Hi all,
Happy winter holidays to you! I'm currently recovering from wisdom teeth removal, so if something looks a bit wibbly wobbly wonky, please let me know! I'll fix it straight-o way!
Also, as for the translated languages, please let me know if you spot a mistakte!
Normal disclaimers and unbeta warning apply. Enjoy, lovelies.
One could feel the energy crackling and dancing excitedly in the air. Darcy, being especially in tune with electricity, can feel it even better. Everyone waits with baited breath outside for the delegations from the other two schools participating in the Triwizarding Tournament to arrive. Beside her, she can tell that even Severus is anxious for the other two schools to arrive already. The married couple hold each other's hands in a tight grip. In front of them, the crowd of Hogwarts students is abuzz with chatter as everyone's patience dies with each passing moment. She herself can barely contain her anticipation for their guests' arrival, despite her distaste at having to admit that the goddamned Tournament will be happening after all, regardless of her many protests. She still remembers the moment that she had found out about the stupid contest between schools. She smirks as she also remembers the very heated discussion they'd had on the topic.
After a few more moments of waiting, Dumbles speaks loudly above the hum of excited conversation goin on around them. A school party has arrived.
Something in the sky has been judged to be one half of the long awaited foreign students. The thing carrying them is huge and flying right towards the waiting Hogwarts students. Only a moment or two passes before Darcy can make out that it's a carriage, a fucking huge carriage that's light blue of all things and modeled like one she'd see in a fairytale, pulled by equally large Palomino winged horses. The visiting students are flying in like fucking Cinderella in her carriage to the fucking ball. Of fucking course, they are. As it comes in for a landing in front of the gathered welcoming committee, the students on the ground are forced to take a step back to make room and avoid being trampled on by the giant ass horses—although technically she can call them Pegasuses (pegasusi?). Once the carriage has landed, they only have to wait a moment before a boy jumps down from the carriage and unfolds a set of gold—like real fucking gold?—stairs in front of the door. Then the largest lady Darcy can safely and truthfully say she has ever seen in her life walks out of the carriage. It's not that the lady is overweight or anything of the sort, and being on the heavier side of life is not wrong by any means. It's just that the lady is like her carriage and horses—instead of being hit with a shrink ray, it's like she's been zapped by a big ray. From what Darcy can tell, she's about the same height as the half-giant, Hagrid, who teaches Care of Magical Creatures, or a little taller, so she must have some significant level of giant genes running through her veins. After her, around a couple dozen students or so pile out of the vessel behind her.
Despite the weather, the students seem to only be wearing silk clothing, or at least a fabric just like it. They look like they're freezing, the poor dears. Even the tall lady, who Darcy guesses to either be a teacher or even the Head professor of Beauxbaton or Durmstrang with her fur scarf thingy, looks cold. When Dumbles offers to let them warm up or stay and wait for the other school to arrive, Darcy has to hold in an unimpressed scoff and keep from rolling her eyes. Those poor students are obviously cold, some even shivering! Honestly, Darcy is kinda cold herself and doesn't really feel like waiting for the last school, so she and Severus, who decides to tag along with her, follow the newcomers into the castle. Judging by the accent of the Head when she answers Dumbles with the decision to warm up, Darcy guesses that this is the French school's delegation.
Inside, she calls upon all her knowledge of French, which despite being a World Languages minor at Culver, still has a bit to be desired and is a little rusty, and tries to help the French visitors warm up by having them sit at the Ravenclaw table. While she does this, Severus summons them something warm to drink. "Merci, madame. Merci, monsieur. (Thank you, madam. Thank you, sir.)" the chilled youth say as they warm up and consume the offered drinks.
"Vous êtes les bienvenus. (You are very welcome.)" Darcy replies as she walks by. She can tell by the widening eyes that they didn't expect her to return their language.
After she has been assured that her students are comfortable, the large lady goes over to where Darcy and Severus stand. "Bonjour, je suis Madame Maxime, directrice de Beauxbaton. Il fait très froid et nous ne nous attendions pas à ce qu'il soit. (Hello, I am Madam Maxime, the Headmistress of Beauxbaton. It is very cold, and we did not expect it to be.)" she says. Then she gestures to her students. "Merci, madame et monsieur. Vous n'aviez pas à le faire. (Thank you, madam and sir. You did not have to do it.)"
"Vous êtes les bienvenus, Madame Maxime. Bonjour, je suis professeur Darcy Lewis. Vous pouvez m'appeler Darcy si vous le souhaitez. (You are very welcome, Madam Maxime. Hello, I'm Professor Darcy Lewis. You can call Darcy if you wish.)" Darcy replies with a smile.
"Je suis professeur Severus Snape. Vous êtes les bienvenus. (I am Professor Severus Snape. You are very welcome.)" her husband says with a nod and a smirk. Madam Maxime gives them a nod and small smile in return.
Once the three professors are sure that the French students are well on their way to getting warmer, they head over to the entrance of the Hall to wait for the Durmstrang delegation and the rest of the Hogwarts residents to come inside. Not long after, Hogwarts students arrive first and fill in the seats at their respective House tables. Then a group of youth that Darcy guesses to be the Bulgarians shuffle into the entrance way. However, that's as far as they dare go. After a moment or so of watching them look around the Hall with big, hesitant eyes, Darcy goes over to them.
"Здравей! (Hello there!)" she says with what she hopes is a warm, welcoming smile. While she's never officially learned Bulgarian like she did French when studying for her Minor and then for her current job—her main languages being French, Mandarin, Arabic, and Spanish—she's tried her best to learn basic phrases and greetings in Bulgarian since she learned who the other two Tournament delegations would be. She figured that while she may not be anywhere near fluent in the southern Slavic language, she should at the very least give them the courtesy of trying to learn some of their own tongue.
The small group of Bulgarian students turns to her as one. "Здравейте, мадам. (Hello, madam.)" they reply, obviously slightly confused that she knows their language.
"Знаеш ли българин? (You know Bulgarian?)" one of them asks.
"Аз знам малко. Поздрави и основни изрази. (I know a little. Greetings and basic phrases.)" she tells them.
"Хубаво е. (It is good.)" another compliments her.
"Благодаря ти. Знаете ли английски или френски (Thankyou. Do you know English or French?)" Darcy asks. She mentally crosses her fingers in hopes that they understand English better than she knows Bulgarian because she doubts her baby Bulgarian and toddler Russian will cut it. They all nod, and she does a relieved happy dance in her mind. "Do you need help deciding where to sit?"
"Yes, ve vere not told vhere to sit," a tall, muscular boy with thick, defining brown eyebrows tells her. Oh, thank Thor! She would've been so lost if they didn't know English. Despite his heavy accent, he seems to know English way better than she knows Bulgarian.
"Ah, I understand. Well, from what I can tell, it's pretty much a free-for-all for you, which means that you may sit wherever you like," she informs them. This knowledge doesn't seem to help the poor confused newcomers much. Really, though, looking at the sea of Hogwarts students side-eyeing their visitors and talking amongst themselves, who wouldn't be intimidated by their expectant, watching eyes? "I'm not saying you have to—this is really a suggestion—but do you see the boy with platinum blond hair?" She points her finger in the direction of Draco over at the Slytherin table. The group nods. "That's Draco Malfoy. He's my godson and not half bad. Of course, he is my godson, and I may be a tad biased. Anyway, I'm sure he'd welcome you all if you wanted to try sitting over there. However, you are very welcome to sit at any of the four tables if you'd like, and I'm sure that all the Hogwarts students would be happy to have you at their table. I haven't worked here long myself, but from the students I've met, the majority of the students are quite friendly."
Again, she receives a collection of nods at her words. "Thank you for your assistance, Madam…?" the student next to her says with a small bow.
She smiles widely. "Lewis. I'm Darcy Lewis. It was a pleasure to help you all. Should you, any of you, need something—and I mean anything—just ask me! I'll do my best to help or point you in the direction of someone who can help!"
As one, the Durmstrang students say, "Благодаря ви, мадам Луис. (Thank you, Madam Lewis.)" Then, apparently deciding to trust her word that her godson will welcome them, they go over to sit at the Slytherin table and are quickly happily greeted by Draco. Satisfied that she was able to help them, she begins to return to the place where the other professors have congregated. However, when she sees Argus Filch, the castle's caretaker and someone that Darcy has yet to really, properly meet, setting out extra chairs at the Heads' Table for the extra teachers, she rushes to help. Darcy grabs one of the extra chairs, sending a small smile at Argus. He seems very surprised that she's even there at all, though.
"What do you think you're doing, professor?" he grunts as he lifts his chair. Manually and without the use of magic, she notices.
"It's Darcy, actually, and helping you," she replies. "Why don't you use magic, though? Wouldn't it be like tons easier? And not to mention faster?"
He scoffs at her, and she has to hold in a huff. She was just asking an innocent question, damnit.
"I'm a Squib," he says with a bored tone. "I thought all the teachers knew that."
Now that she thinks about it, Severus had mentioned something about Argus being a Squib, but she doesn't think he'd really explained what being a Squib really means. He'd simply said something about Squibs not having very strong magic. She stays silent for a moment as they place the chairs in their designated spots, unsure how to respond without angering him further than he clearly is.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not entirely sure what being a Squib means," she finally settles on, wincing at her own uneducatedness.
He appears surprised that she doesn't automatically understand if the raised eyebrow is anything to go by. "It means at least one parent has magic, but their child doesn't, or at best, has very weak magic. I don't have strong enough magic in me to even lift more than a feather."
She stays silent as she thinks about what's just been explained to her. It really had been a loaded question, and she just hadn't known it. She makes a note to educate herself about Squibs and other such statuses so that she's better informed in the future. Sure, she's still pretty new to this whole being immersed in the Wizarding World and culture thing, but it shouldn't have been his job to educate her on something like that. "Not so sure you wanna be helping a Squib, do you now, professor," he goads, and she knows that he must have interpreted her silence as a negative response.
She nibbles on her lips slightly before coming up with a response. "No, actually, quite the opposite. I think I'm glad to work alongside you, a man who doesn't need magic to survive among these magical people," she says softly but loud enough for him to hear. As she helps him with the second pair of chairs, she catches an upwards curl of his lips and doesn't stop the one she sends in return. Once the chairs have been placed, they go their separate ways. He goes off to do whatever else he needs to do now as she goes back to the other professors. When she gets there, she finds her husband, despite being the unsocial butterfly he is, in an actual, full-on conversation with a person with shoulder-length, wavy hair that she guesses to be the Head of the Bulgarian school, Durmstrang.
"Well, look at you! My unsocial caterpillar has blossomed into a less unsocial butterfly! I'm so proud!" She mimes wiping proud tears from her eyes. "I always hoped the day would come!"
He only laughs at her theatrics and intertwines his arm with hers, grasping her hand in his. "Darcy, love, this is Igor Karkaroff, an old acquaintance of mine," he informs her. Ha, she was right! "Igor, this is Darcy Lewis, my wife."
"Come now, Severus, we are more than just acquaintances. You must admit that," Igor says with humor in his tone. Then he turns to address her with a small bow. "Ah, hello, Mrs. Snape. It is an honor to meet the woman who has managed to enrapture the heart of Severus Snape."
"Ms. Lewis, actually. I kept my last name and go by Ms. M-s—period. Only in certain cases do I go by Snape-Lewis. Also, good job with those pretty words there, buddy. И на мен ми е приятно да се запознаем! (Nice to meet you too!)" she greets.
"Ah, my apologies, Ms. Lewis. Знаете ли българин? (You know Bulgarian?)" he asks with an impressed tone.
"Много малко. Здравейте. Довиждане. Тази фраза. (Very little. Hello. Goodbye. That sort of phrase.)"
"That is admirable nonetheless, Ms. Lewis," he damn near purrs. She raises an eyebrow at the tone.
"Dude, you don't need to try to sweet talk me," she snarks. "I'm not that scary."
"Professor Moody would say otherwise," Severus reminds her.
"Yes, but he deserved that," she quips.
"True, love, he truly did," he agrees. She knows that her husband is not always the nicest or kindest teacher in the world, but she knows that turning a student into an animal and bouncing them around for shits and giggles as punishment is cruel even to him.
"Ha, see, I win!" she cheers and lifts to her tiptoes to land a kiss on his cheek.
"I was not aware there was even a controversy."
"Oi, shush, you, and let me have my victory."
She hears something that sounds suspiciously like "as if you don't have enough," murmured over her head, which she easily chooses to ignore. Glancing at the person watching their interaction, she sees a highly amused glint in the eyes of the Durmstrang Headmaster.
"You are talking about the Alastor Moody, yes?" Igor asks, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Yep! Oh, I guess we're sitting down now," she answers and then they're heading to the Heads' table. "You should sit next to us, Igor. I promise we won't bite."
Beside her, Severus snorts. "I certainly do not bite. Her on the other hand…" he whispers teasingly.
She swats him in the chest. "Hey! I'll have you know that I've never actually bitten anyone! We both know I prefer to electrocute people or smack them. I mean, it is just so much more entertaining to watch them fall." Then she quickly turns to Igor, who doesn't bother to hide the smirk on his face. "Don't worry, you're perfectly safe."
After the staff of Hogwarts, excluding Dumbles, is seated, the three Heads of schools take theirs, Igor choosing to sit next to Darcy after all. When Madam Maxime finds hers, all of her pupils stand and don't sit back down until she does, despite the laughter that Darcy hears coming from a few Hogwarts students. Of course, Albus stays standing, and silence finally commands the Hall.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and—most particularly—guests," he starts, sending a wide smile at the foreign newcomers. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."
One of the Beauxbaton guests laughs sarcastically, but Darcy understands why, even if the gesture is somewhat rude. The French party's visit at Hogwarts has already gotten off to a less than great start with the chilly weather that they obviously hadn't anticipated having to dress for so soon. Plus, she's sure that any student would prefer their school, especially one they'd been attending for 6 years now, over a new place in a completely different country with a completely different language. No one wants to be the new kid at school, and she's pretty confident that that thought is pretty Midgard-wide, regardless of any special abilities.
"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of this feast," the Hogwarts Headmaster says. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"
The old wizard sits, and the feast begins.
"Tell me, Ms. Lewis, I've known Severus for years, but I was only informed of his marriage moments ago. How long have you been married?" Igor asks between bites of food.
She sighs, may as well get it over with. She knew to expect these types of questions, especially since their marriage has been such a well-hidden secret, but that doesn't mean she can't find the questions annoying. "Well, it's been around 3 years of marriage and 4 years of us being together. He wasn't able to tell you about me because of safety reasons that no longer apply. We met at a job and mostly hit it off from there. No, there are no kids, and we've both agreed that if we ever have them, we'll adopt an older child because we both agree that there are so many older children out there looking to be loved by a family of their very own, and a kid doesn't have to have our blood running through their veins for us to love them wholeheartedly." We also agreed to look into fostering or adopting older children with the X-gene first because those ones are the ones who are looked over more commonly than children who don't have the gene, she adds in her head. At his surprised face, she realizes that her little speech could be interpreted as rude but shrugs. "We get these questions a lot. Now, is there anything I missed?"
"What position do you have here at Hogwarts, Madam?"
"You can call me Darcy if you want. I won't mind at all. I'm the Muggle Studies professor here. Since it's an elective, my classes are combined from all 4 Houses, which gives me the ability to only have classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays."
"What do you do when not teaching, might I ask? That is quite a lot of time. You must fill it somehow."
"Well, we own an apartment in Manhattan in New York, so I actually live there most of the time. Teaching here is really only a part-time job for me. I work as a liaison for a team, one that Severus is actually a founding member of."
"Hmm, and what does this team of yours do?"
"They're a lot like Aurors, but they're not loyal to any one government, although their headquarters are currently in the U.S., and much more specified. Perhaps you've heard of such a team? The Avengers?" She really highly doubts that he has since no one else in the whole month and a half that she's been a staff member at Hogwarts has made the connection, despite her face being plastered on the media all over the world and the Avengers being famous all over the world. Severus, she understands not being recognized as an Avenger since he is first and foremost a globally recognized Potions Master and professor at Hogwarts, but she doesn't really understand how she's not been outed as a Muggle, Avenger's Liaison, or an X-man yet. Apparently, the magical folk on Earth really do not keep in touch with the present-day muggle world.
"I do not believe I have…oh, perhaps I have, now that I think about it. I saw an article about such a team and some relation to MACUSA months ago, but I don't know much more than that, I admit."
Or maybe some are just way more stuck up and ignorant of anything outside of their little Wizarding World than others.
"Yep, that's them. I liaison between my team and any country and its government that they may need to operate in or any other teams they may need to partner with."
"That is a fascinating career, Darcy."
"Yeah, well, I trained in Political Science and World Languages. Plus, it's pretty fun." She shrugs.
"And you are quite wonderful at what you do, love," her husband pipes in. She sends him a wink. "Though, I'm sure the World Security Council wishes you weren't quite so talented."
At that, she laughs. "Yeah, well, it's totally not my fault they find me intimidating, all 5'3" of me," she chirps.
"You are not what I expected of a wife of Severus Snape, but that is good. You are most delightful, and I can see why he loves you," Igor compliments.
"Well, I live to surprise people," she snarks. "Oh, by the way, your students are rather nice. I got to meet them and show them where to sit."
"Yes, they are. They are the best in their class, and I know each of them personally. They are like my own," he admits.
From there, the meal goes by quickly with Darcy and Igor carrying on with the bulk of the conversation and Severus adding his two cents every now and again. About halfway through, two new people come to sit at the top table, but Darcy has no idea who they are. When she asks Severus, she finds out that they're part of the judges' panel for the tournament and merely nods in response.
At the end of the meal, Dumbledore stands once again. "The moment has come. The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those of you who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports." Applause fills the space at the introduction of each man. Darcy eyes each man as he is introduced with a faint glare. So, these are the idiots primarily responsible for allowing such a damned and dangerous game to happen. She makes a note to get to know Mr. Crouch later since she should really know the dude in charge of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Honestly, she'd also like to know why she hasn't met him already. "Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament, and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts. The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."
Argus brings a wooden chest ornamented with jewels up to where Dumbledore stands. "The instruction for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," he continues as the chest is put 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.
"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament, 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." Darcy holds back an unimpressed snort. Okay, so the name itself for the goblet is cool, she'll give it that, but come fucking on! With an object with a name like that as the deciding factor of who gets to be a "champion," this tournament thing is going to be absolutely ridiculous and dangerous and literally only exists to boost the egos of the Heads while at the same time lowering the self-esteem of the kids who are actually the ones in danger!
She watches Dumbles take out his wand and tap it three times on the top of the casket, which apparently opens it. Then he's reaching down inside it and retrieving an old, wooden cup that's got blue flames dancing on its rim. He closes the casket to set the cup on top of it while everyone looks on.
"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," Dumbles says. Because, of course, he just isn't done talking yet. "Aspiring champions have 24-hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worth 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.
"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation, 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 17 will be able to cross this line."
Goddamn, finally, Darcy hears at least the tiniest fucking smidgeon of sense come out of that man's mouth. Hopefully, this means that young students won't be harmed…oh, wait. Darcy thinks about Nat and realizes that by now, the Widow would already have come up with 20 different ways to be able to get her name into the damned goblet without passing the Age Line and would've been able to do this at ease by the time she'd turned 13. Actually, if she thinks about it a bit more, Darcy is so, so sure that each and every single member of her team would've been able to figure out a way around the stupid Age Line by now, even at age 13. Granted, all of her team members, including Pepper and Janey, are geniuses in their own right, but if they can, then she's pretty sure that at least one of these students in front of her would be able to figure out a way as well. Seriously, any kid with a wand could just levitate their name into the cup from yards away. She also knows that many of her students are on the wealthier side of life and could just pay someone old enough to put their name in the goblet. Literally, anyone over the age of 17 can put a scrap of parchment—paper, whatever—into the cup, and it wouldn't have to be their name. Well, maybe there's like a tiny possibility that she's overestimating the intelligence level of all the younger students? Usually, she hates to hope that someone is less intelligent than they really are, but this is a special case. This is literally a life and death matter, and for once, being dumber might just save someone's life.
There are so many fucking ways this can go wrong, and Darcy is positive that at least one of them will happen.
"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly." So, don't have the fucking game at all! Darcy shouts at him in her head. Maybe 2 % of the students who will enter will actually care about the dangers that come with being involved in this tournament. The rest of them care about the glory and the money and the fucking fame that goes along with winning! "Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she" —Just say "they!" That is literally all encompassing and in fewer words! Darcy remarks in her mind— "is 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. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."
Darcy counts to 10 in her head, in every single language she knows, and sighs. The old man spoke so long that she highly doubts any of them were paying attention to any of the warnings he was giving.
This is going to be a fun shit show. Seriously. Really. Really. Fun. Like. She. Is. Already. Ready. To. Smack. Some. Sense. Into. Someone. Anyone.