say all the things he thought of. What came out was, "Have a good summer?"
She shrugged a shoulder. "Not bad. Dad and me backpacked a bit. Got slightly lost near Frankfurt, ended up in Helsinki."
He frowned, confused. "Isn't- isn't Helsinki in Finland?"
"Yes!" she waved her hands about. "And we have no idea how we got there! It's driving us mad!"
Harry nodded, making a sympathetic noise in his throat. "I can imagine. Thanks for the letter, by the way. It uh, it helped."
"I figured it would." she leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs. "Dad knows Rita from work, and he says that-" she turned very red "well, he says she's not very nice and we'll leave it at that."
He grinned. "What'd he say about her?"
"Oh, nothing. What was the World Cup like? Did you have a good time with Sirius?"
"Don't change the subject!" he pointed a finger at her. "What did he say about Rita?"
Luna refused to tell him. Their conversation continued, shifting from topic to topic, going so well that Harry neglected to notice two things. First, neither Neville nor Hermione ever came back to the compartment. Second, neither of them ever once mentioned their kiss.
Harry couldn't help but feel superior at moments like this. Looking around and seeing everyone wet and dripping with him warm and dry was a reminder, he thought, to enjoy the little pleasures in life. Plus, seeing Malfoy looking like a drowned albino ferret wasn't too bad. Nor was the smile of thanks that Luna shot his way for keeping her dry.
This was mitigated by the glares he was receiving from Neville and Hermione for somehow forgetting that they were behind him and thus not protected by the shield. He gave them a sheepish grin and waved a hand at them. The water sheeted off their bodies and fell onto the already soaked Entrance Hall floor.
"Sorry," he said, shrugging. Then he waved past the massive double doors, through which lay food and warmth and eventually, sleep. "Shall we?"
Harry had somehow attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry without noticing that the ceiling was enchanted. How he had done so was an excellent question, one that he did not have an answer to. Much to Hermione's furthered irritation.
"Seriously," she grumbled, letting Neville pull her into a seat. "do you wander around with your eyes closed and bounce off walls?"
"No." All he could offer was a sheepish grin. "Seems a horribly ineffective way to get around."
Whatever his friends no doubt irate reply was got drowned out by the apocalyptic crash of thunder from outside. It was dutifully mirrored by the ceiling inside, deafening everyone twice. Who said magic was misused?
"Wonder what the big deal is?" Neville asked, looking around the Great Hall. Harry, thankful that he'd diverted Hermione's attention before she could really start in on him, looked around to find that Neville was right. People were looking around suspiciously and whispering. Others had looks of superiority and in some extreme cases; smugness.
"I don't know." Harry finally answered. "But I doubt we'll have to wait long to find out."
He was wrong.
The Sorting took days. He wasn't hungry when it started but by the time it ended, he could have eaten a roast ox. It seemed like every eleven year old in Britain had mysteriously sprouted magical abilities for the sole purpose of making this take an age.
"Thank God that's over with," he grumbled as the ragged old Sorting Hat was taken away. "Now we eat, right?"
"Maybe not." Hermione pointed at the head table, where Dumbledore was rising to his feet. Harry groaned.
"Good evening, everyone!" the old wizard's voice carried easily to the Hall's four corners. "To our new students, welcome! To everyone else, welcome back! It fills my heart with pride to see these tables full once again. You can't imagine how quiet this place gets without you all here. Anyways, a few start of term notices before we feast on- or in some cases, devour- our excellent meal. First is that the number of banned devices has reached an impressive five hundred items. Next, and perhaps more importantly, I am sad to announce that there will be no Quidditch World Cup taking place this year."
If a pin were to drop in that moment, it would have echoed louder than the thunder. Several Gryffindors looked as if their favorite aunt had just keeled over in front of them. One of them looked like he needed a paper bag to breathe into. Neville was alternating between outrage and open curiosity. Hermione had no such issue, her face practically shone with interest.
Dumbledore seemed to survey the aftermath of his announcement before continuing. "Instead, Hogwarts will be playing host to the newly resurrected Triwizard Tournament."
Harry felt a sense of foreboding settling in his stomach. Beside him Sean- no, Seamus- elbowed him and whispered, "What's that?"
"No idea," he hissed back. "He's about to tell us, so hush."
He ignored Seamus' grumbling about being hushed and turned his attention back to Dumbeldore, who looked as if he rather enjoyed all the attention.
"Yes, for those of you who don't know what the Tournament is, I suggest you contain your curiosity for your first class on Monday. Your professors will give a brief and insightful overview about the Tournament and its history. What you need to know, as prospective competitors, is that no one under the age of seventeen will be able to compete. This-" he held up his hands to silence the roar of outrage. "this is for your own protection. Only those who have reached their seventh year of schooling will be prepared for what lies ahead.
"Second, that there will be only one competitor from each school. The other schools will be arriving in three weeks time, at which point an impartial judge will choose three champions from those who have submitted their names, which you will be able to do the day before the selection. Oh...is there anything else? Professor McGonagall?"
She shook her head, clearly fighting a smile.
"Very well. Enjoy the feast!"
Right. Like anyone will be able to focus on food after that.
In the moments after Dumbledore's announcement Harry discovered two things. Firstly, nobody knew just what the Triwizard Tournament was. They knew that it was a tournament, and it involved three champions from three different schools, but that was about it. As a result, speculation ran rife up and down the House tables. Secondly, he had vastly underestimated his peers' ability to eat.
His appetite was somewhat diminished by his suspicion that he would end up involved in this Tournament in some way. He didn't know how. He didn't know why. Maybe it was extrapolation based on his run of luck at Hogwarts. All he knew was that one way or another, this was not going to go according to plan.
And that just gave him warm, tingly feelings.
Seamus elbowed him. Again. "Harry," his eyes were bright and almost...greedy. "you gonna enter?"
"Do I look seventeen?"
Seamus deflated. "Not- not really, no."
Having considered that enough of an answer, Harry returned to his food. He hoped his fellow Gryffindor got the message. He really didn't fancy getting elbowed again.
They managed to make it through dinner without anything major happening. The only event of note was how quickly he grew tired of listening to people talk about the Tournament. He was surprised how many people who weren't of age wanted to compete. Why didn't they see how horribly wrong it could go if they weren't ready for whatever was involved? When he mentioned this to Neville as they got ready for bed, all he got was a shrug.
"Reckon they haven't had quite the same experiences that you have, mate. Guess that gives you a different perspective than them."
It didn't make him feel better, but it did help him understand.
Armed with his new understanding of his fellow students, Harry came to a conclusion the day of the arrival of the other two schools.
They were still irritating.
It wasn't so much that they themselves were bothersome, it was their whole attitude about the thing. Still, after three weeks of stories about Tournaments of old, they could not see anything beyond eternal glory. Alleged eternal glory. Nobody could even name another Triwizard Champion. Not even Hermione, who had become an overnight expert on the subject.
So he could be forgiven for being somewhat less enthusiastic about the other schools' arrival as everyone else. Right?
After class the entirety of Gryffindor house stampeded back to the tower to stow their stuff. Harry found himself being dragged, quite unwillingly, along with them. A blur of activity later, during which he may have put Neville's robes on by mistake, the entirety of Gryffindor house stampeded back out of the tower and out to the front lawn.
On a cool- no, cold- fall evening.
Once again he cursed himself for an idiot and touched both Neville and Hermione's shoulders, whispering "Warmth." under his breath. He looked around, spotted the dirty blonde hair he was looking for. "Be right back." he said, and dodged his way through the mass of people. Had there been an official notice he missed? When had it been decided they'd be organized by house? At any rate, after pushing his way through Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin, he finally reached Luna.
"Hello, Harry Potter." her eyes shone with infectious excitement. He grinned at her, responding to both it and her easy smile. She shivered and scooted closer to him, pressing herself against his side. Of its own volition, his arm wrapped around her.
Why had he come over here again?
"It's really cold." she remarked, almost conversationally.
Oh, yeah. That's why. "Warmth." he murmured once more, taking an odd pleasure in her happy sigh. "Better?"
Luna tucked her head into his shoulder. "Much. Which school do you think will be arriving soon?"
Harry blinked. "Which ones are coming?"
She huffed, and he could damn near feel her amusement. "Durmstrang, which is a school in northern Germany, and Beauxbatons, which is a school in France. How did you not know that?"
He shrugged. "I wasn't paying attention?" he offered.
Luna was silent for a long minute before she laughed and said, "That would do it. I think Beauxbatons will arrive first."
"Well, then I think the Germans will arrive first." Harry argued.
"You're just saying that because I picked the French!"
"And?"
It was then that Dumbledore's voice once again cut through the chatter. "Unless my eyes deceive me, which they rarely do, the delegation from Beauxbatons is approaching!"
"Rats." Harry grumbled. Luna laughed, clear as a bell.
"I win!" she sang.
Beauxbatons approached. In the part of his mind not reluctantly caught up in the excitement he wondered if there was some worldwide wizarding decree that stated that any arrival by any group of wizards had to be as ostentatious as possible.
Case in point: A flying house.
Okay, fine. Technically, it was a carriage. But it was a carriage shaped like a manor house, flying through the air, drawn by gigantic winged horses. It was a nice flying house, but it was still a flying house. It had walls of pale blue and the roof was made of some material in silver.
"Its a dragon!" someone screamed, and Harry snorted.
"Don't be stupid, it's a flying house!" someone else shouted, and he burst into laughter. Luna elbowed him as the flying horses came to a landing, hooves the size of dinner plates kicking clods of dirt all over the place. The house/carriage came to a surprisingly gentle halt not moments later. At this close range he could make out the design on the front door; crossed wands with sparks shooting out the end.
"Do you think they're trying to make a good first impression?" Luna murmured as the door sprang open. A boy with fair skin and hair leaped out and fiddled with something underneath it. Moments later a set of stairs extended to the ground.
"What gave them away?" he murmured back.
"Not sure," Luna adopted a thoughtful look. Whatever she was going to say was lost when the first passenger aboard the massive house stepped out.
Harry's jaw dropped. This lady made Hagrid look tiny, an accomplishment in and of itself. What's more is that she made it look good. She had a strongly lined, aquiline face, olive skin, and deep brown hair done up in a bun. To his surprise she moved with none of the plodding inevitability of Hagrid. Instead she moved down the stairs with trained elegance. She even offered her hand to Dumbledore for a kiss. "Dumbledore!" she purred. Her voice was throaty and warm. "Is is truly a pleasure to see you again, mon ami."
"And you, Madame Maxime." was the old wizard's reply as he swept off his hat and dropped the barest of kisses on her massive hand. "Are your students prepared? We've quite the welcome planned, and I'm eager to show it off."
Maxime waved a hand behind her, evidently the signal to disembark. What followed was a parade of of beautiful people, all of them blonde haired and blue eyed. One, perhaps the most appealing of them all, created a certain feeling he was familiar with. Beside him Luna had tightened her grip on his ribs. He leaned down and whispered, "I think one of them is a Veela."
"Oh?" her voice was far too casual. "How do you know?"
He shrugged. "The Bulgarians had them as mascots. They made me go all weird for a minute, but after that, I got better."
"Do you think she's pretty?"
And there it was. "Yeah," he said, "but you're prettier."
"Oh." Luna snuggled back into his arm and he could feel her satisfaction. "Cheers."
Harry groaned. He wasn't ever going to live that down, was he?
Durmstrang's arrival was even more of a spectacle than a flying house.
The first indication that this might be the case was a sound not unlike the plug being pulled from a very full bathtub, magnified beyond loud. Which naturally drew Harry's attention to the lake, where something odd was occurring. "Luna," he said, "is there a whirlpool in the middle of the lake?"
"You know, I think there might be."
"Oh. Good. I thought I was going mad."
"That's still up for debate." she giggled at the offended look on his face.
The noise was like that of a waterfall. Thousands of gallons of rushing water made a hell of a racket, one that even Dumbledore couldn't shout over without magical aid. "And this is the delegation from Durmstrang!" he called, but Harry wasn't listening. He was more focused on the fact that a ship seemed to be appearing from the center of the whirlpool.
The ship was very much the opposite of the Beauxbatons carriage. The ship was dark and dank and foreboding. If someone had cut a figure of a ship from black paper, the end result would look a lot like the Durmstrang ship. There were no school colors, just a flag with a red crescent moon on a black field.
The ship made landfall with a crash, a gangway descended, and the Durmstrang students approached. They were led by a tall, thin man who as he drew closer Harry saw had an unfortunate goatee. His instinct about people said that this man was not as friendly as the smile he wore. It didn't even reach his eyes. "Dumbledore!" he called, voice full of false cheer. "What a pleasure to see you again!"
"And you, Igor." Dumbledore shook the other man's hand. "Welcome to Hogwarts. We have a feast prepared, if you would to proceed inside."
"That would be wonderful, thank you." Igor said, drawing a surly looking boy to his side. "It's been some time since Viktor ate, and I don't want him to lose his strength."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he said, "I would not be able to live with myself should such a tragedy occur. Shall we?"
Harry and the rest of Hogwarts followed the Durmstrang students inside. He wondered where Dumbledore had gotten the ability to mask his sarcasm so well. Maybe the old wizard would teach him. It seemed a useful skill to have.
"Hey, Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"How long were we out there?"
" Oh...I don't know. Thirty minutes?"
"How did this happen in thirty minutes?"
"I have no idea."
The Great Hall had been transformed. The normal house tables had been removed, as had the head table. Instead a massive round table took up the entire hall. It had enough seats for everyone involved in the tournament and their mother. On the walls hung the banners of all four houses, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Food, some of which Harry had never seen before, was piled so highly on the round table that he was sure he could hear it groaning.
"Ooh! Bouillabaise!" Hermione said brightly. Acting as if her words were a starter's pistol, the students of three schools descended on the food.
Harry pushed back his plate around the same time that Dumbledore stood and called for silence. Somehow he'd managed to end up trying a piece of everything, even the platters on the other side of the table. He was half convinced that they moved when no one was looking. "Can I have your attention, please?" Dumbledore let out a firecracker from the tip of his wand when that didn't work. "Thank you. Now that our stomachs are pleasantly full and our guests have arrived, I think it time I formally introduce them. To my left, Madame Olympe Maxime and the Beauxbatons School of Magic!"
The massive, olive-skinned woman stood, her students rising with her.
"And to my right, Headmaster Igor Karkaroff and the Durmstrang Institute of Sorcery!"
Harry dutifully applauded with everyone else, wondering all the while why he found Karkaroff so unlikeable. The goatee wasn't that bad, so what was it?
"Yes, yes," Dumbledore applauded along with everyone else. "Welcome, welcome, one and all! Now, as I said at the beginning of term, for tonight and tomorrow students only aged seventeen or older are allowed to give their names to our impartial judge. Mr. Filch should be arriving with it now."
Harry had enough time to think, it?, before the surly caretaker entered the Hall with what looked like a casket under his arm. As if on cue, the lights in the Hall dimmed, lengthening the shadows and creating an air of almost-mystery. Filch set the casket on a podium that had certainly not been there moments before and opened it, removing from inside a large, roughly cut wooden goblet.
In itself that wasn't out of the ordinary. What was was that it seemed to be full of flames. Beside him, Hermione gasped in recognition. "Harry!" she hissed, elbowing him in the ribs. "That's the-"
"Ladies and gentlemen," Dumbledore's voice rumbled with a solemnity and power Harry had rarely seen before. "Allow me to present the Goblet of Fire."
END CHAPTER TEN
Note: Remember when I said I'd be dealing with Fudge in this chapter? I lied. I thought I would, and all that spilled out instead. So sorry about that, but you'll see soon enough what happened to him. As to how our reluctant hero ends up involved in the Tournament, well...that would be telling, wouldn't it? Also, feel free to tell me if I misspelled the name of that French dish. Bouillabaise? I just eyeballed it, so I have no idea if I did it right.
Anyway, see you soon with chapter eleven.