XXXIV. Emotional
Having feelings that are easily excited and openly displayed.
In its gothic glory, Hogwarts is something former students will never forget for years to come. Through the front gates, statues of winged boars flank it, and up the sweeping drive, the horseless carriages trundle, but tonight, they sway dangerously in what is fast becoming a gale. Harry is leaning against the window inside one, seeing Hogwarts coming nearer. Its many lighted windows blur and shimmer behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashes across the sky as their carriage comes to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stand at the top of a flight of stone steps. The people from the carriage in front are already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle.
The Golden Quartet and Neville jump down from their carriage, Jayla quickly opening her umbrella and shielding herself and her friends from the heavy downpour, and they dash up the steps too, looking up only when they are safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase. Jayla puts her umbrella away and walks beside her friends, glad to be out of the rain.
"Blimey," Ron groans, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, "if that keeps up the lake's going to overflow. My trousers are soaked - ARRGH!"
A large, red, water-filled balloon explodes on Ron's head from the ceiling. Drenched and sputtering, Ron staggers sideways into Harry, just as a second water bomb drops - narrowly missing Hermione, it bursts at Harry's feet, sending a wave of cold water over his sneakers into his socks. The people around them shriek and start pushing one another in their efforts to get out of the line of fire. Harry looks up and sees Peeves, the Poltergeist, floating twenty feet above them, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow tie, his broad, malicious face contorted with concentration as he retakes aim.
"PEEVES!" an angry voice yells. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"
Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House has come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skids on the wet floor and grabs Hermione around the neck to stop herself from falling.
"Ouch — sorry, Miss Granger —"
"That's all right, Professor!" Hermione gasps, massaging her throat. Jayla checks on her friend and steadies Professor McGonagall before she slips again.
"Peeves, get down here NOW!" Professor McGonagall barks, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upward through her square-rimmed spectacles.
"Not doing nothing!" Peeves cackles, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who scream and dive into the Great Hall. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!" And he aimed another bomb at a group of second-years who had just arrived.
"I shall call the headmaster!" McGonagall shouts. "I'm warning you, Peeves —"
Peeves ignores her threat, sticks out his tongue, throws the last water bombs into the air, and zooms off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely. "I think the Bloody Baron is more appropriate Professor." Those words make Peeves suddenly stop and look at the Darkmore Heiress in horror.
"Nicely done, Miss Darkmore," Professor McGonagall retorts. "Well move along, then!" She says sharply to the bedraggled crowd. "Into the Great Hall, come on!" The Golden Quartet nods before slipping and sliding across the Entrance Hall and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushes his sopping hair off his face.
"Ron! You splashed me!" Jayla cries as water splashes onto her face. They open the door to the Great Hall and step inside with the other students.
The Great Hall looks its usual splendid self, decorated for the Start-of-Term Feast. Golden plates and goblets gleam by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles floating over the tables in midair. The four long tables for each House are packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff's table sits along one side of a fifth table, facing the numerous students. It is much warmer, thankfully, in the Great Hall with the roaring fire on the far side of the room.
Harry, Jayla, Ron and Hermione walk past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs and sit down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. Pearly white and semitransparent, Nick is dressed tonight in his usual doublet but with a considerable ruff, which serves the dual purpose of looking extra-festive and ensuring that his head doesn't wobble too much on his partially severed neck.
"Good evening," he says, beaming at them.
"Says who?" Harry asks, taking off his sneakers and emptying them of water. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving."
"Harry," Jayla hisses, slapping his arm. "Mason."
"Right, sorry."
The Sorting of the new students into Houses takes place at the start of every school year, but Harry hasn't been at one since his own due to an unlucky combination of circumstances. All forces beyond his control. He is quite looking forward to it. Especially because Mason will be getting Sorted this year. Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice calls down the table.
"Hiya, Harry!"
It's Colin Creevey, a third-year student to whom Harry is something of a hero.
"Hi, Colin," Harry replies warily.
"Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!"
"Er — good," he says awkwardly.
"He's really excited!" Colin beams, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?"
"We will, Colin," Jayla assures him. "As long as you do the same for my brother, Mason."
"Definitely," he replies. Harry and Jayla turn back to Hermione, Ron, and Nearly Headless Nick.
"Brothers and sisters usually go in the same Houses, don't they?" Harry asks. He is judging by the Weasleys, all seven of whom had been put into Gryffindor.
"Oh no, not necessarily," Hermione replies. "Parvati Patil's twins in Ravenclaw, and they're identical. You'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?"
Harry looks up at the staff table. There are relatively more empty seats there than usual. Hagrid, of course, is still fighting across the lake with the first years; Professor McGonagall is presumably supervising the drying of the Entrance Hall floor. However, there is another empty chair, and Harry can't think who else is missing.
"Where's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Jayla wonders, who is also looking up at the teachers with Hermione, both frowning.
They have yet to have a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who has lasted more than three terms. Harry's favourite by far had been Professor Lupin, who resigned last year. He looks up and down the staff table. There is definitely no new face there.
"Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" Hermione exclaims, looking anxious.
"That's fine, I wouldn't mind teaching the classes," Jayla jokes. "It would be a good start in my career."
"Not happening," she retorts, laughing.
Harry scans the table more carefully. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, sits on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat is askew over her flyaway grey hair. She is talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side is the sallow-faced, hook-nosed, greasy-haired Potions master, Snape — Harry's and everybody else's least favourite person at Hogwarts. Harry's loathing of Snape is matched only by Snape's hatred of him, a hatred which has, if possible, intensified last year, when Harry helped Sirius escape right under Snape's overly large nose — Snape and Sirius have been enemies since their own school days.
On Snape's other side is an empty seat, which Harry guesses is Professor McGonagall's. Next to it, and in the centre of the table, sits Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster's sweeping silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. The tips of Dumbledore's long, thin fingers are together, and he rests his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. Harry glances up at the ceiling, too. It is enchanted to look like the sky outside; he has never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds are swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounds outside, a fork of lightning flashes across it.
"Oh hurry up," Ron moans beside Harry, "I could eat a Hippogriff."
The words are no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall open, and silence falls. Professor McGonagall is leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. If Harry, Ron, Jayla, and Hermione are slightly wet, it is nothing to how these first years looked. They appear to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of them are shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they file along the staff table and come to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school — all of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair, who is wrapped in what Harry recognised as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. The coat is so oversized for him that it looks like he was draped in a furry black circus tent. His small face protrudes over the collar, and he seems almost painfully excited. When he lines up with his terrified-looking peers, he catches Colin Creevey's eye, gives a double thumbs-up, and mouths, "I fell in the lake!" He looks positively delighted about it.
"Brilliant!" Jayla giggles, and she catches Mason walking past them.
"He fell in the lake!" Mason mouths, smiling brightly.
Professor McGonagall now places a three-legged stool on the ground before the first years and an ancient, dirty, patched wizard's hat on top of it. The first years stare at it. So does everyone else. For a moment, there is silence. Then a long tear near the brim opens wide like a mouth, and the hat breaks into song:
A thousand years or more ago,
When I was newly sewn,
There lived four wizards of renown,
Whose names are still well known:
Bold Gryffindor from Wild Moor,
Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,
Sweet Hufflepuff from Valley Broad,
Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.
They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,
They hatched a daring plan
To educate young sorcerers
Thus, Hogwarts School began.
Now, each of these four founders
Formed their own house for each
Did value different virtues In the ones they had to teach.
By Gryffindor, the bravest were
Prized far beyond the rest;
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest
Would always be the best;
For Hufflepuff, hard workers were
Most worthy of admission;
And power-hungry Slytherin
Loved those of great ambition.
While still alive, they did divide
Their favourites from the throng,
Yet, how to pick the worthy ones
When they were dead and gone?
'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,
He whipped me off his head
The founders put some brains in me
So I could choose instead!
Now slip me snug about your ears,
I've never yet been wrong,
I'll have a look inside your mind
And tell where you belong!
The Great Hall rings with applause as the Sorting Hat finishes. "That's not the song it sang when it Sorted us," Harry remarks, clapping with everyone else.
"Sings a different one every year," Ron informs him. "It's got to be a pretty boring life, hasn't it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one."
Professor McGonagall is now unrolling a large scroll of parchment.
"When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool," McGonagall tells the nervous first years. "When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table.
"Ackerley, Stewart!"
A boy walks forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picks up the Sorting Hat, puts it on, and sits on the stool.
"RAVENCLAW!" shouts the hat.
Stewart Ackerley takes off the hat and hurries into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone applauds him. Harry catches a glimpse of Cho, the Ravenclaw Seeker, cheering Stewart Ackerley as he sits down.
"Baddock, Malcolm!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
The table on the other side of the Hall erupts with cheers; Harry can see Malfoy clapping as Baddock joins the Slytherins. Harry wonders whether Baddock knows that Slytherin House has turned out more Dark Witches and Wizards than any other. Fred and George hiss Malcolm Baddock as he sits down. "Boys, enough!" Jayla hisses at them, silencing the Weasley twins.
"Branstone, Eleanor!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Cauldwell, Owen!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Creevey, Dennis!"
Tiny Dennis Creevey staggers forward, tripping over Hagrid's moleskin, just as Hagrid himself slides into the Hall through a door behind the teachers' table. About twice as tall as an ordinary man and at least three times as broad, Hagrid, with his long, wild, tangled black hair and beard, looks slightly alarming — a misleading impression, for Harry, Ron, Jayla, and Hermione know Hagrid to possess a very kind nature. He winks at them as he sits at the end of the staff table and watches Dennis Creevey putting on the Sorting Hat. The rip at the brim opens wide —
"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouts.
Hagrid claps along with the Gryffindors as Dennis Creevey, beaming widely, takes off the hat, places it back on the stool, and hurries over to join his brother.
"Colin, I fell in!" he says shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. "It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!"
"Cool!" Colin replies just as excitedly. "It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"
"Wow!" Dennis beams, as though nobody in their wildest dreams can hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake and pushed out of it again by a giant sea monster.
"Dennis! Dennis! See that boy down there? The one with the black hair and glasses? See him? Know who he is, Dennis?"
Harry looks away, staring very hard at the Sorting Hat; it's Mason's turn.
"Darkmore, Mason," Professor McGonagall calls, and the Golden Quartet watch closely as Mason strolls up to the stool before sitting and having the Sorting Hat on his head. There is a moment of silence. Jayla nervously clings to Harry, digging her fingernails into his arm as they watch. Harry wraps his hand around hers and squeezes it as they see the Sorting Hat move.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
There's more silence as Professor McGonagall takes the Sorting Hat off his head. Jayla jumps to her feet and watches Mason as he fixes his hair, smiling. Jayla steps towards him, and he walks up to her, smirking almost, but it turns sincere, pulling his big sister into a hug. Everyone watches, some smiling at the siblings; even the teachers watch. Jayla pushes Neville aside and makes room for Mason, and they sit beside each other.
The Sorting continues, now with Emma Dobbs. There are more boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces, moving one by one to the three-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall passes the L's.
"Oh hurry up," Ron moans, massaging his stomach.
"Now, Ron, the Sorting's much more important than food," Nearly Headless Nick says as "Madley, Laura!" becomes a Hufflepuff.
"' Course it is, if you're dead," He snaps.
"Merlin, you are a bottomless pit. You had droobles and a liquorice wand on the train," Mason retorts, making the older Gryffindors snicker.
"I do hope this year's batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch," Nearly Headless Nick remarks, applauding as "McDonald, Natalie!" joins the Gryffindor table. "We don't want to break our winning streak, do we?"
Gryffindor has won the Inter-House Championship for the last three years.
"Pritchard, Graham!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Quirke, Orla!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
And finally, with "Whitby, Kevin!" ("HUFFLEPUFF!"), the Sorting ends. Professor McGonagall picks up the hat and the stool and carries them away.
"About time," Ron grumbles, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate.
Professor Dumbledore gets to his feet. He's smiling around at the students, his arms open wide in welcome.
"I have only two words to say to you," he tells them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. "Tuck in."
"Hear, hear!" Harry and Ron cheer loudly as the empty dishes fill magically before their eyes.
Nearly Headless Nick watches mournfully as Harry, Ron, and Hermione load their own plates. Jayla helps Mason, piling up his plate and making him groan. "Why can't I have the chicken?" Mason asks.
"Because you don't like chicken and stuffing," Jayla retorts, seeing the grossed-out look on his face.
"Aaah,' at's be'er," Ron says, with his mouth full of mashed potato.
"You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know," Nearly Headless Nick comments. "There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."
"Why? Wha'' appened?" Harry asks, through a sizable chunk of steak.
"Peeves, of course," the Gryffindor ghost replies, shaking his head, which wobbles dangerously. He pulls his ruff a little higher up on his neck. "The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast — well, it's quite out of the question, you know what he's like, utterly uncivilised, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghost's council — the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance — but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down."
The Bloody Baron is the Slytherin ghost, a gaunt and silent spectre covered in silver bloodstains. He is the only person at Hogwarts who can really control Peeves.
"Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something," Ron remarks darkly, thinking about the water balloon. "So what did he do in the kitchens?"
"Oh the usual," Nearly Headless Nick replies, shrugging. "Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits —"
Clang.
Hermione knocks over her golden goblet. Pumpkin juice spreads steadily over the tablecloth, staining several feet of white linen orange, but Hermione pays no attention.
"There are House-Elves here?" Hermione asks, staring, horror-struck, at Nearly Headless Nick. "Here at Hogwarts?"
"What's going on?" Mason asks, turning to his sister as they eat, and Jayla uses some napkins to clean the pumpkin juice off the table before it spreads onto the floor.
"Hermione's on a crusade," Jayla retorts, ignoring her best friend.
"Certainly," Nearly Headless Nick replies to Hermione, looking surprised at her reaction. "The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred."
"I've never seen one!" Hermione argues.
"Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?" He says. "They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning . . . see to the fires and so on. . . . I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good House-Elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?"
Hermione stares at him.
"But they get paid?" she asks. "They get holidays, don't they? And — and sick leave, and pensions, and everything?"
Nearly Headless Nick chortles so much that his ruff slips and his head flops off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle still attached to his neck.
"Sick leave and pensions?" The Gryffindor Ghost questions, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it again with his ruff. "House-Elves don't want sick leave and pensions!"
Hermione looks down at her hardly-touched plate of food, then puts her knife and fork down and pushes it away.
"Oh c'mon,' Er-my-knee," Ron says, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. "Oops — sorry,' Arry —" He swallows. "You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself!"
"Slave labour," Hermione says, breathing hard through her nose. "That's what made this dinner. Slave labour." And she refuses to eat another bite.
The rain is still drumming heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of thunder shakes the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashes, illuminating the golden plates as the first course's remains vanish and are instantly replaced with puddings.
"Treacle tart, Hermione!" Ron beams, deliberately wafting its smell toward her. "Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!"
But Hermione gives him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gives up.
"Hermione," Jayla says, making her look at her best friend. "If Flora or Dobby made that for you. Would you just not eat it, and upset them so greatly?"
"That's different," Hermione argues; this attracts some attention from the others around them. "You pay them. You give them a room of their own. You give them holidays. You are kind and caring towards them. Flora and Dobby are a part of your family."
"Some House-Elves don't want that. But the ones here, they like working here because it's safe. They're treated with respect and kindness from the staff and students. But you not eating is basically spitting at their hard work," Jayla retorts, looking at her.
Hermione sits there in her own head for a while as everyone enjoys the dessert, some eyeing the Golden Quartet.
When the puddings have been demolished, and the last crumbs fade off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore returns to his feet. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceases almost immediately, so only the howling wind and pounding rain can be heard.
"So!" Dumbledore says, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered," ("Hmph!" Hermione grumbles) "I must once more ask for your attention while I give out a few notices.
"Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."
The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitch. He continues, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
"What?" Harry gasps. He looks around at Fred and George, his fellow members of the Quidditch team. They are mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak.
"You can't do that!" Jayla snaps, glaring up at the Staff Table. Dumbledore goes on,
"This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy — but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts —"
But at that moment, there is a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall bang open.
A man stands in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black travelling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swivels toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowers his hood, shakes out a long mane of grizzled, dark grey hair, and then begins to walk up toward the teachers' table.
A dull clunk echoes through the Hall on his every other step. He reaches the end of the top table, turns right, and limps heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crosses the ceiling. Hermione gasps.
The lightning throws the man's face into sharp relief, and it is a face unlike any Harry has ever seen. It looks as though it has been carved out of weathered wood by someone who has only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like and is none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seems to be scarred. The mouth looks like a diagonal gash and a large chunk of the nose is missing. But it is the man's eyes that make him frightening.
One of them is small, dark, and beady. The other is large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye is moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and is rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye — and then it rolls right over, pointing into the back of the man's head so that all they can see is whiteness.
The stranger reaches Dumbledore. He stretches out a hand that is as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shakes it, muttering words Harry can't hear. He seems to be inquiring about the stranger, who shakes his head unsmiling and replies with an undertone. Dumbledore nods and gestures to the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.
The stranger sits down, shakes his mane of dark grey hair out of his face, pulls a plate of sausages toward him, raises it to what is left of his nose, and sniffs it. He then takes a small knife out of his pocket, spears a sausage on its end, and begins eating. His normal eye is fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye still darts restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.
"May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Dumbledore says brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody."
It is usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause. Still, none of the staff or students clap except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applaud, but the sound echoes dismally into the silence, and they stop pretty quickly. Everyone else seems too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.
"Moody?" Harry mutters to Ron. "Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?"
"Must be," Ron replies in a low, awed voice.
"What happened to him?" Hermione whispers. "What happened to his face?"
"Dunno," Ron whispers back, watching Moody with fascination.
"Probably from all those Dark Witches and Wizards he's put in Azkaban," Jayla remarks, watching.
Moody seems totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reaches again into his travelling cloak, pulls out a hip flask, and takes a long draught. As he lifts his arm to drink, his cloak is pulled a few inches from the ground, and Harry sees, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg ending in a clawed foot.
Dumbledore clears his throat.
"As I was saying," he says, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom are still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."
"You're JOKING!" Fred Weasley shouts.
"Oh Merlin," Jayla mutters.
The tension that fills the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly breaks. Nearly everyone laughs, and Dumbledore chuckles appreciatively.
"I am not joking, Mr Weasley," he replies calmly, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a Troll, a Hag, and a Leprechaun who all go into a bar . . ."
Professor McGonagall clears her throat loudly. "Er — but maybe this is not the time . . . no . . ." Dumbledore says, "Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament . . . well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation and allow their attention to wander freely.
"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities — until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."
"Death toll?" Hermione whispers, looking alarmed. But her anxiety does not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them are whispering excitedly to one another, and Harry himself is far more interested in hearing about the tournament than in worrying about deaths that have happened hundreds of years ago. Harry glances at Jayla, who holds Mason close to her and looks excited about the news, not caring about the whole death toll like the other senseless students.
"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continues, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger this time.
"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween." ("Hallows Eve!" Jayla coughs loudly.) An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."
"I'm going for it!" Fred Weasley hisses down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He is not the only person who seems to be visualising himself as the Hogwarts champion. Harry can see people gazing raptly at Dumbledore at every House table or whispering fervently to their neighbours. But then Dumbledore speaks again, and the Hall quiets once more.
"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age — that is to say, seventeen years or older — will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This" — Dumbledore raises his voice slightly, for several people have made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins are suddenly looking furious — "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." His light blue eyes twinkle as they flicker over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.
"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"
Dumbledore sits down again and turns to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There is an excellent scraping and banging as all the students get to their feet and swarm toward the double doors into the Entrance Hall.
"They can't do that!" George Weasley exclaims, who has not joined the crowd moving toward the door but is standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"
"They're not stopping me entering," Fred argues stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"
"Yeah," Ron says, a faraway look on his face. "Yeah, a thousand Galleons . . ."
"Come on," Hermione snaps, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."
"Stay here, Mase, listen to the Prefects, even if they do seem snobbish," Jayal tells Mason, pushing him towards the other first-year Gryffindors as they head out of the Great Hall.
Harry, Ron, Jayla, Hermione, Fred, and George set off for the Entrance Hall, the Weasley twins debating how Dumbledore might stop those under seventeen from entering the tournament.
"Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?" Harry wonders.
"Dunno," Fred retorts, "but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George. . . ."
"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," Ron argues, looking at his older brothers.
"Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?" He replies shrewdly. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."
"People have died, though!" Hermione exclaims in a worried voice as they walk through a door concealed behind a tapestry and start up another, narrower staircase.
"Yeah," Fred says airily, "but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get 'round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?"
"What d'you reckon?" Ron asks Harry. "Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older. . . . Dunno if we've learned enough. . . ."
"I definitely haven't," Neville remarks in a gloomy voice behind Fred and George. "I expect my gran'd want me to try, though. She's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honour. I'll just have to — oops. . . ."
Neville's foot has sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. There are many of these trick stairs at Hogwarts; it is second nature to most older students to jump this particular step, but Neville's memory is notoriously poor. Harry and Ron seize him under the armpits and pull him out while a suit of armour at the top of the stairs creak and clank, laughing wheezily.
"Shut it, you," Ron says, banging down its visor as they pass.
They make their way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, concealed behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress. "Password?" She requests as they approach.
"Balderdash," George says and turns to the others, who look at him, "a Prefect downstairs told me."
The portrait swings forward to reveal a hole in the wall through which they all climb. A crackling fire warms the circular Common Room, full of squashy armchairs and tables. Hermione casts the merrily dancing flames with a dark look, and Harry distinctly hears her mutter "Slave labour," before bidding them good night and disappearing through the doorway to the girls' dormitory.
"I'm gonna stay and wait for Mason before heading up," Jayla says, settling on her armchair by the fire. Harry, Ron, and Neville leave her, saying goodnight before heading up the spiralling staircase.
It doesn't take too long for the Prefect to arrive with the first-year students, Mason among them. They all have the same awestruck look on their faces that every first-year student has when they enter the Common Room. "This is the Gryffindor Common Room. Upstairs are your dorms, boys to the left, girls to the right."
"Because girls are always right," Jayla remarks, making them look at her as she stands from her armchair and moves towards them. Mason smiles at his big sister. "I will see you tomorrow. Do not prank anyone for at least 2 weeks," she whispers the last time.
Harry, Ron, and Neville climb up the last spiral staircase until they reach their dormitory at the top of the tower. Five four-poster beds with deep crimson hangings stand against the walls, each with its owner's trunk at the foot. Dean and Seamus are already getting into bed; Seamus has pinned his Ireland rosette to his headboard, and Dean has tacked up a poster of Viktor Krum over his bedside table. His old West Ham football team poster is pinned right next to it.
"Mental," Ron sighs, shaking his head at the completely stationary soccer players.
The boys get into their pyjamas and into bed. Someone — a House-Elf, no doubt — placed warming pans between the sheets. It is incredibly comfortable, lying in bed and listening to the storm raging outside. "I might go in for it, you know," Ron remarks sleepily through the darkness, "if Fred and George find out how to . . . the tournament . . . you never know, do you?"
"S'pose not. . . ."
Harry rolls over in bed, a series of dazzling new pictures forming in his mind's eye. . . . He hoodwinks the impartial judge into believing he is seventeen . . . Harry becomes Hogwarts champion . . . he stands on the grounds, his arms raised in triumph in front of the whole school, all of whom are applauding and screaming . . . Harry just won the Triwizard Tournament. . . . Jayla's face stands out particularly clearly in the blurred crowd, her face glowing with admiration. . . . He can imagine the fantastic kiss they'd share...
Harry grins into his pillow, exceptionally glad Ron can't see what he can.
Jayla enters her dorm, smiling at the golden plaque on the door before opening it. She steps inside and finds Hermione and Ginny giggling over something as they get into their pyjamas. "What's got you so giggly?" Jayla asks, closing the door.
"We were talking about boys," Ginny laughs, sitting on her bed.
"I see," she muses, brushing her teeth in the bathroom. "So, any boys got your eyes, ladies?" She looks at her roommates.
"Well, Parvati was saying she likes a certain ginger-haired boy we both know," Hermione laughs, and Jayla steps out of the bathroom in shock. This makes Ginny and Hermione giggle again.
"That was my reaction," Ginny smiles at her friend. She may have a crush on Harry, but she knows that Jayla and Harry are endgame.
"Please say that were talking about maybe Fred and George, because Ron is messy, eats everything, and needs a serious haircut." Jayla argues, looking at Parvati, and it becomes clear that they're talking about Ron. "Oh, wow." She sighs and goes back into the bathroom to rinse. "Good luck to you. I mean, I would go for anyone but Ron. I love him as an annoying brother, but he needs some work before he can even think about getting into a relationship with that dweeb."
"I lied," Parvati mutters, hanging her head.
"Sorry," the Heiress groans, moving towards her bed and lying on it. "Who do you really like, then?"
"It's Dean," she whispers, and the girls squeal, jumping onto the bed.
The storm has blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the Great Hall is still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter grey swirl overhead as Harry, Ron, Jayla, and Hermione examine their new course schedules at breakfast. A few seats along, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan are discussing magical methods of ageing themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament. Mason comes downstairs with a few other first years, seeming close with them. Jayla smiles at her brother, who sits a little away with small "mornings" before starting their breakfast.
"Today's not bad . . . outside all morning," Ron remarks, who is running his finger down the Monday column of his schedule. "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures . . . damn it, we're still with the Slytherins. . . ."
"You've got double Divination this afternoon," Harry groans, looking down. Divination is his least favourite subject, apart from Potions. Professor Trelawney keeps predicting Harry's death, which he finds highly annoying. He's glad he asked to take a different subject; he's decided to take Arithmancy with Hermione this year. He reads a few books over the summer and finds it interesting.
"You should have given it up like me and Harry, shouldn't you?" Hermione retorts briskly, buttering herself some toast. "Then you'd be doing something sensible like Arithmancy."
"You're eating again, I notice," Ron remarks, ignoring that Hermione and Harry have abandoned him, watching Hermione add liberal amounts of jam to her toast, too.
"I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about Elf rights," She informs him haughtily.
"Yeah . . . and you were hungry," he argues, grinning.
"Leave her alone, Ron, she's come up with a new, less destructive plan," Jayla retorts, adding honey to her porridge.
There is a sudden rustling above them, and a hundred owls come soaring through the open windows carrying the morning mail. Instinctively, Harry looks up, but there is no sign of white among the mass of brown and grey. The owls circle the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages are addressed. A large tawny owl soars down to Neville Longbottom and deposits a parcel into his lap — Neville almost always forgot to pack something. On the other side of the Hall, Draco Malfoy's eagle owl has landed on his shoulder, carrying what looks like his usual supply of sweets and cakes from home. Trying to ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment in his stomach, Harry returns to his porridge.
"Is it possible that something had happened to Hedwig, and that Sirius hasn't even sent me a letter?"
"Harry, are you okay?" Jayla asks, looking at him as she memorises her timetable.
"Yeah, just thinking," Harry replies.
"I was thinking, we should do your lessons during your free time, which is when I have my flying lessons," she suggests, turning to him.
"I'd like that," he says, smiling at her.
His preoccupation lasts all the way across the sodden vegetable patch until they arrive in greenhouse three. Still, here he is, distracted by Professor Sprout showing the class the ugliest plants Harry or anyone else has ever seen. Indeed, they look less like plants than thick, black, giant slugs protruding vertically out of the soil. Each squirms slightly and has several large, shiny swellings that appear full of liquid. "Bubotubers," Professor Sprout tells the fourth-year students briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus —"
"The what?" Seamus Finnigan asks, sounding revolted.
"Pus, Finnigan, pus," Sprout repeats, "and it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves; it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, bubotuber pus."
Squeezing the bubotubers is disgusting but oddly satisfying. As each swelling pops, a large amount of thick yellowish-green liquid bursts forth, which smells strongly of petrol. They catch it in the bottles, as Professor Sprout has indicated, and by the end of the lesson, they have collected several pints.
"This'll keep Madam Pomfrey happy," She remarks, topping the last bottle with a cork. "An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples."
"Like poor Eloise Midgen," Hannah Abbott comments, a Hufflepuff, in a hushed voice. "She tried to curse hers off."
"Silly girl," Professor Sprout remarks, shaking her head. "But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end."
A booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signalling the end of the lesson.
"I hate that lesson," Jayla groans; she only ever gets a passing grade in Herbology, which she doesn't mind so much, though she does talk to Professor Sprout about poisonous plants, finding them fascinating.
The class separate; the Hufflepuffs climbing the stone steps for Transfiguration, and the Gryffindors heading in the other direction, down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid's small wooden cabin, which stands on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Hagrid is standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There are several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet, and Fang is whimpering and straining at his collar, apparently keen to investigate the contents more closely. As they draw nearer, an odd rattling noise reaches their ears, punctuated by what sounds like minor explosions.
"Mornin'!" Hagrid greets the students, grinning at Harry, Ron, Jayla, and Hermione. "Be'er wait fer the Slytherins, they won' want ter miss this — Blast-Ended Skrewts!"
"Come again?" Ron asks. Hagrid points down into the crates.
"Eurgh!" Lavender Brown squeals, jumping backwards.
"Eurgh" just about sums up the Blast-Ended Skrewts, in Harry's opinion. They look like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. There are about a hundred of them in each crate, each about six inches long, crawling over one another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They are giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Occasionally, sparks fly out of the end of a Skrewt, and with a small phut, it propels forward several inches.
"On'y jus' hatched," Hagrid says proudly, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"
"They're adorable," Jayla mutters, getting a few strange looks from the other Gryffindors.
"And why would we want to raise them?" says a cold voice.
The Slytherins have arrived. The speaker is Draco Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle are chuckling appreciatively at his words.
Hagrid looks stumped at the question.
"I mean, what do they do?" Malfoy asks. "What is the point of them?"
Hagrid opens his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there is a few seconds' pause, then he says roughly, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things — I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer — I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake — just try 'em out with a bit of each."
"First pus and now this," Seamus mutters.
Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid can have made the Golden Quartet pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Harry can't suppress the suspicion that the whole thing is entirely pointless because the Skrewts don't seem to have mouths.
"Ouch!" Dean Thomas yells after about ten minutes. "It got me!"
Hagrid hurries over to him, looking anxious.
"Its end exploded!" Dean exclaims angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand.
"Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," Hagrid retorts, nodding.
"Eurgh!" Lavender Brown squeals again. "Eurgh, Hagrid, what's that pointy thing on it?"
"Ah, some of 'em have got stings," He replies enthusiastically (Lavender quickly withdraws her hand from the box). "I reckon they're the males. . . . The females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies. . . . I think they might be ter suck blood."
"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," Malfoy remarks sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"
"Just because they're not very pretty, it doesn't mean they're not useful," Hermione snaps. "Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?"
Harry and Ron grin at Hagrid, who gives them a furtive smile from behind his bushy beard. Hagrid would have liked nothing better than a pet dragon, as Harry, Ron, Jayla, and Hermione know only too well — he owned one briefly during their first year, a vicious Norwegian Ridgeback named Norbert, now known as Norberta. Hagrid simply loves monstrous creatures; the more lethal they are, the better. Jayla also loves them, which is apparent since she is cuddling with her own Skrewt, who loves the attention.
"Well, at least the Skrewts are small," Ron argues as they make their way back up to the castle for lunch an hour later.
"They are now," Hermione retorts in an exasperated voice, "but once Hagrid's found out what they eat, I expect they'll be six feet long."
"Well, that won't matter if they turn out to cure seasickness or something, will it?" Jayla jokes, grinning slyly at her.
"You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up," She retorts. "As a matter of fact I think he's right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all."
"I love, snappy Hermione, she's so nice and lovely," the Heiress teases, hugging her best friend. The boys laugh as they enter the castle.
The Golden Quartet later sits at the Gryffindor table and helps themselves with lamb chops and potatoes. Hermione begins eating so fast that Harry and Ron stare at her. "Er — is this the new stand on Elf rights?" Ron asks. "You're going to make yourself puke instead?"
"No," Hermione replies, with as much dignity as she can muster, her mouth bulging with sprouts. "I just want to get to the library."
"What?" He questions in disbelief. "Hermione — it's the first day back! We haven't even got homework yet!"
Hermione shrugs and shovels her food like she has not eaten for days. Then she leaps, says, "See you at dinner!" and departs at high speed.
"See you later!" Jayla calls after her.
"Got any clue why she's going to the library?" Harry asks her.
"It's her new plan to help the House-Elves," she tells him. "Now, shall we go over your homework?"
"What homework?" Ron asks, looking between them as Harry and Jayla go to her flying lesson together to do their lessons on the Wizarding World.
"She's given me the task of reading Hogwarts: A History," Harry tells him.
"Because it should be a recommended reading before coming to Hogwarts. Along with a lot more books for people that are coming to school from the Muggle World," Jayla explains, looking at Ron. "I mean, no offence Ron, but you don't know more than Hermione about Hogwarts or the Wizarding World because she dives into more books. It's a little sad."
"Thanks, JJ," Ron mutters.
"You could join us in our lessons if you'd like," she asks, looking at Ron, who frowns. "I even grade you at the end of the year."
"I got an O, it was rather satisfying," Harry remarks, smiling at Jayla.
"I talked to McGonagall, too," the Heiress tells them, surprising the boys. "She loved my idea about tutoring for first year Muggleborns about the Wizarding World. I mean it's only fair. We have a subject to learn about Muggles."
When the bell rings to signal the start of the afternoon lesson, Ron sets off for the North Tower, where, at the top of a tightly spiralling staircase, a silver stepladder leads to a circular trapdoor in the ceiling and the room where Professor Trelawney lives.
But thankfully, Harry doesn't have to go there anymore. He feels terrible about abandoning Ron but can't do another year with Professor Trelawney predicting his death again. Harry heads up the stairs to the Seventh Floor with Jayla to the Sixth, where she goes to her own class, and he finds the classroom, some other students walking inside, a few faces he recognises as he finds himself a desk. Soon, Hermione joins him, smiling, with her bag full of books that are not for their class. She hurriedly grabs her book and notebook as their teacher, Professor Vector, strolls into the room with a friendly smile.
"Now, I hope you've all read the books beforehand," Professor Vector remarks as the students get their books out.
Harry looks at Professor Vector; she's a lovely lady with long brunette hair that reaches down the middle of her back. She wears a red robe over a darker velvet dress and a pointed hat that matches her robes.
Ron smells the familiar sweet perfume spreading from the fire meets his nostrils as he emerges at the top of the stepladder. As ever, the curtains are all closed; the circular room is bathed in a dim reddish light cast by the many lamps, all draped with scarves and shawls. Ron walks through the mass of occupied chintz chairs and pouffes that clutter the room and sits at the same circular table.
"Good day," says the misty voice of Professor Trelawney right behind Ron, making him jump.
A skinny woman with enormous glasses that make her eyes appear far too large for her face, Professor Trelawney is peering down at Harry with the tragic expression she always wears whenever she sees him. The usual large amount of beads, chains, and bangles glitter upon her person in the firelight.
Meanwhile, Jayla smiles as she walks to the Sixth floor with Harry before heading for her classroom. "See ya, Harry," she says before disappearing down the hallway and leaving Harry to climb the staircase alone for one more floor.
"Bye, Jayla," Harry calls after her, smiling as he watches him walk before heading up the stairs.
Jayla steps into the room and smiles as she looks at the small number of students sitting at the desks. She sits near the front as Professor Babbling, a sweet elderly woman, wears a dark green dress and robes, not wearing a pointed hat like most professors. Professor Babbling smiles at her small number of students, all familiar faces. The Witch wishes more people would consider the course, but she loves her little classes.
She won't admit it, but Jayla is her favourite student. Her mind is fascinating as she sits in the front, reading books a few years ahead of the others, but she always does the homework and participates in the lesson.
"Now, class, are we ready?" Professor Babbling asks as she stands at the front of the classroom. "Jayla, I'd like a word before you leave," she whispers, glancing at Jayla, who nods, smiling back at her.
Ron hates that he's alone. The perfumed fire always makes him feel sleepy and dull-witted, and Professor Trelawney's rambling talks on fortune-telling never hold him exactly spellbound - though he can't help thinking about what she just said to the class.
But maybe Hermione and Jayla are right, Ron thinks irritably; Professor Trelawney really is an old fraud. He wishes he had Harry with him, but of course, his best friend left him for something likely more interesting than Divination. "This is the worst," Ron groans, hanging his head.
Seamus and Dean, who are working nearby, snigger loudly, though not loudly enough to mask the excited squeals from Lavender Brown — "Oh Professor, look! I think I've got an unaspected planet! Oooh, which one's that, Professor?"
"It is Uranus, my dear," Professor Trelawney replies, peering down at the chart.
"Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?" Ron asks, trying to distract himself from his boredom.
Most unfortunately, Professor Trelawney hears him, which makes her give them so much homework at the end of the class.
"A detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming month will affect you, with reference to your personal chart," she snaps, sounding much more like Professor McGonagall than her usual airy-fairy self. "I want it ready to hand in next Monday, and no excuses!"
Classes end, and Ron quickly races out of Divination, wishing he was elsewhere. Double Divination on the first day back is torture. He storms down the stairs of the North Tower, grumbling bitterly to himself. "Miserable old bat."
"What happened?" Jayla asks, joining him as they walk ahead with the crowd descending the staircases back to the Great Hall for dinner.
"Homework. On the first day," he retorts, groaning again.
"Least it's Friday," she argues. "I got some homework too. Seventh Year Ancient Runes. I have to write a 14 inch essay."
"That sounds better than what I've had to deal with, right now," the younger Weasley boy argues.
"What's your homework?" The Heiress asks, smiling. "Did she say anything useful?"
"Nope," Ron replies, shrugging.
"What boring lesson did you have?" Jayla asks him.
"Planet alignments," he tells her, and Jayla laughs.
"What do the planets have to do with anything!" She laughs.
"I have no idea," the ginger-haired boy remarks, laughing with her.
"Why don't you ask McGonagall to change courses, if you don't like it, Ron, you don't have to suffer the pain of Divination." the dual-haired Witch suggests as they get down to the first floor.
"What would I do?" Ron asks, thinking about it because he hates Divination and can't do it for another year.
"Well, you've got Ancient Runes with me," Jayla says, seeing the frown on his face. "Maybe not. What about Arithmancy with Hermione and Harry?" Ron shakes his head. "Okay. Well that leaves Muggle Studies."
"I don't know, that sounds boring," he argues, and Jayla looks at him.
"Well, stay in Divination then," she retorts, and he groans. "I think Muggle Studies is a good idea. I mean, think about it. You could even help your dad with his little projects and talk to him about all the things he loves about Muggles." Ron looks at her and smiles.
"Yeah, that doesn't sound too bad actually," the younger Weasley boy muses, thinking about it.
"Do you want me to help you with talking with Professor McGonagall?" the Darkmore Heiress asks, smiling.
"No. I can handle it, thanks, JJ," Ron smiles at her as they enter the Great Hall for dinner, needing to eat. Hermione and Harry finally join them as they get to the Entrance Hall. "Do you think I could get out of doing all that homework?"
"Lots of homework?" Hermione asks brightly, catching up with them. "Professor Vector didn't give us any at all!"
"Well, bully for Professor Vector," Ron grumbles moodily. Jayla smiles as he sees him wink at her.
The Golden Quartet reaches the Entrance Hall, packed with people queuing for dinner. They just join the end of the line when a loud voice rings out behind them.
"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!"
Harry, Ron, Jayla, and Hermione turn. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle are standing there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something.
"What?" Ron asks shortly, his excellent mood disappearing quickly.
"Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!" Malfoy informs him, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet and speaking loudly so everyone in the packed Entrance Hall can hear. "Listen to this!
FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its Witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office."
Malfoy looks up.
"Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?" he crows.
Everyone in the Entrance Hall is listening now. Malfoy straightens the paper with a flourish and reads on:
Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers ("policemen") over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of "Mad-Eye" Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr Moody's heavily guarded house, that Mr Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen but refused to answer Daily Prophet questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene.
"And there's a picture, Weasley!" Draco exclaims, flipping the paper over and holding it up. "A picture of your parents outside their house — if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"
Ron is shaking with fury. Everyone is staring at him.
"Get stuffed, Malfoy," Harry growls. "C'mon, Ron. . . ."
"Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" Malfoy sneers. "So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?"
"You know your mother, Malfoy?" He remarks — both he and Hermione grab the back of Ron's robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy.
"Harry, tread carefully," Jayla warns, thinking of her aunt.
Malfoy's pale face went slightly pink.
"Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."
"Keep your fat mouth shut, then," Harry snaps, turning away.
BANG!
Several people scream — Harry feels something white-hot graze the side of his face — he plunges his hand into his robes for his wand, but before he even touches it, he hears a second loud BANG and a roar that echoes through the Entrance Hall.
"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"
Harry spins around. Professor Moody is limping down the marble staircase. His wand is out, pointing right at a pure white ferret, shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy was standing.
There is a terrified silence in the entrance hall. Nobody but Moody is moving a muscle. Moody turns to look at Harry — at least, his normal eye is looking at Harry; the other one is pointing into the back of his head.
"Did he get you?" Moody growls. His voice is low and gravelly.
"No," Harry replies, "missed."
"LEAVE IT!" Moody shouts.
"Leave — what?" He asks, bewildered.
"Not you — him!" The DADA Professor growls, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who freezes, about to pick up the white ferret. It seems that Moody's rolling eye is magical and can see from the back of his head.
Moody starts to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gives a terrified squeak and takes off, streaking toward the dungeons.
"I don't think so!" Moody roars, pointing his wand at the ferret again — it flies ten feet into the air, falls with a smack to the floor, and then bounces upward again.
"I don't like people who attack when their opponent's backs turned," He growls as the ferret bounces higher and higher, squealing in pain. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do. . . ."
The ferret flies through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly.
"Professor, please!" Jayla cries, watching her cousin.
"Never — do — that — again —" Moody says, speaking each word as the ferret hits the stone floor and bounces upward again.
"Professor Moody!" says a shocked voice.
Professor McGonagall is coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.
"Hello, Professor McGonagall," Moody greets calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.
"What — what are you doing?" Professor McGonagall asks, her eyes following the bouncing ferret's progress through the air.
"Teaching," he replies.
"Teach — Moody, is that a student?" Professor McGonagall shrieks, the books spilling out of her arms. Jayla catches them before they hit the floor.
"Yep," the DADA Professor says cooly.
"No!" McGonagall cries, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy reappears, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He gets to his feet, wincing.
"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!" Professor McGonagall snaps weakly. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"
"He might've mentioned it, yeah," Moody remarks, scratching his chin unconcernedly, "but I thought a good sharp shock —"
"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"
"I'll do that, then," he remarks, staring at Malfoy with great disdain. Malfoy, whose pale eyes are still watering with pain and humiliation, looks malevolently up at Moody and mutters something in which the words "my father" are distinguishable.
"Oh yeah?" Moody questions quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the Hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy. . . . You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son . . . you tell him that from me. . . . Now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?"
"Yes," Malfoy says resentfully.
"Another old friend," Moody growls. "I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape. . . . Come on, you. . . ."
And he seizes Malfoy's upper arm and marches him off toward the dungeons.
Professor McGonagall stares anxiously after them for a few moments, then waves her wand at her books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms.
"Thank you, Miss Darkmore," McGonagall says, storming into the Great Hall.
"Professor! Ron would like a word!" Jayla calls after her, looking at Ron, who smiles at her. Harry and Hermione look at them, wondering what's happening between them.
"Don't talk to me," Ron says quietly to Harry and Hermione as they sit down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surrounded by excited talk on all sides about what had just happened. Ron finishes his conversation with Professor McGonagall, who says she'll talk with him tomorrow and see what she can do.
"Why not?" Hermione asks in surprise.
"Because I want to fix that in my memory forever," He retorts, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret . . ."
Harry, Jayla, and Hermione laugh, and Hermione begin doling beef casserole onto each of their plates. Jayla takes the mashed potatoes and carrots with some chicken breast and gravy.
"He could have really hurt Malfoy, though," she argues. "It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it —"
"Hermione!" Ron sighs furiously, his eyes snapping open again, "you're ruining the best moment of my life!"
Hermione makes an impatient noise and begins to eat at top speed again.
"Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?" Harry asks Hermione, watching her.
"Got to," Hermione replies thickly. "Loads to do."
"But you told us Professor Vector —" Jayla argues, looking at her best friend.
"It's not schoolwork," she tells them. Within five minutes, she had cleared her plate and departed. No sooner has she gone than her seat is taken by Fred Weasley.
"Moody!" Fred says. "How cool is he?"
"Beyond cool," George retorts, sitting down opposite Fred.
"Supercool," the twins' best friend, Lee Jordan, agrees, sliding into the seat beside George. "We had him this afternoon," he tells the boys and Jayla.
"What was it like?" Jayla asks eagerly. Harry smiles at her enthusiasm for the class, knowing she wants to become the DADA Professor one day.
Fred, George, and Lee exchange a look full of meaning.
"Never had a lesson like it," Fred muses.
"He knows, man," Lee says.
"Knows what?" Ron asks, leaning forward.
"Knows what it's like to be out there doing it," George replies impressively.
"Doing what?" Harry asks, looking at the twins and Lee.
"Fighting the Dark Arts," Fred tells them.
"He's seen it all," George muses.
"' Mazing," Lee says. Ron dives into his bag for his schedule.
"We haven't got him till Tuesday!" Ron exclaims in a disappointed voice.
"Don't cry about it," Jayla says, making the twins laugh. "We have the weekend to enjoy!"
Breakfast between 7:30 am - 9:00 am
Lessons are 1 hour long
10-minute breaks between classes
Lunch between 13:00 Pm - 14:30 pm
Dinner between 16:30 pm - 18:30 pm
Curfew at 21:00 pm
MONDAY
1st Period: 9:00 am - 10:00 am
History of Magic - Classroom 4F (Professor Binns)
2nd Period: 10:00 am - 11:00 am
Charms - Classroom 2E (Professor Flitwick)
3rd Period: 12:00 pm - 13:00 pm
Transfiguration - Classroom 1B (Professor McGonagall)
4th Period: 14:30 pm - 15:30 pm
Potions - Dungeon Five (Professor Snape)
5th Period: 15:30 pm - 16:30 pm
Potions - Dungeon Five (Professor Snape)
TUESDAY
1st Period: 9:00 am - 10:00 am
History of Magic - Classroom 4F (Professor Binns)
2nd Period: 10:00 am - 11:00 am
History of Magic - Classroom 4F (Professor Binns)
3rd Period: 12:00 pm - 13:00 pm
Herbology - Greenhouse Four (Professor Sprout)
4th Period: 14:30 pm - 15:30 pm
Study of Ancient Runes - Classroom 6A (Professor Babbling)
5th Period: 15:30 pm - 16:30 pm
Defence Against the Dark Arts - Classroom 3C (Professor Moody)
WEDNESDAY
1st Period: 9:00 am - 10:00 am
Care of Magical Creatures - Gamekeeper's Hut (Professor Hagrid)
2nd Period: 10:00 am - 11:00 am
Care of Magical Creatures - Gamekeeper's Hut (Professor Hagrid)
3rd Period: 12:00 pm - 13:00 pm
Charms - Classroom 2E (Professor Flitwick)
4th Period: 14:30 pm - 15:30 pm
Potions - Dungeon Five (Professor Snape)
5th Period: 15:30 pm - 16:30 pm
Transfiguration - Classroom 1B (Professor McGonagall)
THURSDAY
1st Period: 9:00 am - 10:00 am
Transfiguration - Classroom 1B (Professor McGonagall)
2nd Period: 10:00 am - 11:00 am
Charms - Classroom 2E (Professor Flitwick)
3rd Period: 12:00 pm - 13:00 pm
Herbology - Greenhouse Four (Professor Sprout)
4th Period: 14:30 pm - 15:30 pm
Defence Against the Dark Arts - Classroom 3C (Professor Moody)
5th Period: 15:30 pm - 16:30 pm
Defence Against the Dark Arts - Classroom 3C (Professor Moody)
6th Period: 00:00 am - 1:00 am
Astronomy - Astronomy Tower (Professor Sinistra)
FRIDAY
1st Period: 9:00 am - 10:00 am
Herbology - Greenhouse Four (Professor Sprout)
2nd Period: 10:00 am - 11:00 am
Care of Magical Creatures - Gamekeeper's Hut (Professor Hagrid)
3rd Period: 12:00 pm - 13:00 pm
Flying - Training Grounds (Madam Hooch)
4th Period: 14:30 pm - 15:30 pm
Study of Ancient Runes - Classroom 6A (Professor Babbling)
5th Period: 15:30 pm - 16:30 pm
Study of Ancient Runes - Classroom 6A (Professor Babbling)
SATURDAY
10:00 am - 11:00 am
Potions - Dungeon Five (Professor Snape)
14:00 pm - 15:00 pm
Charms - Classroom 2E (Professor Flitwick)
SUNDAY
16:00 pm - 16:30 pm
Music Club