Zarif sits in the common room after listening to Hermione about S.P.E.W. that night as he sorts some potion ingredients. "Hermione, question. You do know what binds the house elves to that role, correct?" Zarif asks while handling a very poisonous plant leaf with protective gloves.
Hermione frowns, shutting the book she has been reading. "Of course. The elves are suffering just like the slavery in the muggle world. It may not be around as much for muggles, but it seems the elves still have the issue," she argues. "Frankly, they would be better off free and make their own choices," she points out and hears the deep sigh from the boy. "I know it's hard to understand for a wizard living in the wizarding world all their life, but you will see the good that will come from this soon."
"Eh, no," Zarif starts, turning towards her as he holds his hands still to not make a mistake for now. "Their ancestors, and I mean like ancient Greece or earlier era made an ancient magical deal with wizards. They would serve them in exchange for protection for their kind. Even to this day, the house-elves are bound by this ancient magic. So it's not nearly as simple as releasing them. Plus, there is the house-elves mentality to consider. Even if you release them, would they want to be free? I believe the muggles call it Stockholm syndrome?" Zarif explains.
"All the more reason," Hermione shoots back. "That mental issue has to be addressed as well."
"Hermione, you can't just break ancient magic like a snap of the finger. These are ancient primordial forces that we are talking about. The knowledge I would wager wizards have long since lost most if not all knowledge of," Zarif adds, placing the dangerous leaf back into the shatter-proof vial before sealing it. "To tackle this issue, Hermione, you are going to need specifics like language, what words were used, and conditions the contract was made in. Only then can you start taking it apart," Zarif says, giving advice and making Hermione pause and start thinking about it.
Hermione looks around for a few seconds before walking over to a pile of books on the table. She mumbles as she skims through it before sighing. Zarif raises an eyebrow before seeing her walk out of the common room. "I will be in the library," she replies, carrying the book she was reading.
"You both now owe me," Zarif says to the two boys.
Ron sighs in relief, pushing the buttons of the club mentioned above off to the side of the table. "She needs a reality check," he mutters before going back to figuring out the schoolwork he has.
"Now then, What is the difference between these two species of plants?" Zarif quizzes the two boys holding up very similar potion ingredients, making them groan a bit as they go from humoring Hermione to studying potions.
The following week is interesting. Moody decided that the next lesson was to put the students under the imperius curse and resist it. Most of the class couldn't resist, which is understandable as not many could, but Harry fought a bit. Zarif and Merula though they just stood there when ordered to jump onto the desk. Their training on willpower for the Animagus preparations came conveniently, surprising Moody.
After that, all the fourth years got more and more homework as at the end of their next school year would be their O.W.L.s which will significantly determine their future wizard education and even their career. For Zarif and his group, it meant more constant studying in all fields. Cedric also stepped up the dueling club's meetings. Without quidditch, the club was meeting four nights a week, and they were training hard, especially the fifth and seventh-year students trying to learn all they could learn about charms, jinxes, and curses.
When it became known that in a week, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would arrive, the school frantically started to prepare. The castle seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armor were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking. Argus Filch, the caretaker, behaved so ferociously to any students who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year girls into hysterics. The staff was also very picky. It was like the Quidditch World Cup all over again. When they went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, they found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers' table, the enormous banner bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.
At breakfast, Zarif decided to try out his new magic. Putting a letter in Elixir's mouth before using the switching spell on his familiar, switching it with Dracona's plate to her surprise at first before she took the message from Elixir and read it to herself. 'Overcompensating a bit, aren't they?'
Dracona looks up at Zarif as he eats away before writing her answer back in the letter. She then folds it back up and gives it back to the snake. At that point, her plate switches back with Elixir, and there are now some extra eggs and bacon on it. She smiles, grabbing a fork to eat away.
'Seems I am getting the spell down to where I barely need to eyeball the distance with my wand,' Zarif thinks, taking the letter back from Elixir and reading her reply. 'You should see the Ministry when diplomats visit.' Zarif chuckles, grabbing his quill.
'What do they have? Dragons on parade or something?' Zarif adds before switching again.
Dracona frowns as her plate goes away mid-bite before grabbing the letter. 'Try decorations and banners galore, dressing up to the nines, and even mannerisms to follow down to the single inch. And yes. They might as well do those if you even say a word about it,' she writes down, giving a slight glare to the boy as she gives the letter back to the amused snake.
Zarif switches back for the last time as Elixir slithers up his sleeve after giving back the letter so he can read that. He glances up at the girl and sees her giving another harsher glare that he coughs into a hand and looks away, losing the staring contest. Elixir seems to snicker as it watches the exchange, enjoying what Dracona is doing to their master. Zarif couldn't see it, but Merula was chuckling at Dracona.
'That's politics for you. Showing off and making it seem like you are better than you are,' Zarif thinks, going back to eating and giving Autumn her sausage.
That evening everyone is marched out in uniform, with the teachers picking over every little thing as they wait for the two schools to arrive. Zarif wonders how long they could be kept waiting before one of the older students called out, spying something coming at them from over the forbidden forest. Zarif narrows his eyes to focus on the approaching object. After a bit, he makes out a gigantic, powder blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring Abraxan from what he could tell from their coats and manes.
The front three rows of students draw backward as the carriage hurtles ever lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed then, with an almighty crash that makes Neville jump back onto a Slytherin fifth year's foot, the horses' hooves, more prominent than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage lands too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses toss their enormous heads and roll large, fiery-red eyes.
"Someone get the driver's license and rip it up," Zarif jokes as the driver hastily gets off to go and open the door.
Out of the carriage steps a very tall woman. Zarif can only theorize she is half-giant like Hagrid is as she steps out and looks around. Her face relaxes into a gracious smile, and she walks forward toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, has to bend to kiss it barely. "My dear Madame Maxime, welcome to Hogwarts," Dumbledore greets.
"Dumbly-dorr, I 'ope I find you well?" Madame Maxime inquires in a deep voice with a heavy french accent.
"In excellent form, I thank you," Dumbledore says as the two keep exchanging pleasantries.
"My pupils," Madame Maxime informs, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her. A dozen boys and girls, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, emerge from the carriage and are now standing behind Madame Maxime. They are shivering, which is unsurprising, given that their robes seem to be made of fine silk, and none of them are wearing cloaks. A few had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads.
"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Madame Maxime asks.
"He should be here any moment. Would you like to wait here and greet him, or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?" Dumbledore offers as Zarif tunes out the rest of their conversation as he waits.
The students wait outside for a bit longer until they spot something appearing in the lake. Slowly, magnificently, a ship rises out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It has a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it is a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerges entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and begins to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, they hear the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank. People then start to disembark; they can see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship's portholes.
As they draw nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the entrance hall, they see their bulk since they are wearing cloaks of some shaggy, matted fur. But the man leading them up to the castle is wearing coats of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair. "Dumbledore!" he calls heartily as he walks up the slope.
Zarif narrows his eyes. This is someone he knew. Both from researching the death eaters and being told about him by both Merula and Dracona. This is Igor Karkaroff. Former death eater who was released from jail after he testified giving up secret death eater agents. All three of Elixir's heads hiss, already disliking him. "What a vile scum we have here," Critic hisses.
"Play him no mind. Though his student there is worth our attention," Zarif speaks in parseltongue, looking at Victor Krum. He isn't the only one. Most of the sixth and seventh-year girls are going crazy over him. As they return to the great hall for dinner, more chairs are added to the staff table as Dumbledore makes his way to it to make a speech.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts, and most particularly, our esteemed guests," Dumbledore announced, beaming around at the foreign students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. Now I invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!" Dumbledore finishes and sits down before Karkaroff leans forward at once and engages him in conversation.
The feast that night is different than usual. Besides the regular foods that are being served, there are also French and Bulgarian dishes. Zarif takes this opportunity to sample the new foods as Elixir enjoys the seafood stew as all three heads are in the stew bowl in front of them, gulping down the food.
Partway through the feast, both Ludo Bagman and Mr. Crouch had arrived, and not many had noticed. Harry and Ron, in particular, have their eyes on girls. "You want to bring them back to reality, or shall I, Hermione?" Zarif jokes to her.
Hermione smirks towards the boy. "And you aren't?" she asks, rolling her eyes as she taps Elixir. The snake looks up at the girl before seeing her point at the two and how they keep staring. Elixir hisses happily before slithering over and then runs over their arms, surprising them. Ron the most, considering his fear of spiders and dangerous creatures. Harry, though, looks somewhat annoyed and speaks down to Elixir in parseltongue without even thinking about it. Elixir snickers behind the tail and speaks back as Hermione seems annoyed at them, reprimanding the snake. "Translation?" she asks, looking at Zarif.
"Don't do that again. Try to grab our attention another way. And don't do it to Ron too much, or he might smack you down with a book and knife," Zarif lists as he then notices a few of the Beauxbaton girls eyeing Harry as he keeps speaking while they either walk by to their seat or sit nearby. Durmstrang even takes a small listen to Harry, not for his fame, because he is speaking to a snake as if it's the usual thing in the world, especially as both schools know that only famous members of the Slytherin house can talk to snakes as freely as Harry is.
"Come on back, Elixir," Zarif says, surprising them more that there are two who speak Parseltongue.
"Aw. We were having fun teasing him," Critic snickers as they slither back to Zarif.
"The moment has come," Dumbledore says, getting everyone's attention, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. He continued seeing they had their focus on him now. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I want to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket."
"The what?" Harry mutters, only getting a shrug from Ron as everyone else is paying attention.
"To clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Dumbledore pauses for a round of polite applause. "And Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
There is a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a beater or simply because he looks so much more likable. He acknowledges it with a cheery wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch does not smile or wave when his name is announced.
"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore continues, "and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts." At the mention of the word 'champions,' the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore has noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiles as he says, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."
Filch, lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approaches Dumbledore carrying a massive wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looks ancient. A murmur of excited interest rises from the watching students; Dennis Creevey stands on his chair to see it correctly, but, being so tiny, his head hardly rises above anyone else's. "The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," Dumbledore says as Filch places the chest carefully on the table before him, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways…their magical prowess, their daring, their powers of deduction, and of course, their ability to cope with danger." At this last word, the Hall is filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seems to be breathing.
"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore went on calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks, and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire." Dumbledore now takes out his wand and taps it three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaks slowly open. Dumbledore reaches inside it and pulls out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames. Dumbledore closes the casket and places the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be visible to everyone in the Hall. "Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete," he finishes before looking at all of them with a stern expression.
"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," Dumbledore explains, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line. Finally, I wish to impress upon you wishing to compete that this tournament will not be entered into lightly. Once the Goblet of Fire has selected a champion, they are obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet," Dumbledore warns.
'Hum…does that mean someone old enough can put in someone else's name?' Zarif wonders, looking at the enchanted wooden goblet with the blue flame blazing from it.
"Now, before I call an end to the feast, I have one last announcement," Dumbledore says, clearing his throat, getting everyone's attention once more. "As some of you may know, this spring will be the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship. For those who do not know, this competition is a dangerous potion competition held once every seven years. Schools send champions from all over the world to compete in front of an audience from around the world. For the first time in many years, we have a representative who will compete in it. So I would like you all to join me in wishing luck to the student who will be representing all of us in the competition, Mr. Zarif Trazax," Dumbledore says before all those at the staff table start to clap.
Zarif stops for a moment before remembering that he asked Snape for this. And when he looks up at the others, he notices almost every student at his table looking surprised at the announcement as they turn to him. Everyone else in the school claps and cheers, though, finding out they might have two champions to cheer on for both tournaments and not just one. "When were you going to tell us you were a champion for the potions championship?" Hermione harshly whispers above the noise of the clapping and cheering.
"Waiting for the announcement for this as I didn't want to take away from the Triwizard Cup," Zarif says a bit cheekily.
"Too bloody late for that, mate. You are going to be the talk of the school and whoever else is chosen from our school," Ron remarks, pointing out all the cheering around as the Gryffindor table keeps clapping for the smiling boy. Even Dumbledore can't hold back a few claps till he makes them quiet down by whistling.