Chapter 16: A Dangerous Game

Selected Listening: Hogwarts Hymn- Patrick Doyle

The rest of the afternoon, the Gryffindor students lazed against the rain-pelted windows of their compartment, while friends visited them here and there. Neville, Seamus, Lavender, and Dean stopped by to say hello, discuss the chaos of the world cup, and make conjectures about what was happening at Hogwarts this year.

None of them knew for sure.

They changed into their robes early in the evening. The compartment they occupied was on the opposite side of the train as the castle, so they did not have a view of Hogwarts as it slid into the landscape late in the trip. As the sky grew darker and the fog rolled in more densely, Anastasia doubted she would be able to see it even if she were on the correct side.

She hadn't seen home in an entire month. It was the longest she had been away from home in quite a few years, and she realized she was itching to be back in her natural environment. She missed the amber warmth of the castle walls and the cool stone under her feet, the beauty of the Great Hall's sky, and the depths of the Black Lake. She supposed she would have to forgo her usual hiding spots while the other students were in attendance. With eyes everywhere, it would be much harder to sneak into the prefect's bathroom to gaze at the prismatic glass or back to the lake inlet near the kitchens where the shore was shallow enough to wade in, but not deep enough for terrifying water dwellers.

Most of all, she missed her home, the Headmaster's Suite, and the warmth of her grandad's smile whenever she walked in to sit across from him at his desk as he worked.

Yes, she missed that most of all.

Unlike her fear of telling Minerva, Anastasia found herself unafraid of telling Albus what all had happened with her since the time she left. For some reason, outside of whatever competition was taking place this year, Albus had encouraged her to go to the Malfoy's. He said it was so Narcissa could spend time with her, which might have been true (although, she doubted he would have wanted her godmother to bring her to blood purist institutions for spa treatments and fine dining), but he knew about the lifeline. He must have had some inkling of what would happen when she and Draco were given ample time alone.

Albus had never said a word against Draco, but he had never said anything sincerely positive either. He only once discussed with her how the lifeline would eventually tie the two young magics together. Anastasia didn't know how Albus felt about the Slytherin boy. It was almost as if he remained entirely neutral on the subject…and that unnerved her.

She remembered what he did say—about not letting magic decide her own fate. In November of the previous year, she had been determined to stay away from Draco, but over the course of months it all fell together so naturally. She found herself not being able to stay away from him.

But it couldn't have been magic…she wanted to be with him? Didn't she?

When the train pulled to a stop, she shook herself from her thoughts, slung her backpack over her shoulders, and carried Crenshaw's empty cage. In the pouring rain, she was thankful she didn't have a trunk like the rest. She helped Hermione by carrying her bookbag, and they loaded into the carriage with the boys, dripping wet and clammy.

Anastasia was pushed so closely to Hermione, they could whisper to each other without the others hearing over the weather.

"Draco isn't dating me to coverup for his father…" Anastasia said bitterly. She hadn't meant to say anything about Hermione's earlier comment, but it had been stuck in her head all day. "You were the one encouraging me last year…saying he wanted to date me…telling me about the side effects of the lifeline."

Hermione gazed at her despondently in the darkened glow of the carriage. The water on the ground made a soft whooshing sound as it was picked up by the carriage wheels and fell back down to the cobblestones.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said softly. "I just wish it were anyone else…"

"Well, I don't," Anastasia said determinedly. "He understands me…and I know it doesn't seem like that when he's acting like an twat in front of you all, but when we're alone…it's different."

Hermione nodded and reached out to take Anastasia's hand. She flinched.

"I believe you, but—"

"But what?" Anastasia asked a little too harshly. Hermione looked down at their intertwined hands and up to her eyes again, concernedly.

"I don't want to lose you…not to the Malfoys. They're cruel. And you're better than that."

Anastasia squeezed her friend's hand, realizing that her counterpart was not showing jealousy or trying to be mean. Hermione was genuinely scared for her.

"I'm not going anywhere, Hermione. I'm right here," she reassured. And Draco isn't cruel to me, she added in thought.

Hermione squeezed back.

"If you say so."

A spell had been set up at the entrance to blow them dry as they slipped in to the Great Hall, and the only traces of water were the puddles under the tables where they poured their shoes out. Anastasia gazed up at the staff table, searching for her father, and when she found him, he was already watching her with a twinkling blue-eyed gaze. Albus winked at her and turned back to staring at the ceiling, which was swirling a mysterious grey and amethyst with the curls of the storm.

Are you disappointed in me? She wondered if Minerva had already told him.

The first-years arrived and they were sorted neatly into their houses. The feast appeared and they began to eat.

"You should have seen it," Sir Nicholas spurted excitedly. "If Dumbledore hadn't corralled Peeves from taunting the House Elves, the feast wouldn't have even happened."

"House Elves? There are house elves at Hogwarts?" Hermione dropped her fork and knife.

"Of course, more than any other institution in the UK. At least a hundred, I think."

"They used to help take care of me when I was little, bring me food and such," Anastasia explained, but Hermione was already removing her napkin from her lap and placing it beside her plate.

"It's not right…" she drifted off. "You live here! Haven't you talked to your dad about this, can't you do something?"

"They're happy, Hermione," Ron emphasized. "House elves like to work…"

While Hermione made a show of not eating, the rest of them stuffed their faces with chicken and Shepherd's pie and potatoes and greens and pudding. When they were full to the brim, and everyone was groaning in a happy stupor, Albus stood and began his start of term notices.

Anastasia zoned out as he listed off his usuals—forbidden items, forbidden forest—but then he paused, "I must also, unfortunately inform you, that the inter-house quidditch tournament will not take place this term."

Anastasia's eyes shot to the front as the rest of the quidditch players and half the students shouted in protest. Albus held up a hand and waited for them to stop.

"Instead," he began again—

The door thrashed open, and a harrowing figure barged in. He clunked forward into the hall on his gnarled wooden staff.

"Mad-Eye," Anastasia whispered. Her friends gaped.

The man passed her, his widely moving eye seemed to focus and narrow at her as he did. Anastasia felt her full belly lurch. She knew he wasn't wholly fond of her…she only hoped she could survive his class without him degrading her spellwork in front of her peers.

"Ah, yes, Professor Moody, so good of you to be here," Albus opened his arm in a welcoming gesture, but Moody entirely avoided it, slumping down into his chair at the table and digging into his meal sloppily.

"Suppose dad got him off the hook," Ron commented.

"He doesn't seem too happy about it," Harry countered.

"Welcome, Professor Moody, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" Albus smiled merrily, but no one clapped. They could only stare.

"Wonder what happened earlier…" Anastasia trailed off. Had anyone actually broken into Moody's house? Or had it all been his paranoia? By the way he acted when she met him, her guess couldn't be swayed either way.

After the awkward pause remained applause-less, Albus returned to his original speech.

"The reason we cannot have quidditch is due to our hosting event, an event that will lead two other magical schools to Hogwarts. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students and staff will be joining us in October and will remain with us for the duration of the year. The Triwizard Tournament is a dangerous game in which three magic students, one from each school, will compete for the honor of winning the Triwizard Cup, One Thousand Galleons prize money, and the title of Champion."

A solemn gasp ran through the crowd.

"This tournament is being resurrected from its original form," Albus continued. "It will no longer be open to all students, as the game was so dangerous, it led to multiple casualties. To keep this from happening, only the most experienced students—students of age—may compete."

Students roared in the fury of unfairness. The twins the loudest.

"Rubbish! Codswallop!" They bellowed towards the front. Anastasia caught Minerva rolling her eyes and Snape looking absolutely bored.

Albus took it all in stride, not flinching a centimeter.

"Didn't you hear him?" Anastasia urged the others. "There were deaths. There's a reason we can't compete."

No one seemed to care except Hermione, staring at the boys concernedly.

Albus continued on, "The champions will be decided by an impartial judge, who I will ensure cannot be tricked by those who wish to omit the age requirement."

The majority of students, stubborn as they were, grumbled at that statement. No one could outwit Albus Dumbledore. So why try?

"But more on that in the coming weeks. For now, you must be well rested for the studies ahead. Off to bed!" He clapped his hands giddily.

Anastasia looked up at her father again, talking to Moody. He seemed too engaged in his conversation to have time to chat, and the Gryffindor boys had obviously not absorbed his warning, so she felt it more prudent to follow behind her friends and discourage them from hurting themselves.

All the way up the stairs they fussed about how they would manage to outdo Albus, avoid the age restriction, and become the Triwizard Champion. Anastasia found it so insulting that she had trouble calling upon the right words to tell them off.

Finally, Harry, Ron, Neville and Hermione went to bed, but Anastasia couldn't help but stay behind with the twins in the common room. They had that mischievous glint in their eyes.

"I don't care what Dumbledore says. We'll enter no matter what, right, George?" Fred asked, grinning madly.

"Right, Fred," his brother chimed.

Anastasia, red in the face from holding back her opinions, found her voice.

"You can't enter! Don't you dare try. It's stupid," she shouted. The twins raised their eyebrows at her.

"Says the girl who has a whole castle to her name," George commented.

"What?" she asked, completely thrown off.

"It's one thousand galleons, Anastasia. You know what we could do with that?" Fred asked.

"Literally anything," George chimed.

"But you could get hurt!" she protested. "It's not worth it."

"Says the girl who broke her spine in quidditch last year and was instantly healed," Fred said exasperatedly.

Anastasia clammed up again.

"Don't worry so much," George suggested. "Your dad has this fixed so that we won't die, right? Age limit or not, we're going to enter for the fun of it."

"And you can't stop us," Fred said defiantly. Anastasia tensed. She didn't understand the twinge of meanness in his voice, why he suddenly hated her so much.

"What's your problem, lately?" she demanded, folding her arms across her chest.

"My problem is that you're dating a right arsehole who mocks our family on a daily basis, and somehow you expect me to be okay with it." Fred towered over her. "I'm not."

Anastasia clammed up.

"Right, well I'm going to bed…see you later, Stasia," George called in a sing-song tone, and started up the stairs, leaving her alone with Fred. Anastasia wanted to throttle him.

"I wonder if Malfoy's entering the Triwizard Tournament," Fred prodded.

"He won't! He's only fourteen," she argued.

"Are you sure? Malfoy's been jealous of Harry's fame for years…it'd be the best opportunity to show him up," Fred smiled smugly, folding his arms to match her stance.

"He's not going to do that," Anastasia said certainly, "he can't." If Draco tried, he would certainly have an asthma attack on the field, and if he died…well that didn't bode well for her.

"Bet he'll try. And if neither me nor George are named Hogwarts champion, I hope Malfoy is. Maybe he'll get so cocky he will get himself killed…and we won't have to deal with this bullocks from you anymore."

Anastasia glared at him questioningly. The way he phrased that. Fred didn't know about the lifeline. She was certain of it. Ron wasn't her favorite person, but he didn't rat on people's personal business. It was simply unfortunate phrasing. Still, she didn't think someone being insulting was a good reason to want them dead.

"You're horrible," Anastasia whispered, and turned away, staring into the flames of the fireplace.

"Yeah…well…likewise," Fred said and turned up the stairs.

Anastasia went to bed, sad and full of worries. She closed the velvet curtains around her, wondering what Draco was doing at that moment.

He couldn't be thinking about entering, could he? She asked herself. Her worries repeated themselves over one after another…and as she drifted away, they became nightmares.