– Chapter Twelve –

The Triwizard Tournament

They went through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale. Leaning against the window, Romi could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain.

Lightning flashed across the sky as their carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle; Romi, Neville, Ginny and Luna jumped down from their carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when they were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit Entrance Hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.

"That's quite a storm," Romi said, wringing her long red hair out onto the already soaked Entrance Hall.

Everyone was slipping and sliding their way across the room towards the Great Hall, where a warm glow was being admitted, calling them all towards it like moths to a flame.

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start of term feast. Golden plates and goblets flamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles floating over the tables in mid-air. The four long house tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat alongside of a fifth table, facing their pupils.

It was much warmer in here. Romi, Neville and Ginny walked past the Slytherin table, bid Luna goodbye at the Ravenclaw table, promising to meet up with her tomorrow, and finally past the Hufflepuffs to sit down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall. The three of them sat near Harry, Ron and Hermione. Ron still seemed to be in a terrible mood, water still running down his red hair. Harry and Hermione seemed little less pleased.

"I hope the Sorting is quick," Harry muttered, "I could really use a lot of warm food right now."

Romi silently agreed, normally she could deal with the cold, having spent most of her winters in the northern reaches of Canada, but this kind of wet, cold rain would be able to settle into anyone's bones.

However, before the feast could start, the Sorting had to take place. The Sorting of the new students into houses took place at the start of every school year.

Just then a highly excited, breathless voice called down the table, "Hiya, Harry!"

It was Colin Creevey, a third-year to whom Harry was something of a hero.

"Hullo, Colin," Harry replied somewhat less than amused as Romi giggled at him.

"Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!"

"You don't say," Harry replied.

"He's really excited!" said Colin, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?"

"Er – sure," said Harry. He turned back to his friends. "Brothers and sisters usually are in the same houses, aren't they?" he said, looking at Romi and the Weasleys.

"Oh, no, not necessarily," said Hermione. "Parvati Patil's twin's in Ravenclaw, and they're identical. You'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?"

Romi looked up at the staff table. There seemed to be more empty seats than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first-years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the Entrance Hall floor, but there was another empty chair, too, and she couldn't think who else was missing.

"Where's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Hermione, who was also looking up at the teachers.

They had never yet had a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. Romi's favourite by far had been Professor Lupin, who had resigned last year; this opinion was shared by most of the Gryffindors. She looked up and down the staff table. There was definitely no new face there.

"Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" said Hermione, looking anxious.

Romi scanned the table more carefully. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway grey hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side was the sallow-faced, hook-nosed, Romi's godfather, Professor Snape the potion master. Severus caught Romi's eye, and smiled at her. She grinned back at him.

On Snape's other side was an empty seat, which Romi guessed was Professor McGonagall's. Next to it, and in the very centre of the table, sat Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster, his sweeping silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificent deep-green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. The tips of Dumbledore's long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. Unable to resist herself, Romi too looked up into the enchanted ceiling. She had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightening flashed across it.

"Oh, hurry up," Ron moaned, beside Harry. "I could eat a Hippogriff."

"I wonder what that would taste like," Romi said thoughtfully, as the doors of the Great Hall opened, and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. If Romi and her crew were wet, it was nothing to how these first-year looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailing. All of them were shivering with combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school – all of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair, who was wrapped in what Romi recognised as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. The coat was so big for him that it looked as though he was draped in a furry black marquee. His small face protruded from over the collar, looking almost painfully excited. When he had lined up with his terrified looking peers, he caught Colin Creevey's eye, gave a double thumbs up and mouthed, "I fell, in the lake!" he looked positively delighted about it.

Professor McGonagall now placed a three legged stool on the ground before the first years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty, patched wizard's hat. The first years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was silence. Then a tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into song:

"A thousand years or more ago,

When I was newly sewn,

There lived four wizards of renown,

Whose names are still well known,

Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,

Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,

Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,

Shrewd Slytherin, from fen,

They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,

They hatched a daring plan,

To educate young sorcerers

Thus Hogwarts School began.

Now each of these four founders

Formed their own house, for each

Did value different virtues

In the ones they had to teach,

By Gryffindor, the bravest were

Prized far beyond the rest;

For Ravenclaw; the cleverest

Would always be the best;

For Hufflepuff, hard workers were

Most worthy of admission;

And power-hungry Slytherin

Loved those of great ambition.

While still alive they did decide

Their favourites from the throng,

Yet how to pick the worthy ones

When they were dead and gone?

'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,

He whipped me off his head

The founders put some brains in me

So I could choose instead!

Now slip me snug about yours ears,

I've never yet been wrong,

I'll have a look inside your mind

And tell where you belong!"

The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished.

"That's not the song it sang when it sorted us," said Harry, clapping along with everyone else.

"Sings a different one every year," said Ron. "It's got to be a pretty boring life, hasn't it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one."

Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment.

"When I call out your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool," she told the first years. "When the Hat announces your house, you will go and sit at the appropriate table."

"Ackerley, Stewart!"

A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on and sat down on the stool.

"Ravenclaw!" shouted the Hat.

Stewart Ackerley took off the hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him.

"Baddock, Malcolm!"

"Slytherin!"

The table on the other side of the Hall erupted with cheers; Romi could see Draco clapping as Malcolm Baddock joined the Slytherins. Fred and George hissed Malcolm as he sat down.

"Branstone, Eleanor!"

"Hufflepuff!"

"Cauldwell, Owen!"

"Hufflepuff!"

"Creevey, Dennis!"

Tiny Dennis Creevey staggered forward, tripping over Hagrid's moleskin, just as Hagrid himself sidled into the Hall through a door behind the teachers' table. About twice as tall as a normal man, and at least three times as broad, Hagrid, with his long, wild, tangled black hair and beard, looked slightly alarming – a misleading impression, for Romi knew Hagrid to possess a very kind nature. He winked at them as he sat down at the end of the staff table, and watched Dennis Creevey putting on the Sorting Hat. The rip at the brim opened wide:

"Gryffindor!" the Hat shouted.

Hagrid clapped along with the Gryffindors, as Dennis Creevey, beaming widely, took off the Hat, placed it back on the stool, and hurried over to join his brother.

"Colin, I fell in!" he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. "It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!"

"Cool!" said Colin, just as excitedly. "It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"

"Wow!" said Dennis, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for more than being thrown into a storm tossed, fathoms deep lake, and pushed out of it again by a giant sea monster.

"Dennis! Dennis! See that boy down there? The one with the black hair and glasses? See him? Know who he is, Dennis?"

Harry looked away to catch Romi grinning face.

"Stop making fun of me," he whispered.

"I didn't say anything!" Romi replied.

The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their face moving, one by one, to the three-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall passed the 'L's.

"Oh, hurry up," Ron moaned, massaging his stomach,

"Now, Ron, the Sorting's much more important than food," said Nearly Headless Nick, as 'Madley, Laura!' became a Hufflepuff.

"Course it is, if you're dead," snapped Ron.

"I do hope this year's batch of Gryffindor are up to scratch," said Nearly Headless Nick, applauding as 'McDonald, Natalie' joined the Gryffindor table. "We don't want to break our winning streak do we?"

Gryffindor had won the Inter-House Championship for the last three years in a row.

"Pritchard, Graham!"

"Slytherin."

"Quinn, Shiloh!"

"Hufflepuff!"

"Quirke, Orla!"

"Ravenclaw!"

And finally, with 'Whitby, Kevin!' (Hufflepuff) the Sorting ended. Professor McGonagall picked up the Hat and the stool, and carried them away.

"About time," said Ron, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate.

Professor Dumbledore had got to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome.

"I have only two words to say to you," he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. "Tuck in."

"Hear, hear!" said Harry and Ron loudly, as the empty dished filled magically before their eyes.

Nearly Headless Nick watched mournfully as the group around them loaded their plates.

"Aaah, 'at's be'er," said Ron, with his mouth full of mashed potato.

"You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know," said Nearly Headless Nick. "There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."

"Why? Wha' 'appened?" said Harry through a sizable chunk of steak.

"Peeves, of course," said Nearly Headless Nick, shaking his head, which wobbled dangerously. He pulled his ruff a little higher up his neck. Peeves was the school's poltergeist and a thoroughly unpleasant little spirit. "The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast – well it's quite out of the question, you know what he's like, utterly uncivilised, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghosts' council – the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance – but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down."

The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin ghost, a gaunt and silent spectre covered in silver bloodstains. He was the only person at Hogwarts who could really control Peeves.

"Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something," said Ron darkly. "So what did he do in the kitchens?"

"Oh, the usual," said Nearly Headless Nick, shrugging. "Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits–"

There was a clang beside Romi has Hermione had knocked over her golden goblet. Pumpkin juice spread steadily over the tablecloth, staining several feet of white linen orange, but Hermione paid no attention.

"There are house elves here?" she said, staring, horror-struck, at Nearly Headless Nick. "Here at Hogwarts?"

"Certainly," said Nearly Headless Nick, looking surprised at her reaction. "The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred."

"I've never seen one!" said Hermione.

"Well, they hardly every leave the kitchen by day, do they?" said Nearly Headless Nick. "They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning… see to the fires and so on… I mean you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know that it's there?"

Hermione stared at him.

"But they get paid?" she said. "They get holidays, don't they? And – and sick leave, pensions and everything?"

Nearly Headless Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck.

"Sick leave and pensions?" he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulder and securing it once more with his ruff. "House elves don't want sick leave and pensions!"

Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from her.

"Oh, c'mon, Er-my-knee," said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. "Oops – sorry, 'Arry-" He swallowed then continued. "You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself."

"Though you might need it, if you don't keep your strength up," Romi added.

"Slave labour," said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose and ignoring Romi. "That's what this dinner is! Slave labour!"

And she refused to eat another bite.

Romi gave a knowing glance at Ginny, remember how Ginny had told her about Hermione's rants about House elves. Ginny just returned it and stayed silent, eating her dinner.

The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark windows. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced instantly with deserts.

"Treacle tart, Hermione!" said Ron, deliberately wafting its smell towards her. "Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!"

But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up.

When the puddings, too, have been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered–"

Hermione made a disgusted noise beside Romi.

"I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices."

"Mr Filch, the caretaker has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the cast has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched.

He continued, "As ever I would like to remind you all that the Forest on the grounds is out of bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year.

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

"What!" Harry gasped. The other members of the Quidditch teams were looking dumbstruck at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore continued, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy. But I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts–"

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black travelling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swivelled towards the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark grey hair, then began to walk up towards the teachers' table.

A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right and limped heavily towards Dumbledore. Another flash of lightening crossing the ceiling. Hermione gasped.

The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike Romi had ever seen. It looked as though someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces were supposed to look like, and was not too skilled with a chisel, had carved it out of weathered wood. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening.

One of them was small, dark and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye – and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all they could see was whiteness.

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words Romi couldn't hear. He seemed to be making some enquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded, gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.

The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark grey hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages towards him, raised it to what was left of his nose and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.

"May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," said Dumbledore brightly, into the silence. "Professor Moody."

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students clapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid. Both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.

Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less than warm welcome. Ignored the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his travelling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inched from the floor, and Romi saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot.

"Moody?" Harry muttered. "Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?"

"Must be," said Ron in a low, awed voice.

"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered. "What happened to his face?"

"Dunno," Ron whispered back watching Moody with fascination.

"What happened this morning?" Romi whispered. Harry hurriedly informed her that Mr Weasley had gone to help Mad-Eye Moody, who claimed that someone was breaking into his house. Harry trailed off as Dumbledore cleared his throat again.

"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody. "We are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke.

Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"I am not joking, Mr Weasley," he said, "though, now you mention, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag and a leprechaun who all go into a bar–"

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

"Er – but perhaps this isn't the time… where was I? Ah, yes, the Triwizard Tournament… well, some of you will not know what this Tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation and allow their attention to wander freely.

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago, as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry – Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the Tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities – until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the Tournament was discontinued."

"Death toll?" Ginny whispered, sharing an alarmed glance with Romi. But her anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly with each other, they seemed far more interested in hearing more about the Tournament than in worrying about deaths that had happened hundreds of years ago.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the Tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which have been very successful. However, our own Departments of International Magical Co-operation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that, this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.

"The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

"I'm going for it!" Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualising themselves as Hogwarts champion. At every house table, Romi could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbours. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quietened once more.

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the Heads of the participating schools along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age – that is to say, seventeen years or older – will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This" – Dumbledore had to raise his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious – "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the Tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." His light-blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October, and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop! Chop!"

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet, and swarmed towards the double doors into the Entrance Hall.

"They can't do that!" said one of the Weasley twins, who had not joined the crowd moving towards the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"

"They're not stopping me entering," said the other twin stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"

"Yeah," said Ron, a faraway look on his face. "Yeah, a thousand Galleons…"

"Come on," said Hermione, "we'll be the only one left here if you don't move."

"Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?" said Harry, glancing at his sister.

"Dunno," said Fred, "but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple drops of Ageing Potion might do it, George…"

"Oh, I doubt that," said Romi.

"Yeah, besides, Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," said Ron.

"Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?" said Fred shrewdly. "So an ageing potion would work – sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."

"And I'm sure he'll succeed," Romi stated firmly.

"People have died, though!" said Hermione in a worried voice, as they walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another narrower staircase.

"Yeah," said Fred airily, "but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?"

"What do you reckon?" Ron asked Harry. "Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I suppose they might want someone older… dunno if we've learned enough…"

"I definitely haven't," came Neville's gloomy voice from beside Romi. He'd been quiet ever since Dumbledore mentioned the Triwizard Tournament. "I expect my gran'd want me to try, though, she's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honour. I'll just have to – ooops."

Neville's foot had sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. There were many of these trick stairs at Hogwarts; though none with a purpose. It was second nature to most of the older student to jump this particular step, but Neville's memory was notoriously poor. Harry and Ron seized him under the armpits and pulled him out while a suit of armour at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked, laughing wheezily. Romi and Ginny hung to the back of the group.

"Shut it, you," said Ron, banging down its visor as they passed. Romi, Neville and Ginny let the rest of them get ahead of them, and then the three of them broke away.

"I don't like this," Ginny muttered as they made their way through the corridors.

"Why not?" Romi asked.

"I just have a bad feeling," Ginny said. "I mean, the death toll became too high for them to continue? That doesn't sound like a very good thing… and what with everything happening lately."

Romi was quiet for a moment and they turned down a short cut towards the Gryffindor Common Room.

"But they aren't related," Neville said, as they made their way down a quieter corridor. "The World Cup and the Triwizard Tournament? They can't be, what do they have in common?"

"The same people that organized the Quidditch World Cup is organizing this," Romi muttered. "All of my dad's team is on this project too. That's what he was talking about of more organizing, even Ludo Bagman and Mr Crouch mentioned it…"

"So they'll do better this time," Neville said as they made it to the Gryffindor Common Room. "They know what to look out for."

"I don't know," Ginny said, climbing up through the Portrait Hole. Many of the Gryffindors around them were chatting excitedly about all of the possibilities, a lot of them fantasizing about being the Hogwarts champion, and then complaining that it wasn't fair that they couldn't have a shot at it. "This just seems like a huge risk for everyone to be taking."

"It'll be exciting to watch," Romi pointed out. "Three tasks, has to be interesting."

"As long as that's the only 'interesting' thing that happens this year," Ginny said, walking towards the girl's dormitory. "And somehow, I doubt that'll be it."

She disappeared up the stairs, leaving Neville and Romi by themselves.

"Do you think she's right?" Neville asked, looking worried.

"I seriously hope not," answered Romi. "But my instincts are telling me that she is."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Neville replied. He sighed. "Do you think the end of the world can wait until tomorrow?"

"It won't be the end of the world," Romi said with a smile. "But, yes, it can wait until tomorrow."

"Goodnight," Neville said and disappeared up the boys' staircase. Romi took a deep breath and then looked to her own staircase, and trudged her way up it.

Inside her dormitory were four four-poster beds with deep crimson hangings stood against the walls, each with its owner's trunk at the foot. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, the two other Gryffindor girls were already in their nightdresses and climbing into bed.

Hermione appeared a few minutes after Romi, and with a dark glance around the room, she got herself into bed. She made a growling noise in the back of her throat when she had done so. Romi found out a moment later that somebody – a house elf, no doubt – had put heating pans between the sheets, which were extremely comfortable.

"What do you think?" said Lavender posing the question to the room, "if it were possible, would you try for being Champion?"

"I suppose," replied Parvati. Hermione just huffed and turned over.

"What about you, Romi?" asked Parvati.

"No, I don't think so," answered Romi.

"Why not?" Lavender asked, leaning against her arm to look over at Romi.

"I think I'll have enough pressure to deal with this year," Romi replied, she settled into her bed. "I'll leave the work of champions to someone better than me."