Late November 1994.
As the date of the First Task neared, I started to see that my previous moping was based on a blown out-of-proportion idea of the school's feelings toward me. Sure, Gryffindors weren't exactly thrilled, but they had their own champion to cheer for. Among Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, opinions varied. The older students seemed to be more accepting of me than the cheating fourteen-year-old.
The rumors of Harry being a fame-seeker oddly played into my favor. I didn't exactly encourage them, but I wasn't putting them out either. By the looks of him in the trophy room, I wasn't entirely convinced that he had put his name in the Goblet, or at the very least, he wasn't expecting it to emerge later.
Graham and Amelia were set on me winning. While he took on the role of a personal trainer, ensuring I consumed substantial meals and tirelessly ran around the Quidditch pitch for stamina, occasionally defending myself from his random think quick attacks, was a library warrior, digging up books on advanced magic, tournament history, and anything she deemed potentially useful.
Amelia and I decided to give our last classes a miss for the day. I figured I could catch up on the 1692 Witch Trials later without much trouble. We settled down in the library, engaging in hushed conversation to avoid catching the eye of professors or the ever-watchful Madam Pince. It was during this low-key moment that Amelia stumbled upon something intriguing within the pages of one of her books.
''You've got to read this!'', her eyes were scanning the page. ''Back in 1787, one of the champions tried to jinx another, but the spell missed its target and hit one of the judges instead. Can you believe it? The poor judge ended up with antlers for weeks! They docked him 20 points as a penalty!''
I was about to ask about the specific spell, but Astoria Greengrass approached our table.
''Hey, Rose,'' she greeted, taking a deep breath before continuing politely, ''Daphne told me that Theo said Mr. Bagman is looking for you. They're expecting you downstairs.''
''Oh, where?'', I asked, making a mental note that Daphne and my brother appeared to be on speaking terms again.
''I'm supposed to show you. I think it has something to do with the photos...''
Amelia shot her a look and hushed her with a raised finger, suddenly less annoyed by the interruption. She gave me a quick once-over, used her wand to brush away a few stray strands of hair, and loosened my tie with her hand.
''Off you go, you saucy minx,'' she said proudly as I slapped her hand away from me.
As Astoria and I strolled down the corridor, I felt a mix of curiosity and excitement building up during the short walk. We came to a halt in front of a door at the corridor's end.
''Thanks, Astoria. Say hi to Daphne for me,'' I said, offering her a smile.
She nodded and turned to leave, but just before doing so, she added, ''Good luck!''
Inside, it was a relatively small classroom, most of the desks neatly arranged towards the rear, creating an empty space in the center. However, three desks had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long piece of velvet. Positioned behind these velvety desks were five chairs and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, engaged in conversation with a woman dressed in magenta robes. Rita Skeeter, a journalist, I recognized her from all the times I was asked to comment on Maggie Davies and her rampage last summer.
Bagman greeted me shortly, turning back to the hideously dressed witch. Krum was brooding in a corner, just as I expected, not talking to anyone. On the other end, Fleur was standing alone awkwardly, there was a chubby man holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, and he was discretely watching her. I decided to approach her and her demeanor changed.
''We haven't met, I'm Rose.'', I politely reach my hand out.
''Fleur.'', she replied, air kissing me on the cheek.
Talking with her was surprisingly easy. She spoke smoothly, and her French accent added a cute touch to her words, even if she stumbled occasionally. Her shiny hair caught the light, making her look almost magical. Despite being really beautiful, she was easy to talk to and our conversation just flowed naturally.
Shortly after me, Potter entered the room. Bagman suddenly spotted Harry, got up quickly, and leaped forward.
''Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, you come . . . nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment —''
How come I didn't get such an enthusiastic greeting?
Skeeter barged in and yanked Potter away. Karkaroff and Madam Maxime sauntered in, plopping down next to Bagman. Fleur and I followed Krum, snagging chairs near the door. Mr. Ollivander strolled in after that, giving nods and little smiles to everyone, then settled by a window, checking out the view. Dumbledore showed up not long after with Potter in tow, and the journalist sneaked in behind them, squeezing into a corner.
''May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?'' said Dumbledore, taking his seat at the judges' table. ''He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament.''
''Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?'' said the wandmaker, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.
After examining her wand he ran his fingers along it, probably checking for scratches or bumps, he muttered a spell, and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip.
''Miss. Nott, you next.''
Fleur glided back, smiling at me as I walked over to the middle of the room.
''Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?'' said the wandmaker, with far more glee, as I handed over my wand. ''Yes, I remember it well. Dragon heart-string... twelve and a half inches... cypress... rather rigid,'' he raised an eyebrow as if he was referring to the wielder and not the wand itself.
''I suppose it can be,'' I said, unsure of what the right answer was.
After sending a stream of colorful sparks around the room, he pronounced himself satisfied and continued.
''Mr. Krum, if you please.''
I settled back into my seat, my confidence slightly shaken. Reflecting on the comment, I noticed that I was sitting quite stiffly, so I consciously eased into a more relaxed posture, allowing myself to slouch a little.
I could be non-rigid if I wanted to.
Mr. Ollivander spent much longer examining Potter's wand than ours. He was mumbling to himself and I wondered if even Potter could deduce the meaning of the words. Eventually, he sent a fountain of wine shooting out of the wan and declared it was still in perfect condition.
''Thank you all,'' said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges' table. ''You may go back to your lessons now — or perhaps itwould be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about toend —''
All four of us looked rather pleased with the thought of leaving, however, the wizard with the camera jumped up and cleared his throat.
''Photos, Dumbledore, photos!'' Bagman sounded excited. ''All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?''
''Er — yes, let's do those first,'' she said, her eyes upon Harry again. ''And then perhaps some individual shots.''
The photo session felt like it went on forever. Madame Maxime's presence dominated the scene, and the photographer struggled to find the right angles to capture her. After what felt like an endless stretch of time, he finally realized that she needed to sit so the rest of us could gather around her. Karkaroff was playing with his goatee, making it curl more. Krum, who you'd think would be used to this, skulked at the back. The photographer seemed most interested in positioning Fleur up front, which was a bit irritating. Rita Skeeter kept pushing Potter to the front, and she insisted on individual shots of each champion. By the end, we were all practically scowling.
Finally, they announced that we could leave.
I jumped up and practically ran to dinner.
''You sure took your sweet time!'' Amelia groaned, still a bit annoyed that I left her in the library. ''I looked completely suspicious, I was convinced someone would catch on—''
''But they didn't,'' I replied defensively, drawing out the but.
''You've got a letter.'', she said passing it to me. It appeared that our family owls had a tendency to avoid me when it came to delivering my mail.
The letter was from my father, which struck me as unusual given the longer time he had taken to respond since his previous message. Opening it with anticipation, my surprise grew even more as I read its contents.
''My Father's coming to Hogsmeade next weekend.''
Coincidentally or not, there was a Hogsmeade trip scheduled for that same day.
''Ah, a visit from Mr. Nott! Always a pleasure,'' Graham said with a hint of irony, taking the seat next to me. We shared a knowing glance, fully aware that my father's visits usually meant trouble was brewing. His appearances were like a warning sign, suggesting that we had messed up somehow and he had caught wind of it.
The idea made me uneasy. While I wasn't convinced that I was in trouble, a thought crossed my mind – could Theo be in trouble? I glanced around the table, trying to locate him. It seemed like the most reasonable explanation.
''Has anyone seen my brother lately?'' I asked, still looking around.
''Ooh,'' Amelia chimed in, ''Do you think he's up to something?''
''I saw him with Greengrass at lunch. They looked like they were having quite the argument,'' Graham mumbled, speaking with a mouthful of food. Once again, I felt a pang of disappointment, reminding me to stop imagining their relationship.
''You disgust me, Montague.'', Amelia said with a straight face, shifting her focus to a letter in her hands.
''Looks like it's a family gathering kind of weekend. My brother's also coming to visit,'' she announced, her brows furrowing.
''Oh, is it the good-looking one?''
''Ew, gross! Felix is coming, you twerp,'' Amelia said, tossing a piece of bread at me.
''Yep, the handsome one,'' I smirked. It felt good to settle old scores.
My training, or what Graham referred to as my sacred rites, carried on into the following week. While Amelia continued on in the role of advisor, Graham promoted himself to the role of a seasoned Quidditch trainer working to improve his least capable player – me.
''Come on, Nott! Just one more,'' Pucey bellowed, his voice echoing across the Quidditch pitch as he meticulously rearranged the obstacles he had placed earlier. He had joined Graham in the madness.
''Can we take a break? Please?'' I panted, my breaths coming in heavy bursts as if my lungs were trying to escape my chest.
''Absolutely not. Get back into position!'' Graham's shrill whistle pierced the air. I made a mental note to deal with that pesky piece of metal later, but I followed his command.
In the middle of the exercise, I spotted a familiar head sneaking around behind the stands. With the little energy I had left, I sprinted toward him, ignoring the other boys' complaints. I crashed into his back, catching him off guard.
''What are you doing here, you little snake?''
''Hey, calm down!'' Theo protested.
''Honestly, where have you been? It's like you're a ghost or something.'' I panted, still trying to catch my breath.
He shifted uncomfortably, his expression turning sheepish. ''Look, I've been busy with stuff. It's not a big deal.''
I glared at him. ''Busy with what? School?''
''Just had some things to take care of.''
I couldn't believe it, he never lied to me before. ''Things to take care of? Come on, you can come up with a better excuse than that.''
He got defensive, staring right back at me. ''I don't need you telling me what to do, Rosalie.''
''Oh, you're damn right you don't. Father's planning a visit this weekend.''
Theo's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and frustration. ''Seriously? This weekend?''
''Yes,'' I confirmed coldly. ''So, you might want to show up, unless you want him to give you an earful too.''
He shot me a glare. ''I don't need this from you right now.''
''Really? Because it's been Merlin knows how long since we talked properly,'' I snapped back, my frustration boiling over.
''I've been busy, alright?''
''Busy doing what?'' I demanded, anger giving my words an edge.
He hesitated but replied with equal anger. ''It's not your concern.''
''Isn't it?'' I shot back, my tone sharp.
''I'm not a child, Rose. Stop treating me like one.''
My anger softened, replaced with concern. ''Then stop acting like one. I can't cover for you if I don't know what's going on.''
''Ever thought you might be the one getting an earful? You're the one competing in this damn tournament, after all''
The air around us grew tense and uncomfortable as if a heavy weight hung between us. I glanced briefly to the side and noticed Pucey watching from a distance, shifting uncomfortably as he witnessed the heated exchange.
''I'm done here,'' Theo muttered, his voice tense.
''Fine,'' I replied shortly, my frustration still lingering.
He spun around and marched away, leaving me alone with my jumbled-up feelings. The awkwardness between us was like an open wound, a reminder of how suddenly we'd drifted apart.
RITA SKEETER INTERVIEWS HARRY POTTER
''He's choking back tears...''
''I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they'd be very proud of me if they could see me now... Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I'm not ashamed to admit it... I know nothing will hurt me during the tournament, because they're watching over me...''
Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school.
''While looking a little constipated...''
In the end, Flora, Victor, and our favorite party girl Rosalie Knott are about to experience some serious competition against this talented boy!