"So glad that the Mindless Ones stopped showing up," Harry complained, trying to figure out a drying spell as they waited at the Gryffindor table for the sorting. "They'd have loved this weather."
The train had pulled into Hogsmeade around midnight, since the ever-shifting timetable between Earth and Vanaheim had got them started off late in the afternoon, local time. By the time they'd been halfway to the school the rain had started, and it had been pouring buckets by the time they got there. The boys had made a furious dash for the helhest-driven carriages, getting partially soaked even in the few yards from the train platform. Then they'd glanced back and seen the girls doing the smart thing and erecting shield spells facing upwards to serve as umbrellas. It had at least made getting from the carriages to the school dryer.
It hadn't mattered. Peeves the poltergeist had been lurking just inside with water balloons to fling at everyone on their way in. The disgusting thing was that he didn't really have access to balloons made of rubber, so had made due with sausage casings stolen from the kitchens.
"Maybe they could drag Peeves to Azkaban," Lavender observed, making a face as she peeled a bit of sheep's intestine from her hair. "All the things Loki's supposed to be guilty of, creating Peeves is probably the worst."
"Even more than trying to take over Asgard and destroy Jotunheim?" Neville asked. Word had eventually gotten around about the events of the previous summer that had wound up shutting down Bifrost. While Vanaheim's government could still send owl mail to Asgard, and take night roads to get there, Aesir warriors couldn't really "fit" through the other way. Even the ones that could squeeze couldn't drop in to foil a marauder attack like they'd have been able to if Bifrost could land them exactly where they needed to go.
"Ask me again when I don't have offal in my hair," she said.
"Ha! It really is awful," Seamus chortled.
"You're never going to get a boyfriend with puns that bad," Parvati needled him.
"Boys appreciate puns more'n girls," he insisted.
"Oh, good, the new kids are coming in," Ron noticed. "Let's get them sorted and eat."
"Didn't you eat before getting on the train?" Dean checked.
"And now I want to eat again," the redhead shrugged.
"My brother, the bottomless pit," Ginny said. "I just hope we don't have classes in the morning."
"Ginny needs her beauty sleep," Ron riposted.
"I know, I know, you could sleep for a thousand years and not be attractive, so you don't get why others do it," she fired back.
Ron tried to come up with a return insult and couldn't find one, mouth working for a few seconds with no words coming out, and everyone nodded, awarding Ginny the point in the ongoing Weasley duel for smack-talking superiority.
"Odin save me, there's another one," Harry groaned. One of the new first-years was waving at Colin Creevey and mouthing, "I fell in the lake!" From the resemblance, he could only be the annoying photographer's little brother, though he was even more dripping wet than the older Creevey.
"A lot of siblings are very different people?" Hermione tried to make him feel better, pointing out Ron and Ginny as an example, but clearly not believing it. They all vaguely remembered Colin assuring them how awesome his little brother was. After the respite of the boy being paralyzed by a Nidhogg Serpent for half of his first year, Colin had never stopped trying to network with Harry. And now there were two Creeveys.
And, early in the alphabet, the boy they discovered was named Dennis was sorted into Gryffindor. Immediately, his brother was clapping him on the back and pointing down the table at, "There he is. That's Harry Potts."
"Is it too late to ask the Dahvee to shoot me?" Harry groaned, forehead thudding against the table.
Eventually, they got through the new set of students (through the grace of the Norns, basically evenly distributed through the four houses). Dumbledore stood up and said, "Thank you all for waiting. I know it's late. You'll be pleased to note that classes don't start until after lunch tomorrow. I'll save my remarks for after we're done eating. For now, tuck in!"
Food was teleported to the tables, and the students began a possibly-ill-advised attempt to see how many calories they could consume at one in the morning. The Vanir kids were going to crash and crash hard. The internal clocks of the Earth kids were so messed up it was anyone's guess whether they'd be able to sleep. Harry had adjusted back to an LA schedule just in time to go to London and then to Vanaheim. He was pretty sure his body thought it was about lunchtime and that he'd been up since midnight. Even if he got to sleep, the weird dreams hadn't drastically diminished, so he had that to look forward to.
His first period was going to be a lot to pay attention to.
He was starting to feel the jet lag as rich pot pies and a dessert he'd discovered he liked that was basically congealed sugar sat heavy on his stomach, when Cedric Diggory hobbled his way over from the Hufflepuff table. The handsome sixth-year asked him, "Hey, Harry. Rumor is you ran into some dark elves on Midgard?" It was hard to tell under his robes how extensive his wounds were, but his left arm was still in a sling, a few bandages were poking out under his collar, and he was using a cane to keep weight off of one of his legs.
"Yeah," Harry nodded to the Hufflepuff team seeker. He gestured to himself and Hermione and explained, "We met a guy from Durmstrang and they said they had a contract to kill him. I wonder if the same kind of thing was going on with the light elves."
"Maybe," Cedric agreed. "But I couldn't help but wonder if they might have been going after me, too? I was happy to jump in front of the elves, but I think they were aiming at me anyway. Was hoping you had some insight."
"I'm sure we'll be investigating," Harry nodded. "We'll let you know if we figure it out."
"Thanks, Potter," the older boy smiled, and then headed back to the Hufflepuff table.
Not long after, the food began to teleport away and Dumbledore stood up, the hall gradually quieting over a few seconds as they awaited his announcements and their beds.
"Welcome once again to another fine year at Hogwarts," the old man began. "I will try to keep this brief, as I know it's late. Mr. Filch would like me to remind you that the forest is out of bounds without adult accompaniment, and that a listing of contraband items can be perused at your leisure posted next to his office." Most of the Gryffindors chuckled quietly at both of these concepts. "That is, of course, common information, but a new development this year is the cancellation of the regular quidditch season."
There were cries of shocked outrage from many of the students, though Harry's was more of a sigh of relief. As Dumbledore raised his hand to try to explain, the door to the great hall crashed open and a thoroughly-drenched Auror Moody stomped in.
The man looked even worse than he had when Harry had met him at Sirius' trial, sporting new facial scars and leaning heavily on a cane that he hadn't needed before, even with his prosthetic leg. It was very likely that, barely two weeks after being barraged into the dirt by dark magic, he was moving purely from willpower. "Train's clear to my satisfaction," he announced, as if that explained his late and dramatic entrance.
Harry realized that there wasn't already a new professor at the table, so he whispered to his friends, "That's Moody. Must be the new defense professor."
"Yeah, that's the guy we saw fighting the Death Eaters for sure," Ron agreed. "Can't believe he's not still in hospital."
"Thank you, Alastor," Dumbledore said to him. "Though I'm afraid you've missed the feast."
"It's fine. Don't eat anything I haven't seen prepared myself," the man insisted, taking a pull from a silver flask he'd withdrawn from his dripping coat. "Good advice. Might be a quiz on it this week!" He chuckled at the idea, finally clomping up to lean against the wall near the staff table rather than taking a seat.
The headmaster took the eccentricity in stride and explained, "Alastor Moody will be teaching the defense seminar this year. He has recently retired after many distinguished years as an auror, and will certainly impart great wisdom on those that choose to listen." Glancing at the old auror to make sure there were no further interjections, Dumbledore continued, "However, moving on to the matter of quidditch… while we will not have a regular season, we may have opportunities for it, as well as other games and sports as part of the Tri-Worlds Tournament…"
Harry took a look around the room as the headmaster paused dramatically. Quite a few students, like him, seemed prepared for the information. Others didn't know it was happening but had heard of it, and there were gasps of surprise from a few. The majority didn't know it was happening and also didn't know what it was.
"It has been some centuries since the last time there has been a convergence of this kind," Dumbledore continued. "As those who've paid attention in cosmology class know, once every five thousand years there is a grand convergence, when all nine realms briefly connect. That is still two years out. But the movement of the branches of Yggdrasil can create lesser convergences. Some are stable, like the one that occurs every year at this time to admit our students from Midgard. Others are irregular, but affect multiple worlds, such as the one beginning soon.
"When Vanaheim comes into alignment with other worlds in this way, it is traditional for the magical schools of the affected realms to engage in a friendly competition, and renew our bonds of fellowship. Normally, a member of the the royalty of Asgard oversees the tournament, but with that realm unlikely to be connected this year and Bifrost being repaired, we shall have to make due. Our very own Ministry has offered to host and administer the process.
"We shall be hosting students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, and I encourage each of you to research these schools, their students, and their traditions. At certain points of the year, portals will open to dangerous locations that we will use as trials. A challenger from each school—each realm—will compete to win the trial. The challenger that wins the final trial, with advantages for doing well in the prior ones, will be declared the Tri-Worlds Champion. This comes with eternal glory… and a not-insignificant cash prize."
He had to pause for a minute as everyone began to mutter about wanting to enter, or being afraid to. It being the Gryffindor table, just about everyone around Harry was keenly interested in how they would become the Hogwarts challenger. Even young Dennis Creevey was ready to jump in on the act.
"There are some stipulations," Dumbledore cautioned, regaining the room's attention. "As the trials can occur on any world, it is likely that your wands will not avail you. Only those sufficiently skilled in wandless magic should consider entering. Physical fitness is important as well! The school's challenger will be selected by an impartial judge but…" he paused for effect, as quite a few students still seemed to think they would be able to qualify, "...the Ministry, having already received quite a few letters about the potential danger, have asked that we limit the competition to those that will be at least seventeen years of age by the time of the drawing, on Dísablót."
"Not fair!" one of the Weasley twins yelled.
"We're almost seventeen!" the other added.
"A point included in your mother's missive to Mr. Crouch, as I understand it," the old man twinkled, heavily implying that the restriction was specifically to keep any of the Weasley children from risking their lives. More seriously, he explained, "I must reiterate: this competition is dangerous. While we will do our utmost to make a fair and safe playing ground where our challengers can show off the best of their schools and worlds, students have died in prior tournaments. Only enter if you are willing to take the risk." Noting that nobody in Gryffindor seemed that willing to back down, though that pronouncement had notably cooled the other house tables, he finished, "And you can ask your professors for more information, or research it in the library.
"As I mentioned, we will have some games and sports between Hogwarts and the other schools, including quidditch, for excitement between the tournament tasks. Additionally, we will be having a Yule Ball this year, which is why you were all encouraged to purchase dress robes. Don't forget to proffer your invitation to that special someone, or to learn to dance!
"As noted, your first classes will begin after lunch. A light breakfast service will be held for those that rise in but a few hours. With that, I bid you all a good night."
Harry was not one of the kids that made it to breakfast the next morning. Most of Gryffindor had been buzzing about the tournament until something like four in the morning. They had all kind of gotten used to Percy Weasley being their curfew and bedtime dad; after his graduation, Harry wasn't even sure he knew who the new seventh-year prefects even were. Percy had been handling virtually all of the prefect duties for the house for Harry's entire time there. The new first-years had at least made it to the dorm, so presumably someone was still in charge.
McGonagall tut-tutted at all the sleep-deprived faces of her house as she handed out class schedules around the lunch table, but refrained from any serious chastisement about how late they'd clearly all stayed up. Since he'd missed his morning classes for Monday, Harry had a pretty light day. He could go to the free flying period in the afternoon if he wanted, and then had Runes before dinner, and Cosmology late. "I'm going to take a nap," he declared.
There were nods all around, as the rest of his friends also realized they had the after-lunch period on Mondays free. "Hey, Harry, did you say you know Rita Skeeter?" Lavender asked, flipping through the newspaper.
"Yeah. She didn't say anything mean about me, did she?" he checked. He and his aunt had eventually had a tense but productive dinner with Tony's ex-one-night-stand, and he thought that she'd agreed to treat him favorably or not at all in exchange for her being his first reporter for interviews when relevant.
"No, but she's really laying into tournament security," she explained, showing off a second-page article with Rita Skeeter as the byline. "I used to read her articles in Witch Weekly. I didn't know she was an investigative reporter."
"That's what she does on Earth," Harry shrugged. "She used to be on Tony's case a lot."
"Looks like she knows about the Tri-Worlds Tournament," Lavender continued, pointing at the last paragraph. "She talks about how she'll be making sure that security for it is better managed than at the world cup."
"Oh!" Harry realized. "That must be why she said she'd be around more this year. She must be the main reporter covering it."
"Isn't she pretty hot?" Dean asked, nudging Neville and Ron.
"I guess so. But she's old. Well… I guess she said she was only a few years older than my parents. So… late thirties if I'm counting that right. But still." As he came to that realization, the kids all had a weird existential moment where they comprehended that, as 14-year-olds themselves, maybe being in your thirties was no longer impossibly ancient.
Harry got his nap and started the slow process of reacclimating to the weird timetable of Vanaheim. His classes that week were all somewhat focused on the tournament. In cosmology class that evening, Professor Sinistra did a whole review of how convergences worked and what they could expect from the Grand Convergence in two years. Professor Binns actually deviated a bit from his normal history syllabus to gruesomely describe some of the "recent" tournaments over the last few centuries: it turned out challengers had died a lot. Even Sprout, Flitwick, and McGonagall got in on the act, framing the things they were going to learn that year around plants, spells, and transfigurations that had a memorable role in previous tournaments.
Arithmancy seemed like it was going to be neat (in a way that only math nerds could appreciate): they were going to learn advanced algebra and geometry, and use that to experiment with optimizing their shields and other energy forms. Meanwhile, in Runes, they were finally going to get to try some basic enchanting… after learning half a dozen new alphabets.
But the real excitement of the first week of school was always getting to find out what they'd be learning in the defense seminar. They didn't have their first period until Thursday afternoon, but Padma and Luna had both had classes with Moody on Tuesday (and several other years of Gryffindor had by then as well), so they'd heard that everyone agreed that "Mad-Eye" was a well-earned nickname, beyond the whirling prosthetic on his face. The guy seemed crazy. Interesting, but crazy.
Moody's defense classroom was almost as spartan as it had been their previous year under Lupin—er, Banner—though it was set up similarly to Fandral's: no tables, with chairs ready to move out of the way for dueling. As they and the Ravenclaws found seats, it became evident that the main "decorations" were actually enchanted items with odd shapes. "I think these are all dark magic detectors," Ron opined. He gestured at an intimidating conical device under a bell jar, explaining, "That one over there looks like a bigger version of a sneakoscope I saw down at Hogsmeade."
Before they could inspect them in more detail, the recognizable clomping of their professor had them looking toward the door, where the man himself was still using the short cane topped probably with some kind of other detection device in a gemstone to lever his way across the floor. "Good attention. Risky," Moody announced. "Easy to lull you into a false sense of security. Get you used to the noises I make. Then set up a fake source and surprise you sneaking in from another direction."
"Or just be hiding under an invisibility cloak," Harry volunteered.
"Hah, right!" the man acknowledged. "There's a man who's had to deal with a sneak attack before. Potter, right?"
Cocking his head in slight confusion that Moody was acting like they hadn't met, Harry agreed, "Yes sir. Glad to see you made it through your sneak attack." He'd given up on trying to get Vanir to call him Potts.
"Take more than a few layabout rich witches to do for me," he scoffed, moving the rest of the way to the front of the classroom, which contained a table as basically the only such surface in the room, probably to display what few aids and documents he thought he might need. One of those was the class roll, which he quickly went through. His natural eye tracked the sheet while his roving prosthetic fixed on faces as students answered. "But speaking of witches," he continued, as if that thought hadn't been broken by taking roll, he said, "that's what we're talking about this year: how to defend against dark magic. Obviously, it's a useful skill to have, if cowards in masks are going to be about again."
"The Ministry says it's just an isolated incident, though?" Mandy Brocklehurst suggested.
"They'd certainly like to think so," Moody allowed, with a facial twitch across his healing scars that showed he barely believed it. "And maybe it was just a bunch of washed-up hooligans having themselves an anniversary party for when they used to be relevant. Or maybe they know something we don't know, huh? Regardless, if they get you from surprise once, that's unfortunate. If they get you the same way twice, it's because you're an idiot. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
Making himself comfortable leaning against his table, the burly old wizard took a long moment to regard the classroom, natural and magical eye barely related in who they observed, except when they would sometimes snap to the same target for a moment. It was deeply uncomfortable, especially as the silence drew out.
Finally, as Hermione was about to snap and pour words into the silent void, he began lecturing, "Witchcraft is dark magic. Dark magic is witchcraft. It's usually color-coded for your convenience. Spells aren't dark because they're dangerous to the target. Nearly any spell can be dangerous to a target. Dark magic is dark because it's dangerous to the caster. Granger!" She jumped at the sudden and loud attention. "I can see you're eager to show me what you know. On Midgard, spells draw on powers outside the user. What's the difference between that and dark magic?"
Quickly getting over the surprise, Hermione explained, "Spells acquired through traditional, formal bargains with the Principalities have a fixed and established cost. Witches form a customized bargain with certain powers, which often has ongoing effects, such as adding a 'dark mark' of purple energy to even spells that should only use personal energy."
"Right," the professor nodded. "Some of the deals with these Principalities aren't that great either. But at least they've been standardized. You know what you're giving and what you're getting. The types of deals that witches make… they get more than they bargained for, and owe more than they realize." He levered himself off the table and began pacing with his clomping rhythm. "Some of the Principalities that will give you spells will also let you become a witch with them. Never assume beings of that power have your best interests in mind!
"But the worst offenders are the ones that go looking for new suckers. Hoggoth and Watoomb aren't going to try to trick you into giving away your eternal allegiance, but Dormammu, Cthon, and some others I don't even want to mention definitely will. And once they get their hooks in you, they're hard to get out. Like Granger said, you don't just get the power that you asked for. You get a little even on things where you don't need it. And you're paying for it eventually. Potter!" he called on Harry, who'd had his hand up.
"Is this a Dark Side thing?" he asked, since Viktor had used that very analogy. "I mean, does that added dark magic energy make them more powerful than a wizard with the same skill that didn't make a deal?"
"Not always," Moody grinned ferally. "Some people make terrible deals, and lose more than they expected. The connection goes both ways, and sometimes what you're paying would be useful for your spellcasting. But… yes… in general, witches are going to be more dangerous than they should be. Dark magic is really good at pain and damage. It dissolves. It feels like getting hit with a cloud of hot razor blades." He gestured at his own scarred face for emphasis. "But it won't help them do other things, like creating anything. Hard to conjure in a fight when your own dark magic's trying to eat the thing you made.
"In fact, there's three things it's really good at, which most right-thinking people consider unforgivable. Who knows what they are? You. Weasley."
Ron had surprised himself to raise his hand and answered, "Bewitching. Mind control."
"That's one," Moody agreed. "It's the least dramatic, but the biggest problem for the Ministry. Mind control is a lot more effective way of sowing discord among your enemies than just killing them. You don't know who to trust. You can make allies betray one another." He considered for a moment before revealing, "But it's hard to get right. If you're strong-willed, you can fight it off."
"You can't always, though," Neville said, louder than he'd expected.
Moody's magical eye snapped to Neville, and his natural one squinted in concern. Harry wasn't sure who all knew about his friend's months under the thrall of the black diary. But maybe Moody did, because he admitted, "Yes. There were rumors that You-Know-Who had some kind of artifact that let him bewitch so fully that even the strongest wills couldn't break it. That's why so many of the Death Eaters got off, claiming to be under its thrall." He absently caressed the gem atop his cane as if reassuring himself of its ability to warn him of such threats. "Let's hope the hooligans at the world cup don't still have that, eh?"
Harry was sure the roving eye lingered a long moment on him. Had Dumbledore told Moody that he'd disposed of the yellow Stone? Had someone else? He didn't volunteer the information, and the eye moved on.
"What's another unforgivable use of dark magic?" the retired auror asked. For a moment Neville seemed like he was going to raise his hand, but he was already upset about the discussion of mind control. "Brown!"
Lavender lowered her hand and volunteered, "I heard from my parents that a lot of people went away for using magic to torture?"
Moody agreed, "Right. Like I said, it dissolves. Feels like burning knives. Those who specialize in that kind of thing can hit you with just enough power that it feels like they're burning you apart, but keep it up for a long time without leaving much of an actual injury. In a fight, it's incapacitating. If they have the time to torture you for real… you either say whatever they want to make it stop, or you go insane."
Near Harry, Neville, seemingly still withdrawn over the question of mind control let out a little gasp.
Moody seemed to notice Neville's discomfort, so simply said, "Moving on. Last one? Granger."
Hermione had raised her hand the whole time, but she was the only one left and said, "Killing curses. Which I don't really understand since, as you said, you can kill with many spells. The books I've read didn't really want to explain why it was bad."
"They wouldn't," Moody agreed. "There's a lot of superstition about it. People used to think being killed with dark magic stole your soul. Or made the caster more powerful, so more people might try to do it." He shrugged, and winced a bit at the movement as it seemed to pull something that was hurt under his robes. "Best theory I've heard is that whatever entity provided the power gets power when someone is killed with it. Sacrificial magic kind of thing. Maybe they kick some of that back to the witch. Maybe it just gives them the energy to cause trouble somewhere else without even a thank you to their minion.
"Whether or not all of that's true, it's a fact that dark magic is meant for murder. Unless you cut off someone's head or crush it into a pulp, most ways of killing are a lot slower than you'd expect. Time to make your peace. Maybe time to say goodbye. If you're really lucky, time to get healed. Not with dark spells. The strongest ones just turn you off like blowing out a candle. You don't even have time to realize what happened.
"It's scary. And it's horrifying. Maybe more than it should be." He leaned back against the table and said, "Now, the real problem with fighting dark magic is that it's hard to give a practical example. Not like I'm a witch, right? I asked your chemistry professor, but he seemed offended about the idea of giving a demonstration. Shame. So for the rest of the class period, we're going to work on our shield spells. And I'll warn you now: dark magic is also extremely hard to block…"
While they were excited to get to do practical magic in the class, none of the kids missed the implication that Snape was a user of dark magic. And if Moody had mentioned it, maybe it was because he had his own suspicions about the dour chemistry professor, and whether he might have been involved in the attack at the World Cup…