clxx. the triwizard tournament
The first sight of Hogwarts after a long summer never failed to take Harriet's breath away.
The castle stretched against a clear sky, the many turrets and swooping arches stark in the moonlight with torches blazing in the windows. Harriet hung partly out of her carriage window to see the boar-flanked gates, the sweeping grounds, the Thestral in front of her flicking its wings. The air was cool but still sticky with the memory of summer, and Harriet sucked in a deep, relieving breath.
She loved spending time at Grimmauld Place with everyone—loved having a family, as unconventional as it might be—but she did not love the long, hot days stuck inside, unable to go anywhere. If not for junior Quidditch league practice, Harriet would've gone mad.
At Hogwarts, she could go anywhere she wanted. Well, if she avoided Snape…and Slytherin, and Filch, and—most of the staff, if she was being honest. She seemed to get chastised for going most anywhere in the castle, but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.
Elara yawned next to her, pressing her gloved fingers against her eyes. "That potion made me tired."
"You being tired made you tired," Harriet replied, settling in her seat again. She let the window clatter shut. "We're almost there. We'll have supper, and you'll be able to go off to bed."
Elara grunted, and when the carriage came to a stop, Harriet was the first to hop out, followed by Elara, then Hermione. Ahead of them, the doors to the entrance hall hung open, accepting the crowd of students moving inside. They'd only just stepped off the top step when Peeves started pelting students with sludge-filled balloons.
"What in the world—?"
The poltergeist cackled as he lobbed another at a cringing second-year Hufflepuff. "Weeee!"
Elara groaned and stepped around a stinking puddle. "If this is any indication of how this year is going to go—."
Harriet threw up a shield before she could be smacked by a balloon, letting it ricochet off into a group of older Ravenclaws. She stepped to the side, finding a spot out of the way against the wall—which was how she found herself standing next to Longbottom.
The anticipated pinch of hatred settled in Harriet's middle when she saw the Boy Who Lived. It crept up, cold and unwelcome, like sharp-tipped fingers scratching along her spine.
"Potter," he said.
"Longbottom," Harriet acknowledged, her mouth twisting.
"Good summer?"
"S'alright."
"Mine was good," he went on, grinning. "I trained with Acke Grouse, you know. In America. He's the Defense professor at Ilvermorny."
"Mmm," Harriet replied, making minimal effort to sound interested. She'd only been in the castle for a few minutes and didn't much want to be put in detention for hexing Longbottom on the first night.
"I improved my Shield Charm tenfold. Professor Grouse said it's as good as a Defense master's."
"Mmm."
"Better than yours, at the very least. Even with the special treatment Slytherin gives you, he'll have to admit how much I've improved."
Harriet expected Longbottom to act a prat at some point, so she didn't react to his needling dig. If he wanted "special treatment" from Professor Slytherin, she welcomed him to it. Maybe he'd regret it after being cursed into the stone floor a few times.
Peeves lobbed a balloon in their direction—and Harriet used a Shield Charm to direct the balloon right into Longbottom's face. He shrieked as it burst, and sludge rushed down his new robes.
Someone yelled for the Bloody Baron to be called, and Harriet took this as her cue to leave so the ghost could arrive. She skirted the growing mess and entered the Great Hall, narrowly avoiding Professor McGonagall as she came rushing out after Peeves.
Elara and Hermione soon joined Harriet at the Slytherin table, and Madam Pomfrey came from the dais, a stern expression fixed on her lined face.
"Professor Lupin said you would need a quick look over," she said to Elara, who grimaced and turned on the bench, pulling aside her robes to reveal her leg. Madam Pomfrey had her ankle healed in a trice and returned to the High Table.
"She makes that look easy," Elara groused as she straightened her robes and turned on the bench again. "Meanwhile, Sirius and Remus fussed over it for half an hour and only managed to turn my sock purple."
Hermione laughed.
Harriet laced her fingers together and leaned her chin on her hands, waiting for the hall to fill and for supper to commence. Life at Hogwarts had proved dramatic for the last three years, but Harriet remained hopeful nothing overly climatic would happen this term. She looked forward to classes, continuing her Animagus practice, and having a chance to explore the grounds with Livi. She hoped life remained quiet.
The Slytherin table filled soon enough, as did the other tables, the professors and instructors filtering in through the side door. Harriet didn't take much notice of them until Hermione gently nudged her foot, and she glanced around at her.
"Professor Slytherin looks…." She stopped, nibbling on her lip. "Upset."
Harriet's understood why Hermione hesitated when she tipped her head and scanned the High Table, finding Slytherin in his usual seat by Snape. She couldn't say if he was upset or—angry? Bored? The wizard adopted his typical laconic posture, but his gaze was unsettled, moving restlessly around the room. He kept his hand on his goblet, the knuckles white from his grip's pressure.
"What d'you think that's about?"
"I haven't the foggiest." Hermione grimaced. "And hopefully, we don't find out."
The Headmaster made his appearance, and McGonagall went out of the Great Hall again to escort in the new first years. Remus arrived and smiled in their direction, but he didn't do anything more to draw attention to himself. Slytherin sneered at the History of Magic professor as he took his seat and muttered something to Snape, who didn't even blink.
Harriet watched the Sorting with idle attention, clapping when new students came to Slytherin House but otherwise letting her mind drift. She didn't return to the present until Professor Dumbledore gave a brief word of welcome, and the Feast began.
The food was as good as ever, and the company marginally less aggravating than it'd been in the past. No one commented on Harriet's less than perfectly refined table manners, and no one decided to bring up blood status and beat it like a dead Hippogriff. Harriet even had a pleasant conversation with the fifth years Flora and Hestia Carrow about their summer holiday in Greece.
After a filling supper of steak and kidney pie, Yorkshire pudding, gravy, and a fruity trifle for dessert, Harriet felt more than ready to toddle off to the dungeons and find her bed. When the Headmaster rose to his feet, resplendent violet robes rippling down to his shoes, she braced herself for one of his long, lingering speeches.
"Welcome! Welcome back to Hogwarts—or welcome for the first time. Now that you are all well-fed and watered, I would like to bend your ear for a moment with a few important announcements.
"Firstly, I must inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not be held this year."
The expected chorus of shouts and cries of dismay rose from the students—though Harriet couldn't help the small, vindictive "Ha!" that escaped her. The malicious, selfish little devil in her heart felt smug that if she couldn't play Quidditch, no one else could either.
Harriet reminded herself she was being incredibly petty, but that didn't stop her pleased smirk when she glimpsed Malfoy's devastated face.
"Instead, Hogwarts has been given the great privilege of hosting the Triwizard Tournament, an event that will begin October and run for the rest of the year."
A storm of muttering erupted, and Harriet frowned, something niggling at the back of her mind. "The Triwizard Tournament? Where have I heard of that before?"
"We came across it in our research," Hermione replied with a matching frown. "They transported Gorgons into the country for one of the contests. Remember? When we were looking for information on the Petrifications?"
"Oh, bloody hell. That tournament? Why didn't Remus mention it?"
"He was probably asked to keep it a surprise. I didn't hear anything about it at the Malfoys', though Lucius must have been involved or at least known."
At the head of the room, Dumbledore continued speaking. "The Triwizard Tournament has been a long-standing tradition held between the three major European magical institutes: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. In decades past, the schools rotated who hosted the Tournament, but it was eventually discontinued in the face of numerous safety concerns and the mounting death toll."
Harriet mouthed the words death toll under her breath and exchanged a look with Elara.
"Our Ministry of Magic, most specifically the Departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games, in conjunction with the Minister's office, have decided to revive the Tournament with modern precautions implemented to ensure the safety of all participants and spectators."
At this point, Harriet noted a subtle shift among the staff while everyone else was distracted by conversation. The Headmaster had stopped smiling, and McGonagall leaned back in her chair, mouth forming the same thin line it always did when Harriet said something particularly rude. Snape hadn't moved a muscle, but Slytherin—who hadn't touched anything on the table for the entire evening aside from his wine—had a fierce snarl on his face.
"The champions chosen from each school will compete in a series of challenges for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."
Excitement buzzed through the Great Hall again at the prizes. For most, that was a lot of money. Harriet knew she was especially privileged, having been left an obscene amount of gold by her family, but even if she'd still had nothing and was living in the cupboard with the Dursleys constantly at her ear, she didn't think a thousand Galleons would be enough to drag her out in front of something like a bloody Gorgon.
Maybe it's all about perspective, she thought, eyes on Dumbledore, then Slytherin again. Having gone against a Basilisk and a werewolf, I'd give up a lot more than a thousand Galleons to not be in that position again.
"In an effort to better protect our students and to ensure only those best capable of facing the intended challenges enter the competition, the Ministry and the prospective schools, including Hogwarts, have agreed to implement an age limit. Therefore, to enter, you must be seventeen years old—."
Outrage, most notably from the Gryffindor table, drowned out the rest of Dumbledore's words, and the Headmaster had to raise his voice to be heard.
"—And I will be personally ensuring no person under the proper age will be able to enter."
"Well, what did they expect to happen?" Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. "Could you imagine a first or second year managing to enter and be chosen? What chance would they stand against a sixth or seventh year?"
"Especially when they use things like Gorgons," Harriet muttered, shivering. "Hey, d'you think I could close my eyes and convince a Gorgon's hair to bite it?"
"I would think they're impervious to the venom—if the snakes have venom at all."
"That's rubbish, then." Harriet paused. "D'you think Gorgons can speak Parseltongue? Merlin's beard, that'd be awful, having a head full of chatty snakes. All they want to talk about is napping and which snacks taste best. No wonder Gorgons are so brassed off."
Across the table by Hermione, Pansy Parkinson turned her scowl on Harriet. "Why are you going on about Gorgons, Potter?"
"Because they used them in the Tournament before."
"You're lying."
"Why would I lie about that, Parkinson? Don't be an idiot."
Pansy's face went decidedly green, and Headmaster Dumbledore finally cut his speech off to dismiss them for bed. Harriet stretched as she stood, ready to go off to the dorm and get Livi settled in his blanket-nest. Too long in the trunk, and he'd be set on creating mischief.
Harriet didn't notice Professor Slytherin departing the hall with a grim Snape right at his heels. She followed her classmates toward the dungeons.
Entering the common room felt much like returning home, even with the silent, stupid dynamic between the upper-years and their seating arrangement and the serpent painting on the wall. The dim, soft glow of the silver lanterns and the banked heat emanating from the hearths warmed Harriet's bones, and she couldn't help but close her eyes once inside, sighing.
"All right, Harriet?"
"Yeah, fine."
She watched the new first years inspect their surroundings, startled gasps sounding when a dark form swam beyond the green windows. Had she ever been that short? Or should she ask herself when she stopped being that short? It seemed like yesterday she first arrived at Hogwarts.
The air shifted at her back.
Harriet swallowed a startled yelp when she felt cool cloth brush her arm and turned to see Professor Slytherin silently glide past her into the common room, Snape shadowing his presence. The others fell silent in a wave as they noticed their Head of House's sudden appearance.
"Good evening, children," Slytherin said as he surveyed those gathered before him. "Ah…the new first years. Welcome to the glorious House of Slytherin. I am your Head of House, Professor Slytherin, descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself, and the Dark Arts instructor."
Harriet had one of those knee-jerk reactions where she almost sputtered and corrected him by saying "Defense Against the Dark Arts," but she kept her head and stayed silent, shuffling farther into the crowd.
"The upper-years will doubtless inform you that I don't often see the need to address you here in the common room; I like to believe my students are clever enough not to waste my time."
The first-years fidgeted under Slytherin's unfeeling scrutiny, then the wizard made a slow, uninterested turn and passed through the room's middle. Snape remained by the entrance, barely visible in the low light.
"This year, Headmaster Dumbledore and the Minister have seen fit to inflict the nuisance that is the Triwizard Tournament upon us." He laced his hands together before himself, red eyes roving over the crowd. "I, and your Board of Governors, voiced our concerns about the dangers presented by the Tournament, but our worries were not taken into the Ministry's accounting. The competition is, unfortunately, fully under the Ministry's jurisdiction."
Harriet scoffed. Whatever Slytherin's game, his speech hadn't been prompted by concern for the student body. This was the wizard who routinely brought in Dark creatures to give his students "hands on" experience.
Slytherin let his words soak in, the slightest flicker of his tongue touching his sharp teeth. That was a tell; Harriet had learned over the years that it meant the professor was scheming, or his thoughts were coming together at a rapid pace.
But what about the Tournament does he dislike? It has to be because of the Minister's involvement. Harriet scrunched her nose. But what does the Minister stand to gain from this?
Slytherin hummed softly, almost gently, and the sound made Harriet's skin crawl. He spoke in an earnest tone, and yet everything he said reeked of insincerity, sticky like sugary toffee that hurt Harriet's stomach and made her feel ill.
"I may not be able to prevent Hogwarts' participation in this farce, but I can stop my House from getting involved." The wizard smirked, cocking his head to the side with almost boyish charm. He looked so strange under the silver lanterns, almost blurry or soft, as if one swipe at his face would disperse him like a bad dream. "No Slytherin student will enter the Triwizard Tournament. If I find out one of our House disobeys this rule, I will be most…displeased."
Whispers dared breach the silence that had dominated the common room since Slytherin's arrival. Some of the seventh years, like Lucian Bole, Peregrine Derrick, and Desdemona Bragge, wore frustrated or offended expressions. For the most part, people attributed glory as a Gryffindor trait, but Slytherins weren't called ambitious for nothing. Being denied a chance at the Triwizard Cup rankled.
Slytherin lifted one pale hand, and the whispering ceased. "Of course, I would never deny my students the chance to prove themselves, if they so desired."
Snape shifted, the slight turn of his hand, thumb moving against his forefinger.
"So I have come to the decision that I will be taking on a personal apprentice."
What?
"It is an opportunity I will allow only my dear Slytherins. Instead of competing for the Ministry's entertainment and a measly pauper's prize, I will set a series of tasks for those of the House who express interest. In the end, I will select winner, if you will. One person upon whom I will bestow a gift the likes of which none of you will ever see again."
The whispering returned, more eager than before, some like Bragge and Derrick grinning from ear to ear. Harriet felt sick again, unable to think of anything she'd desire less than to be Professor Slytherin's apprentice. For others, his sycophants and those upper-years and those who hung on his every word, this was a dream come true.
"What is he on about?" Elara muttered, to which Harriet could only shake her head.
"He's making a distinction while also dividing the House," Hermione hissed. "Us and them, Slytherin and other. Then, he's pitting us against one another for his regard."
Professor Slytherin's head made a half turn in their direction, and Hermione shut her mouth, Elara directing her gaze toward the hearth while Harriet inspected her shoes.
"Anyone interested, any age, needs only to bring me their name." He smiled, teeth too sharp, red eyes lurid and wide. "But keep in mind, no matter if you are interested or not, you will not be entering the Triwizard Tournament."
His final warning—threat—given, Professor Slytherin nodded to the gathered students and swanned out of the common room in a flicker of black silk. Again, Snape followed like a looming thundercloud.
As if afraid to move, the crowd of Slytherin students only dispersed themselves after the seventh year prefect, Lyla Muldoon, dismissed them. Harriet and the others went to their dorm, remaining oddly quiet, and Harriet went about tending to her snakes after the others closed themselves behind their curtains.
An hour later, she settled in bed, but she didn't sleep. Instead, she stared at the slight ripple of moonlight escaping the window, lost in thought until her eyelids grew too heavy to stay open. Harriet sighed, pushing away ruminations about Slytherin and Gaunt, then finally rolled over and went to sleep.
A/N:
Harriet: "This year is going to be totally normal—."
Dumbledore, banging pots and pans: "Death tournament, children!"
Harriet: "…"
Harriet: "Never mind."