Autumn had come to Hogwarts. As September passed us by and with October quickly approaching, the term had kicked into full swing – the teachers were drilling us harder than ever, already pushing us to revise for OWLs even though those were over a year away.

Between Hermione's incessant nagging about how much I studied – or didn't study, as the case was – and my own crippling boredom – without Quidditch, I didn't honestly have much to do with myself – I quickly forgot all about the horrible Defense lesson, focusing instead on devising the best way to turn the Slytherin Common Room pink and glittery or make all the quills in Snape's office tickle him when he tries to use them. Work was slow, as I was working by myself while the twins sorted the whole mess with Ludo Bagman, but plans were being made nonetheless.

Until, that is, on October first, when McGonagall sweeps into the Common Room after dinner, posting a notice that stops the entire House in its tracks.

ATTENTION ALL GRYFFINDOR STUDENTS:

As you are all aware, the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year. Students from our competing schools – Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and Durmstrang Institute – will be arriving on castle grounds on Friday, October 14th for the Welcoming Feast.

As Hogwarts is graciously playing host to this event, it is the students' and teachers' responsibility to uphold the reputation that the Founders intended Hogwarts to have. All Gryffindor students will be expected to uphold the standards that Godric Gryffindor set upon his House, and as such, the following changes are hereby put into place:

All students are expected to keep the Common Room clean and orderly. Prefects will be conducting daily room checks.

Students are expected to keep their appearances clean and orderly as well. I will be conducting daily uniform checks. Any students with questions pertaining to personal hygiene may see myself or Headmaster Dumbledore.

All students are strongly advised to be on their best behavior during the daytime hours. Punishments for rule-breaking will be strongly enforced.

Please be aware that the above rules WILL be strictly enforced, and House Points will be taken from any and all rule breakers.

Please see me with any further questions.

Signed:

Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House.

"What?!" a voice that I quickly realize as Fred cries out from the front of the crowd that had gathered around the notice board. "Uniform checks? Room checks? What the bloody hell is this?!"

"I'm more concerned about the 'good behavior' part," I retort, crossing my arms as I stand on tip-toe to try and see over some of the taller heads.

"At least you aren't under surveillance by the Ministry again," Harry whispers, and I have to admit, he does have a point.

"Alright, calm down!" Alicia, one of the sixth-year Prefects, shouts above the noise. "Sonorus! EVERYONE! QUIET!"

A hush immediately falls over the crowd, and we all turn to where Alicia and her fellow Prefect, a quiet boy named Richard, had set up a makeshift podium on top of one of the study tables.

"Thank you," Alicia continues at a normal volume. "Now, I know these rules may seem harsh-"

"More like bloody unfair, if you ask me," George grumbles, but Angelina silences him with a whack over the head.

"-but it's nothing we can't live with," Alicia continues, well-versed in the art of ignoring the twins. "It's not going to be that hard, honestly. And it won't be for that long – if I'm right, this is all about putting forth a good first impression. Give it a few months, and we'll all stop caring – you'll see."

"But until then?" Ron shouts. "What are we supposed to do, march in a single-file line?!"

"I don't know," Alicia admits. "McGonagall said to go to her with questions."

"I'll take people to her office," Richard offers, hopping off the desk and walking over to standing by the portrait hole.

"If anyone has questions for Professor McGonagall concerning the new rules, follow Richard," Alicia instructs. "The rest of you, just…just stay calm until we've got some answers."

With that, she ends the impromptu House meeting by jumping off the table and wandering over to one of the couches to continue what she'd been doing.

I make my way through the dispersing crowd to George's side as Fred leaves with the second group of students. "You know what this means?"

"We should stop threatening Bagman because McGonagall might find the evidence?" he guesses quietly, glancing down at me.

"When have you ever stopped doing something because it's against the rules?" I ask, bemused. "No, I meant the other stuff – we're going to have to go underground."

"You know it's not technically underground…" George trails off.

"It's an expression," I sigh irritably, looking up as the portrait hole swings open to reveal Hermione, who looks confused at the general irritation hanging in the air.

"Hey," I jog over to her, taking the gigantic box she was carrying so she can safely make it into the room. "What is this? It's heavier than books."

"It's something I've been working on," Hermione explains, looking around the room with a pinched expression. "Did…did something happen while I was gone?"

I just wordlessly set the basket down and lead her over to the notice board, pointing out the newest notice.

Hermione gives it a curious look, her eyes widening as she reads further down the page. "Oh, Ori! This is brilliant! It's a really, really big opportunity to learn about the magical world!"

"Who cares?" I whine. "I have to behave!"

"Oh, lighten up," she sighs, looking me up and down. "I have to admit, it wouldn't hurt for you to straighten your robes a little…maybe keep your section of the dorm clean for once…"

"Yes, Mum," I drawl with a snort, causing Hermione to glare at me, which only better proves my point.

I look down at my robes with a sigh – technically, Hermione did have a point. My shirt was rumpled, my tie was crooked, and I wasn't even wearing my outer robes – they and my cardigan were both probably somewhere on the door room floor. But the thing was, I wasn't supposed to be the orderly, neat one here; I was the wild-child, the impulsiveness, the jokester. I was supposed to be crooked and messy, not tight-laced and strict.

That was Hermione's job, not mine.

Shaking myself out of my internal pity-party, I look at Hermione as she places the basket she had been carrying on one of the tables, setting it down with a rattling clatter.

"What's that?" Ron asks curiously, climbing over the back of the couch to gather around the table.

"It's for a club, here at Hogwarts," she explains proudly. "I'm in charge of recruiting new members."

"'Spew'?" I read off one of the badges in the basket, raising an eyebrow at Hermione. "Well, of course they want new members. No one's going to want to join with a name like that."

"It's not spew," Hermione snaps, snatching the badge from my hand. "It's S.P.E.W., which stands for the Society of Protection of Elfish Welfare."

"Right…" I nod slowly, hoist a hip on the table. "And – I feel like this should be obvious – what does the Society for Protection of Elfish Welfare do, exactly?"

"I'm glad you asked," Hermione answers coolly. "We are dedicated to improving the lives of House-Elves throughout the wizarding world, eventually extending outward to other magical beings that are perceived as 'second-class'. House-Elves are treated like slaves and servants by wizards and witches-"

I sigh and give Hermione an exasperated look, seeing Ron do the same – I knew Hermione meant well, but really?

"-and I will not stand for this any longer!"

"You and what army?" I mutter under my breath.

"Hermione," Harry begins, gently but also uncertain, "how many members are currently in this club?"

"Well…when you all join, four," Hermione admits.

"You've just started it today, haven't you," Ron accuses, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes, which is why we need to get started right away." Hermione brightens again. "Ori, you're vice president, you'll substitute for me at meetings if I am ever absent, which I highly doubt will be the case. Ron, you're treasurer, you'll be in charge of collecting club dues and managing funds. Harry, you're the secretary, so you should probably be writing down everything I'm saying right now."

Before anyone can say anything else, Hermione is interrupted by the portrait hole swinging open and a band of students climbing through. The convoy to McGonagall's office had returned, effectively stealing every gaze in the room.

Thanking Merlin for the distraction, I leap out of my seat, walking over to Alicia. "So?"

"The rules stand," she announces. "McGonagall even went so far as to give us thirty tins of shoe polish, two for each dorm."

I groan loudly as the tins are passed out – I absolutely despised shoe polish. I didn't see the point – it was smelly, it made a mess, and eventually, your shoes would just get scuffed again. Plus, Vernon Dursley liked his shoes shined every few weeks or so, and guess who got to do that wondrous task?

Me, that's who.

But I take my shoe polish and rag with minimal grumbling and head over to one of the tables, opening up the tin and making a face at the intense smell.

This was shaping up to be a long two weeks.

As the day of the Welcome Feast drew closer and closer, I began to be convinced that the world hated me.

It started with the Common Room checks. Every single student was practically forced to master their Cleaning Charm, as well as Scourgify and Terego, a spell that cleaned up liquid messes. And then it was the uniform checks – our robes had to be clean and unwrinkled, our ties had to be neatly knotted and tucked under our sweaters, our shoes had to be polished and securely laced at all times…the list just went on and on. And don't even get me started on how many times I had to clean shoe polish out from under my fingernails by hand because I didn't know a spell precise enough to clean my nails and not rip them out altogether.

The students weren't the only ones tightly wound lately – the teachers seemed to be more uptight than usual, and it was making everyone jumpy. Over the past few weeks, McGonagall had lectured us about OWLs even though they weren't for another year, Binns had assigned weekly essays on various goblin rebellions, and Snape had become viler than was usual, even for him, having assigned three massive essays on antidotes due within two weeks. Flitwick had assigned three textbooks' worth of reading on Summoning Charms. According to the boys, Trelawney had been impressed with their "predictions" in Divination and assigned double that amount of work for the next month – they were going to run out of predictions eventually.

Even the laid-back professors had amped up the workload – Hagrid was making fast progress with the Blast-Ended Skrewts, and as part of his "project", had groups of students coming down on alternate nights to observe the Skrewts and take notes. Professor Babbling, who was normally calm and collected, was now prone to highly emotional mood swings: she'd be frustrated one moment, and apologizing profusely to the point of tears the next.

In the middle of all of this, there was another Defense lesson with Moody; apparently, he'd gotten permission from Dumbledore to cast the Imperius Curse on students so we'd know what it felt like. The curse just bounced off me, thanks to the protection that the Black family ring afforded me, but it was funny to watch my classmates sing and dance and do things they'd never consciously do. One of the biggest surprises of the lesson had been that Harry was able to fight off the curse – it took him a moment, but he was able to resist.

"It's because of your pigheaded stubbornness," I revealed after the lesson. "I always told you it'd save your life one day."

Of course, after that astonishing revelation, Moody had immediately assigned ten chapters of reading, a summary of which was due in four days.

Needless to say, I think we were all going to be breathing a little easier when the schools actually arrived.

On the day of arrival – October 14th – classes were let out a half-hour early ("Brilliant!" Harry had exclaimed, "Now Snape won't have time to poison us.") and students were instructed to gather in the Great Hall by 5:30 in preparation for the arrival.

Which led me to where I was now, fussing with my clothes and trying not to sweat in a room full of every other student at Hogwarts.

"Ori, stop fussing," Hermione admonishes from next to me. "You're fine."

"My tie is too tight," I grumble quietly, tugging at my uncomfortably-starched collar. "My shoes hurt. I'm hot."

"Are you done?" Hermione asks, unimpressed. But she does cast a Cooling Charm for me and herself to battle the effects that the layers of clothes had. "You have nothing to worry about."

I huff and go to run a hand through my hair, then stop. "Do you have a mirror? I lost mine."

Hermione hands me one of the mirrors Madam Pomfrey had given every single female student a few weeks ago. They were cheap and flimsy, but they did their job.

"You really do have nothing to worry about," Hermione comments as I make sure that the Sleekeazy's Hair Potion I'd used earlier kept my hair in place and the Muggle face wash Hermione had let me borrow actually worked. "At least you're pretty."

"What, like you aren't?" I ask, handing the mirror back. "I don't exactly see guys falling at my feet."

"Because you'd step on their faces," Hermione deadpans. "Ori, I'm a buck-toothed, frizzy-haired know-it-all. I'm not exactly getting any valentines."

I narrowed my eyes, resolving to send Hermione a Valentine in February if only to prove a point. "Who told you that? I need names. They won't know what hit them."

"Ori, no-"

"Settle down, girls," McGonagall orders as she sweeps by, roster in hand. "Get into the fourth line. Creevey, not that line! The one before it!"

As she rushes off, Hermione and I quietly slip into the formation that was beginning to form. Students were being organized into seven long rows, with first years at the front and seventh years in the back; Slytherin students were on the very left, then Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and finally Gryffindor on the right.

"It's almost six," Ron whispers. "They should be here any second."

But the minutes pass, and nothing happens. The night was getting cold, as October does in Scotland. I was quickly getting bored, picking at a loose thread on my robes and wondering if the visitors would be open to being prank victims.

Just as suspicious murmurs begin to spread through the crowd and theories begin to fly – "Maybe they're just making a dramatic entrance?" "This whole thing could be some sort of cruel trick, you know," – someone in the front shouts, "What is that?!"

Everyone looks up to see a black spot appearing on the horizon, and growing steadily.

"Maybe they're flying in on broomsticks!" a first year shouts.

"Don't be silly," a sixth-year – I think from Ravenclaw – scoffs. "Broomsticks would be stupid. It might be a beast of some sort."

"You're both wrong!" a voice I recognize as Lee Jordan exclaims. "That's a flying house!"

He wasn't that far off, I realize as the object gets closer and closer. It was a flying carriage the size of a small house, being pulled by a dozen elephant-sized winged horses.

"They sure do know how to make an entrance," I whisper to Hermione, who can only nod eagerly.

The carriage touches down with a loud crash, making the first three rows jump back in fear. The horses pull to a gentle stop and a door on the carriage swings open, a boy dressed in a powder-blue uniform steps out, fumbling with something for a second before a set of golden steps fold out and the boy steps back, bowing respectfully.

I just barely have time to wonder if everything at Beauxbatons is this garish and gaudy before a high-heeled shoe that was at least three feet long steps out of the carriage.

The owner of said heels – I was privately amazed at her ankle strength and balance skills – was a gigantic lady, wearing robes of pure black silk with elaborate jewelry and hair tied neatly back. She seemed taller than even Hagrid was, and given that he was half-giant, I had absolutely no doubt that this woman had at least some giantess in her blood.

"Madame Maxime," Dumbledore greets warmly, a smile on his lips as he kisses one of her jewel-covered hands, barely having to bend to do so. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Dumbly-dorr," the giantess – Madame Maxime, apparently – purrs with a heavy French accent. "I 'ope I find you well?"

"In perfect form," Dumbledore assures her, customary twinkle in his eyes. "And these are your pupils, I assume?"

Maxime nods, waving one hand behind her, where twelve or so children in dressed in what looked like fine blue silk were huddled, trembling against the cold.

"You are welcome to go inside and warm up, if you'd like," Dumbledore offers. "Or you can wait for Karkaroff to arrive – he should be arriving any moment now."

"We will warm up, I think," Maxime decides. "But ze 'orses-"

"Our gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures professor, Hagrid, will be absolutely delighted to take care of them. Once he gets back from checking up on one of his other…projects, shall we say."

I quickly scan the crowd, realizing the half-giant was nowhere to be seen.

"It was probably the skrewts," Ron murmurs from a few feet behind me, and I nod.

Madame Maxime, however, looks unsure, as if she couldn't imagine anyone from this school doing an up-to-par job. "My 'orses...zey require careful 'andleing, as zey are very strong…"

"I'm sure it won't be a problem," Dumbledore insists.

Maxime relents with a sigh. "Very well. Will you please tell zis 'Agrid zat ze 'orses only drink single-malt whiskey?"

I blink in surprise, oddly wondering if drinking only whiskey was good or bad for the horses, but Dumbledore only nods and assures her Hagrid will be informed. Maxime nods and leads her students toward the castle, her massive form parting the crowd like a knife through hot butter.

"How big d'you think Durmstang's horses are gonna be?" Seamus asks eagerly.

"Not much bigger, I hope. I don't think even Hagrid can deal with that many gigantic horses," Harry admits.

"If he hasn't been eaten by the skrewts yet," I remind them. "Or Merlin-knows-what else he's got."

"Maybe the skrewts got out," Ron jokes.

"Don't even joke about that," Hermione shudders. "I do not want to think about them loose on the grounds."

We all fall silent, shivering slightly as we waited for the Durmstrang group to arrive. I manage to nag Hermione into casting a Warming Charm on me as night falls, and I was just beginning to wonder if Durmstrang was just going to let us freeze out here when an odd sound reaches my ear.

It sounded a bit like a drain emptying, the sound of rushing water quiet at first but quickly growing to a dull roar; the only problem was that I couldn't quite figure out where this sound was coming from.

"Look at the lake!" someone shouts, and from our vantage point, high on the grounds, we could all see what was going on – the surface of the lake was bubbling and twisting, a small whirlpool forming in the center of the lake that quickly grows outward, almost to the banks. A thin, black pole was rising from the center of the whirlpool, and I had no idea what it was because it was attached to a complicated set of ropes and even a net.

"It's a ship!" Ron realizes just as the crow's nest appears, and the crowd bursts into excited chatter as a massive ship rises from the depths of the lake.

I blink, glancing around to make sure everyone else was actually seeing the same thing I was. It had been three years since I got the infamous Hogwarts letter, but sometimes I still had trouble believing my eyes.

"I know," Hermione whispers excitedly behind me, probably thinking along the same lines. "It's brilliant, isn't it?"

I just nod as the ship floats over to a bank and docks, throwing down first the anchor and then the gangplank. I could see shadows disembarking – the all seemed to be fairly bulky in stature, but as the entered the light thrown off by the castle, it became obvious that most of that bulk belonged to the massive furs that each student wore; wherever Durmstrang was, it must be a lot colder than Hogwarts.

"Dumbledore!" a man in sleek, silver robes calls as he leads what I assumed to be his students up the hill. "How good it is to see you again. How are you, my friend?"

"Karkaroff," Dumbledore greets with a smile. "I'm simply blooming, thank you."

As the two men stand together in the light of the castle, I can't help but draw coincidences between them – both men were tall and thin, both holding a feeling of experience and power that was as old as their white hair. But where Dumbledore's eyes held a perpetual twinkle that could put almost anyone at ease, Karkaroff's smile didn't reach his eyes, leaving them cold and calculating.

"Viktor, come up into the warmth," Karkaroff calls over his shoulders. "You don't mind, do you, Dumbledore? Viktor's got a bit of a cold, I'm afraid…"

One student breaks off from the bundle of furs that had gathered behind Karkaroff, and as he emerges from the darkness, I recognize him with a jolt, even without Ron's excited yelp.

Viktor Krum had come to Hogwarts.