"Ori, wake up."
"Mmph…"
"Ori, you need to wake up."
"Mmnoo."
"Ori, if you don't wake up right now we're both going to be late and I can't tie my own tie!" This last statement is accompanied by a whack on my shoulder, and I wince as I crack open an eye to see Rosie looming over me.
"What's the abuse for?" I groan, rubbing a hand across my eyes. "Time s'it?"
"Nearly eight," my friend replies nervously. "And you aren't awake, or dressed, and we haven't eaten, and I still need help with my tie."
"Calm down," I yawn, pushing myself into a sitting position and stretching my shoulders. "And give me your tie."
She anxiously holds out the red-and-gold necktie, and stand up to properly tie it around her neck, per the routine that had been established over the past week or so.
"You know, I'm surprised you don't know how to do that yet," I comment off-handedly as Rosie pulls on her outer robes.
"They didn't have ties at Beauxbatons," she shrugs, lacing up her shoes as I grab my clothes and head into the bathroom.
When I emerge a few minutes later, Rosie's fully dressed and waiting by the door, bag in hand. She's tied her hair back with a black-and-orange striped ribbon to celebrate Halloween.
"You're not wearing any hair ribbons or anything?" she asks, sounding disappointed. "It's Halloween!"
"I keep my hair short for a reason," I remind her as we make our way down to the Common Room and then out into the corridors. "Besides, my hair's already black, so there's half the decoration right there."
"Whatever," Rosie huffs. "Your loss, not mine."
"Keep telling yourself that," I quip as I push open the doors to the Great Hall.
In accordance to the holiday, the Hall had been decorated from top to bottom; orange and black streamers hung from the ceiling, a variety of jack-o-lanterns floated around the room, and someone had even added a bunch of live bats to flutter around the ceiling.
"I really hope I don't end up covered in bat dung," I whisper to Rosie, who nearly chokes on her laughter.
We quickly spot Ron, Harry, and Hermione – all of which were awake earlier than I was – at the Gryffindor table and take our seats across from the trio.
"You're finally awake," Hermione says by way of greeting. "I thought you'd never get up!"
"Well, I do need my beauty sleep," I retort, grabbing a muffin and stuffing it in my mouth. "Mornin', boys."
Ron grumbles a greeting around a mouthful of eggs, and Harry grins at me. "Morning, Ori. Sleep well?"
"Ha, ha," I mock, but give him a curious look – not only was it Halloween today, but it was the anniversary of Lily and James' deaths. He seemed fine, never too affected by the date, but I usually kept a close eye on him anyway.
The rest of the meal passes quickly, the five of us shoveling down as much food as we possibly could. Around us, the room was abuzz with chatter surrounding the Goblet of Fire and who had put their name in so far and who was going to enter.
"I saw Warrington put his name in earlier," Dean remarks, watching the flickering flames of the Goblet. "Imagine him getting in!"
I give a derisive snort at this. I'd played Quidditch against Warrington last year, and I knew first-hand that the guy was dumber than a sack of rocks; however, what he lacked in smarts, he made up for in pure, brute strength.
"He'd probably die in the first five minutes," I guess dryly.
"We can't have a Slytherin champion!" Harry complains loudly.
"With any luck, you won't," a voice says behind me, and I look over to see Angelica standing behind me, a grin stretching across her face. "Just put my name in yesterday."
"Really?!" I spin around to face her. "Awesome! I didn't know you were seventeen."
"As of last week, yeah," she confirms. "Here's hoping, right?"
"Happy belated birthday," Rosie interjects with a smile. News of her arrival had spread quickly over the last week and a half, and almost everyone in Gryffindor liked her. "I'm sorry we didn't get you anything."
"You didn't know." Angelica dismisses us with a flap of her hand. "I just hope I get picked and not Warrington. Can you imagine?" she asks, shuddering.
"Just don't die. We need you back next year, Captain," I tease.
"Technically, I'm not captain this year," she reminds me glumly, then brightens. "But thanks for the sentiment, Black."
We chat for a few minutes before Angelica leaves, stating she had to get to Potions or Snape would skin her alive. We bid her goodbye and then set off to do the same.
The five of us slip into Greenhouse Two just as Professor Sprout takes her place at the front of the classroom, only giving us a stern look before starting her instruction.
"Bouncing Bulbs," I grumble as I flip through my textbook for feeding and shelter information after Sprout's finished. "Wonderful."
"Ah, cheer up. It's not the plant's fault your useless with plants," Rosie mutters absently as she works on freeing the plant, trying to get it to hop from its current pot to a fresh one sitting nearby.
Soon after Rosie came to Hogwarts, I learned that she was left-handed; a rare trait, but not impossible. It certainly made classes interesting – as all of the Professors were right-handed, I had to help her learn the wand movements backward. It had led to a few mistaken Transfigurations over the past week.
"You've literally had one Herbology lesson with me. Stop passing judgment."
"Last week, you managed to kill the Bulb by giving it water," Rosie argues. "Which, for all intents and purposes, should have helped it."
"I'm telling you, it hated me," I whine, lunging forward to catch the bulb before it can bounce too far and shove it in the fresh soil and cover it up, only for it to keep fighting to get out, spraying dirt all over Rosie and me.
I brush the dirt out of my eyes and settle for crudely securing the bulb with Spellotape; it wouldn't win any high grades, but at least the Bulb was no longer bouncing.
Sure enough, Sprout gives us an Acceptable and me a disappointed look before ushering us to our next class.
After Herbology, we had Care of Magical Creatures, which was disastrous as ever – wrangling a three-foot-long (or three and a half, depending) creature that could either bite your hand off, shoot fire out of its rear, or explode was not fun. At all.
By the time the class limped in for lunch, Seamus Finnigan was covered in bite marks, Lavender Brown's hair was singed, and Ron's robes were torn nearly to shreds.
"Have Professor Hagrid's classes always been like that?" Rosie asks, shocked, as the five of us find spots at the Gryffindor table. At my nod, she only blanches further. "How is that legal?!"
"Dumbledore," I shrug. "He and Hagrid go way back, apparently – he's more used to Hagrid's…unique teaching style," I explain wryly.
"Don't you mean Professor Hagrid?" Rosie asks, frowning at us. "Or is he lenient on things like that?"
"We're a bit different," Hermione explains. "The four of us have known Hagrid since we were eleven, he's more of a friend."
"Really?"
"'Course," I grin. "Hey, we should go pay him a visit."
"We were just down there," Ron complains around a mouthful of sandwich, giving me a wide-eyed look. "Have you lost it? We just came from class!"
"And we need to visit him," I insist. "Rosie hasn't met him yet! It's completely necessary.
"I don't really need to…" Rosie trails off, shifting awkwardly in her seat.
I turn to stare at her, a grin slowly stretching over my face. Across the table, the Trio groans.
"You shouldn't have said that," Harry murmurs. "She's set her mind to it now."
"We're going to visit Hagrid!" I declare, standing up and bounding out of the Great Hall, leaving the other four Gryffindors to either follow or be left behind.
They all end up accompanying me across the grounds to the groundskeeper's hut, Ron grumbling all the way.
"Hagrid!" I call, knocking on the front door. There's a shout from within the hut just before the door swings open and a loud, booming voice greets us, and I'm nearly bowled over by a black blur.
I stumble back, grunting under the weight of Hagrid's dog, Fang.
"Hello, you giant oaf," I laugh, rubbing him behind the ears as he proceeds to slobber all over my arms. "Who's a good boy? Can you possibly move? I'd like to get up."
"Fang!" Hagrid scolds, dragging the dog off me and offering a hand. "Sorry, Ori, I don' know why he does tha."
"It's fine," I assure him, wiping my hands on my pants and moving aside to let Rosie in. As soon as she puts a toe over the threshold, however, the dog's entire demeanor changes. The Mastiff stands at his full height and raises his hackles, growling with an intensity that shook the hut around us.
Slightly shocked, I look up, searching Rosie for anything that would agitate Fang in any way.
"I didn't do anything," Rosie whispers, quickly backing away. "I swear."
"Down, Fang!" Hagrid commands sternly. His attempts to dissuade the dog have no effect, and he eventually gives up and grabs a length of rope. "Out in the garden with yeh, then."
"I'll do it," I offer, grabbing the rope and manhandling the dog out Hagrid's back door, wrestling him into the garden and securing him to a fence post, silently wondering why Rosie had sparked such a reaction in the usually gentle – even cowardly – dog. In the three years that I'd known Hagrid, I'd never seen Fang react like that towards anything.
What was so different about Rosie?
After making sure Fang was secure, I make my way back inside the hut to find Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Rosie all crowded around the groundskeeper's small table with tea and rock cakes. As I sit down, Rosie slides me a cup of tea and a cake.
A comfortable silence falls over the table, only idle chatter being made as we all help ourselves to the tea and cakes – or, as much as we could, seeing as they were still rock-hard. Despite the initial issue with Fang, Hagrid and Rosie seemed to get along well – they were currently discussing creatures found exclusively in France versus those native to England and Scotland.
Go figure.
"So, Hagrid," Hermione begins as soon as all the dishes have been put in the sink. "You've been awfully quiet about this whole Tournament. What do you think of it?"
The half-giant frowns pensively. "It all sounds dangerous, if yer askin' me. I was here for tha first Tournament, and the things the youngins were put through…" He shakes his head, hair flying around his face. "But, 'ey, at leas' yer not goin' teh be in danger this year! With it bein' only seventeen, an' all."
I nod, turning to Harry. "Yeah, you won't get a chance to prove your heroics this year," I tease, although there was an undertone of seriousness – I was honestly glad for the break.
"No dashing tales of bravery for you," Ron adds on, grinning.
"Shame," Harry mutters dryly, giving both of us an exasperated look. "Can't say I'm going to miss battling You-Know-Who this year, though."
"Technically, we didn't do that last year."
"Right, last year we just saved your criminal-escapee father from certain death," Harry replies sarcastically. "Sorry, I forgot."
"Sorry, what?!" a voice chokes from my other side – I turn to see Rosie staring at me, wide-eyed. "I'm missing something," she declares.
I nod, snickering lightly. "Just wait till you learn about the Basilisk."
"The-" Rosie nearly chokes on air. "The…Basilisk. Okay. Not a big deal," she murmurs, the pallor of her face belying her words.
I laugh, looking up as a distant bell tolls. "Is that the bell? Has it already been an hour?"
"We're going to be late for Potions," Hermione worries, frantically gathering her bag and hurrying out of the hut, hastily bidding Hagrid goodbye.
I grab my own bag and swing the strap over my shoulder, waving at Hagrid as he begins to prepare for his next class.
As Rosie followed me out onto the grounds, I could hear her murmuring in French – what it was, I didn't know, but I was banking on it not being a compliment.
.
After lunch, the rest of the day passed with a tense buzz hanging in the air – the castle was restless with anticipation, the halls alive with whispers on which name would emerge into the limelight.
"Personally, I think Warrington's the best fit," Malfoy boasted in the Great Hall. "He's stronger than half of Hogwarts combined – what more could a champion need?"
"Some brains would be nice," I retort on my way past the Slytherin table. "But you wouldn't know what that's like, would you, Malfoy?"
Just behind me, Rosie bursts into laughter, having to lean on me just to stay upright at the stricken look on Malfoy's face. Unfortunately, her reaction brings her to his notice, and the Slytherin turns in her direction.
"Oh, so you're Black's little lapdog. I've heard of you…tell me, how much does she pay you? If I were you, I'd run away now – she isn't worth the Galleons."
I glare daggers and go for my wand, but Rosie is quicker, drawing her own wand and pointing it directly at the Slytherin crest on Malfoy's robes.
"I wouldn't be talking, you absolute arse," she snaps – her voice held a deeper, throaty tone; if I didn't know better, I'd say she was a step away from snarling. "Ori is my friend – a genuine friend, although I'm not surprised you don't know what that is. You must've been too busy dyeing your hair when that line was queuing."
In the few minutes since Malfoy began speaking a small crowd had amassed, and with Rosie's retort they burst into chatter, regarding her with trepidation. Even I was slightly awestruck; I had no idea where this outspoken side of Rosie had come from, but I sincerely hoped it was here to stay.
Which, I quickly realized, wouldn't be possible if Rosie kept her wand pointed dangerously close to Malfoy's heart like that.
I reach out to lay a hand on her arm. "Rosie-"
"One more thing," she assures me, aiming her wand again and giving it a small flick. "Devenir laid!"
A small jet of light hits Malfoy in the face, and the effect is instantaneous: his skin bubbles and ripples, rearranging his face into the most despicable picture ever, complete with unibrow, nose hair, and crooked teeth.
"Okay, as much as I'd love to see this progress, we should really be leaving," I murmur anxiously, grabbing Rosie's sleeve and tugging her through the dispersing crowd. As soon as we returned to the table, I released her sleeve and let out a delighted cackle.
"You have got to teach me that spell," I practically beg her as we sit down. "What was it?"
"A French secret," she replies coyly, digging into her dinner with a mischievous smirk.
I groan in defeat just as Harry, Ron, and Hermione approach the table, having been caught up in the crowd.
"What just happened? Why does Malfoy look like a goblin?"
"Rosie cursed him," I explain gleefully. "It was brilliant."
"It looks brilliant," Ron agrees eagerly. "Is it gonna wear off?"
"In a week or so," Rosie mutters around a mouthful of shepherd's pie. "Here they come."
The doors to the Great Hall swing open, letting the Durmstrang group – headed by Karkaroff – in, followed soon after by a closely-packed group of Beauxbatons students, Maxime at the head.
"Don't worry," I whisper as Rosie tenses in her seat. "If any of them try anything, I hex them before you can say 'bouillabaisse.'"
"I'm surprised you can say it," she retorts, a small smile spreading across her face nonetheless.
The entire Hall turns its attention forwards as Dumbledore stands, waiting to make sure all eyes were on him before speaking.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he begins kindly. "And a Happy Halloween to you all. I only have a few words to say before the champion selection can begin, so let us get started."
"Firstly, I would like to extend my gratitude to the students and Heads of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons for taking the time to visit our school, as well as my hopes that they have found their stay welcoming thus far."
As Maxime and Karkaroff nod in agreement, Dumbledore continues.
"Secondly, I would like to reinforce to all students of Hogwarts that simply because the Triwizard Tournament is beginning does not mean we should stop treating our guests with the utmost respect," Dumbledore commands sternly. "This competition is meant to serve as more than simply that; you are meant to forge bonds among the magical community that will last a lifetime. Do not forget that, even in the heat of opposition."
I roll my eyes and huff as half the Gryffindor table looks my way – apparently, news of the punching incident had spread.
"Last, but not least, I would like to wish each and every one of the champions that will be selected tonight good luck, and may the odds be forever in his or her favor."
The collective anxiety level in the Great Hall practically skyrockets as Dumbledore steps down from the podium, approaching Goblet of Fire, which had been burning brightly for the last two weeks, and quickly erases the Age Line with a wave of his hand. The Headmaster approaches the Goblet and makes an intricate movement with his wand, muttering an incantation I couldn't hear, and then taking a step back as the blue flames flare up.
With a sweep of his arm, Dumbledore extinguishes all of the candles in the hall, leaving the room only illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the windows and the light the Goblet threw off, bathing everyone in an eerie silvery-blue light.
"Quiet down, everyone," Dumbledore requests, and the noise level fades to a barely-contained whisper just as the Goblet begins to act up.
The flames flare again, turning a violent shade of red as the Goblet seems to spit out an ember – no, a piece of parchment, that Dumbledore caught and held into the light.
"The Durmstrang Champion is…Viktor Krum!" he announces, and entire rooms bursts into applause, especially the Durmstrang students, all stomping their feet and banging their staffs on the ground.
"No surprise there," Ron cheers excitedly. "He's practically a shoe-in!"
"Not to mention the galleons he'll pull in for Durmstrang if he wins," Hermione interjects with an eye-roll.
At the front of the room, Dumbledore shakes Krum's hand and ushers him into a side room before returning to his spot.
As the last of the applause dies down, Dumbledore regains control of the room just as the Goblet begins to flare once more. A second piece of parchment is spit out, and Dumbledore deftly catches it and reads off the name listed.
"The Beauxbatons Champion is…Fleur Delacour!"
The crowd erupts again, but this time it was more of a mixed reaction: the Great Hall – and mainly its male occupants – burst into rancorous cheers, shouting over one another to be heard as the girl from a few weeks ago, with the blonde hair and the penchant for calling people 'devil spawn' meets Dumbledore at the front of the hall. Meanwhile, her own table looked absolutely devastated – a few girls had even collapsed in sobs.
It's my turn to roll my eyes at them, whispering a few nasty words in Rosie's ear, making her nearly choke on her pumpkin juice.
Once the cheers had finally died down – and the male student body had been snapped out of their daze – Dumbledore returned to the front of the room for the final name.
The Goblet turns red and spits out a third name, Dumbledore plucking it out of the air and glancing down at it.
"The Hogwarts Champion is…Cedric Diggory!"
The Great Hall absolutely explodes. Everywhere you looked, people were booing, laughing, shouting, cheering – but nobody beat the Hufflepuff table, which was creating such a roar that I'm sure it could be heard all the way in London. Diggory practically got shoved to the front of the room, where he firmly shook the headmaster's hand before making his way into the other room.
I watch him go, clapping politely; I didn't really know Diggory, other than in Quidditch, but he seemed like a decent. Besides, anyone was better than Warrington.
As the furor finally dies down and Dumbledore gives his closing speech, I distinctly remember thinking, finally, a year where Harry and I aren't the center of attention. Or in any mortal danger.
But then a hush falls over the entire hall, I look up to see the Goblet turn red a fourth time.
A fourth piece of paper flutters out, and Dumbledore catches it, looking to be in a state of shock.
A deep sense of foreboding settles in my gut as I watched the headmaster – something wasn't right. Something had gone horribly wrong here. And Dumbledore was hesitating, and I wished he would just say the name already-
And then Dumbledore speaks. It's only two words, two measly little words, but I instantly wish they had never, ever been said before.
"Harry Potter."