Chapter 17 :
Both delegations arrived with way too much fanfare for the youngest Weasley boy's taste. Between Beauxbâtons in their gigantic flying carriage drawn by abraxans and Durmstrang in their old galleon rising from the dark waters of the Black Lake, he felt that the Hogwart's students just standing there to wait for them lacked quite a bit of flair. The foreign students left their travelling means in grandstanding too, the french girls in graceful steps and the bulgarian boys in a warrior stomp, and as they all showed off, tall and proud and full of the haughtiness of thinking they represented the best school... Ronald could only pity them.
Here they were, ready to battle for their schools pride, their headmaster and headmistress savagely but politely sniping at each other... only to be welcomed by sleepy snot-nosed brats, an eyes twinkling Dumbledore and the older years making bets in the back... Hogwart was already the lone loser in this charade and it wouldn't suprise the red head if it only got worse from now on.
He sighed. At least Harry wouldn't get involved in this year's shenanigans, too occupied befriending The Devil that he was, so Ron would be able to watch the world go to Hell from afar. It was sure to be a pleasant change of pace.
The rules for the selection were easy enough to understand. A magical artifact, the Goblet of Fire, would judge who was the most worthy and best student of each school. Then these exceptional students would be made to compete against each other in the tournament. Anyone chosen by the Goblet would be entered in a magical contract forcing them to participate. Given the death toll of the previous tournaments, no student under seventeen would be able to join.
Of course, the threat of impending death would never stop the more adventurous youngsters. And indeed, many a facetious kid tried to put their name in the Goblet, only to fail no matter what schemes they used. Throwing the paper with their name in, asking an owl to drop it, and even asking an older student to put it in : nothing worked against the Age Line. Even the Weasley Twins ended up with shaggy white beards that refused to disappear after the use of an ageing potion.
And so a day passed, and the fateful evening came. The Halloween Feast was delicious, though full of strange foods Ron didn't recognize. He really enjoyed himself, despite Hermione glaring at the Head Table -where the ministry officials responsible for the event were sitting- to express her disagreement with this whole farce and Harry white as paper shying away from the numerous glances sent his way by the foreign students.
Honestly, they were so tactless to look at him like that. Had they never met a celebrity before or something ? Why couldn't they stare at Krum instead ? The Durmstrang student was a famous Quidditch star, wasn't he ? No need to spook his best friend like that.
"Harry, don't play with your treacle tart, eat it." Softly scolded Ronald, tired of being the last bastion of sanity in this accursed world. "And Hermione, watch were you put your fork instead of looking daggers at the Headmaster, you nearly stabbed your nose !"
His best friends listening to him reluctantly, the red haired teenager tried to fully appreciate his dessert -the elves had really outdone themselves-. But, no matter how much he tried, he couldn't ignore this odd feeling that something was wrong. He looked around the Great Hall. Everyone was joyous and well fed, eager to finally witness the Champions selection. And yet... At the Slytherin table, Malfoy was sweating abundantly.
The desserts disappeared from the tables before he could finish his, but Ron couldn't care anymore. For the git to be this afraid... There was only one reason possible.
Dumbledore addressed everyone in a grandiose speech, talking about sportsmanship, fairness and dedication, before bidding Filch to bring the Goblet of Fire.
Ron tried to find Nott in the crowd but the Evil Snake was the stealthy type.
The Goblet spit out a first name : Viktor Krum. And Durmstrang acclaimed him the loudest.
Malfoy sent a begging glance at the red head, showing with a look where the extra tense Theodore Nott was in the shadow of a seventh year.
Fleur Delacour was the second chosen. The beautiful girls of Beauxbâtons seemed revolted by this choice, some of them even crying in their hands.
Nott glared intently at the Goblet, the seventh year beside him fainting in fright right where he sat.
Cedric Diggory was then selected as the third Champion and Dumbledore congratulated the three schools, starting another speech while everyone was clapping in good humour. Harry finally relaxed and stopped gripping Hermione's sleeves, relieved that this hurdle had ended, and even Ron had hope that he could breath again-
But Nott was still glaring at the Goblet... and it spat a fourth name : Harry Potter.
AN: not satisfied of this chapter but here we go. Thanks for reading, don't hesitate to leave a comment on your way out if you feel like it. I kinda wonder what everyone think of this story, if it's worth continuing or not and all that.