XXXV. Ardent
Very enthusiastic or passionate.
The weekend passes pretty quickly for everyone; like always, the girls fix their dormitory, put up their little decorations and set other things around the room. Jayla finishes putting away her clothes as the last day focuses mainly on classes.
The boys also do the same thing, though the first-years enjoy their time around the castle. Mason stays with a few other classmates, smiling as he looks around the grounds. He remembers reading Jayla's letters and trying to describe the place; even their mother would tell them stories about her time at Hogwarts.
"I can't believe I'm really here," A boy named Noah beams as they sit around the Black Lake. "When Professor McGonagall came to my house and told me I was a Wizard, I didn't believe her. But now I'm here and learning magic."
"I know. My parents and my sister all talked about learning magic and using it. I can't wait to learn more," Mason retorts, smiling.
"Your sister's Jayla right?" Amelia asks, looking at him.
"Yeah, the one that keeps getting into trouble," he retorts, laughing. "She was grounded for half the summer after her first year."
"She faced against You-Know-Who, right?" Liam asks, and Mason nods, hating that thought. Jayla had faced Voldemort two times when she was his age, and she suffered from nightmares.
"Yeah." Mason mutters, looking down at his book. "With her friends."
"She's really brave. A true Gryffindor," Amelia says, making the others look at her. "I don't know why the Hat put me in here. I don't think I'm very brave."
The weekend passes without remarkable incident unless you count Neville melting his sixth cauldron in Potions on Monday. Professor Snape, who seems to have attained new levels of vindictiveness over the summer, gives Neville detention. Neville returns from it in a state of nervous collapse, having been made to disembowel a barrel full of horned toads.
"You know why Snape's in such a foul mood, don't you?" Ron asks Harry as they watch Hermione teaching Neville a Scouring Charm to remove the frog guts from under his fingernails. Jayla is in her own world as she reads a book while simultaneously stirring her cauldron without looking.
"Yeah," Harry replies. "Moody."
It's common knowledge that Snape really wants the Dark Arts job, and he has now failed to get it for the fourth year running. Snape strongly dislikes all of their previous Dark Arts teachers and shows it — but he seems strangely wary of displaying overt animosity toward Mad-Eye Moody. Indeed, whenever Harry sees the two of them together — at mealtimes or when they pass in the corridors — he has the distinct impression that Snape is avoiding Moody's eye, whether magical or ordinary.
"I reckon Snape's a bit scared of him, you know," Harry remarks thoughtfully.
"Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a horned toad," Ron retorts, his eyes misting over, "and bounced him all around his dungeon. . . ."
"That would be an interesting sight," Jayla comments, looking up from her book at the boys, who look at her. "If I can hear you, others can too."
The Gryffindor fourth-year students look forward to Moody's first lesson so much that they arrive early on Thursday at lunchtime and queue outside his classroom before the bell rings. The only person missing is Hermione, who turns up just in time for the lesson.
"Been in the —"
"Library." Jayla finishes her sentence for her best friend.
"C'mon, quick, or we won't get decent seats," Harry says, and they hurry into four chairs right in front of the teacher's desk, taking out their copies of 'The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection' and wait, unusually quiet.
Soon, they hear Moody's distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, and he enters the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever. They can just see his claws and a wooden foot protruding underneath his robes.
"You can put those away," he growls, stumping over to his desk and sitting down, "those books. You won't need them."
They return the books to their bags, and Ron looks excited.
Moody takes out a register, shaking his long mane of grizzled grey hair out of his twisted and scarred face, and begins to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swivels around, fixing upon each student as he or she answers.
"Right then," he says when the last person declares themselves present, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark Creatures — you've covered Boggarts, Red Caps, Hinkypunks, Grindylows, Kappas, and Werewolves, is that right?"
There is a general murmur of assent.
"But you're behind — very behind — on dealing with curses," Moody remarks. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what Wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark —"
"What, aren't you staying?" Ron blurts out.
Moody's magical eye spins around to stare at Ron; Ron looks extremely apprehensive, but after a moment Moody smiles — the first time anyone has seen him do so. The effect is to make his heavily scarred face look more twisted and contorted than ever, but it is good to know that he ever did anything as friendly as a smile. Ron looks deeply relieved.
"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?" Moody questions. "Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago. . . . Yeah, I'm staying just the one year. Special favour to Dumbledore. . . . One year, and then back to my quiet retirement."
He gives a harsh laugh and then claps his gnarled hands together.
"So — straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A Wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking."
Lavender jumps and blushes. She has been showing Parvati her complete horoscope under the desk. Moody's magical eye can see through solid wood and from the back of his head.
"Brilliant," Jayla mutters, smiling and looking at Harry as they sit together.
"So . . . do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by Wizarding law?"
Several hands, including Ron's and Hermione's, rise tentatively. Moody points at Ron, though his magical eye is still fixed on Lavender.
"Er," Ron says tentatively, "my dad told me about one. . . . Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?"
"Ah, yes," Moody replies appreciatively. "Your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse."
Moody gets heavily to his mismatched feet, opens his desk drawer, and takes out a glass jar. Three large black spiders are scuttling around inside it. Hermione feels Ron recoil slightly next to him — Ron hates spiders.
Moody reaches into the jar, catches one of the spiders, and holds it in the palm of his hand so they can all see it. He then points his wand at it and mutters, "Imperio!" The spider leaps from Moody's hand on a fine silk thread and begins to swing backwards and forward as though on a trapeze. It stretches its legs rigidly, then does a backflip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it begins to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerks his wand, and the spider rises onto two hind legs and goes into what is unmistakably a tap dance.
Everyone is laughing — everyone except Moody and Jayla.
Jayla can hear the spider's voice crying out for help as it moves against its will.
"Think it's funny, do you?" he growls. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?"
The laughter dies away almost instantly.
"Total control," Moody says quietly as the spider balls itself up and begins to roll over and over. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats . . ."
Ron gives an involuntary shudder.
"Years back, there were a lot of Witches and Wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse," Moody explains, and Harry knows he is talking about the days in which Voldemort was all-powerful. "Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act and who was acting of their own free will.
"The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barks, and everyone jumps.
Moody picks up the somersaulting spider and throws it back into the jar.
"Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"
To Harry's surprise, Hermione's hand flies into the air again, as does Neville's. The only class Neville usually volunteers information in is Herbology, easily his best subject. Neville looks surprised at his own daring.
"Yes?" Moody asks, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Neville.
"There's one — the Cruciatus Curse," Neville replies in a small but distinct voice.
Moody is looking very intently at Neville, this time with both eyes.
"Your name's Longbottom?" he asks, his magical eye swooping down to recheck the register.
Neville nods nervously, but Moody makes no further inquiries. Turning back to the class at large, he reaches into the jar for the next spider and places it on the desktop, where it remains motionless, apparently too scared to move.
"The Cruciatus Curse," Moody repeats. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea," he says, pointing his wand at the spider. "Engorgio!"
The spider swells. It is now larger than a tarantula. Abandoning all pretence, Ron pushes his chair backwards, as far away from Moody's desk as possible.
Moody raises his wand again, points it at the spider, and mutters, "Crucio!"
At once, the spider's legs bend in upon its body; it rolls over and begins to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound comes from it, but the students are sure that if it could have given a voice, it would be screaming. Moody does not remove his wand, and the spider starts to shudder and jerk more violently —
"Stop it!" Hermione snaps shrilly.
Harry looks around at her. She is looking not at the spider but at Neville, and Harry, following her gaze, sees that Neville's hands are clenched upon the desk in front of him, his knuckles white, his eyes wide and horrified.
Moody raises his wand. The spider's legs relax, but it continues to twitch.
Harry looks at Jayla, seeing her hands over her ears as she tries blocking the spider's screams.
"Reducio," Moody mutters, and the spider shrinks back to its proper size. He puts it back into the jar.
"Pain," Moody says softly. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse. . . . That one was very popular once, too.
"Right . . . anyone know any others?"
Harry looks around. From the looks on everyone's faces, he guesses they are all wondering what will happen to the last spider. Hermione's hand shakes slightly as she raises it for the third time into the air.
"Yes?" Moody asks, looking at her.
"Avada Kedavra," Hermione whispers.
Several people look uneasily around at her, including Ron and Jayla.
"Ah," Moody muses, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. "Yes, the last and worst. Avada Kedavra . . . the Killing Curse."
He puts his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knows what is coming, the third spider scuttles frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody's fingers, but he traps it and places it upon the desktop. It starts to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface.
Moody raises his wand, and Harry feels a sudden thrill of foreboding.
"Avada Kedavra!" Moody roars.
There is a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something is soaring through the air — instantaneously, the spider rolls over onto its back, unmarked but unmistakably dead. Several students stifle cries; Ron throws himself backwards and almost topples off his seat as the spider skids toward him.
Moody sweeps the dead spider off the desk onto the floor.
"Not nice," he remarks calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me."
Harry feels his face redden as Moody's eyes (both of them) look into his own. He can feel everyone else looking around at him too. Harry stares at the blank blackboard as though fascinated by it but not really seeing it at all. . . .
Jayla looks at Harry and takes his hand, squeezing it and trying to comfort him, even if she's trying to fight back the tears as she looks at the dead spider.
"So that is how my parents had died . . . exactly like that spider. Were they unblemished and unmarked too? Had they simply seen the flash of green light and heard the rush of speeding death, before life was wiped from their bodies?"
Harry had always pictured his parents' deaths over and over again for the last three years now, ever since he found out they were murdered, ever since he found out what happened that night: Wormtail betrayed his parents' whereabouts to Voldemort, who came to find them at their cottage. How Voldermort killed Harry's father first. How James Potter tried to hold him off while he shouted at his wife to take Harry and run… Voldermort advanced on Lily Potter, telling her to move aside so that he could kill Harry…how she begged him to kill her instead, refusing to stop shielding her son…and so Voldermort murdered her too, before turning his wand on Harry…
Harry knows these details because he heard his parents' voices when he fought the dementors last year — for that is the terrible power of the dementors: to force their victims to relive the worst memories of their lives and drown, powerless, in their own despair. . . .
Moody is speaking again, from a great distance, it seems to Harry. With a massive effort, he pulls himself back to the present and listens to Moody's words. Harry focuses on Jayla's hand as he listens to Professor Moody.
"Avada Kedavra's a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it — you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it.
"Now, if there's no countercurse, why am I showing you? Because you've got to know. You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he roars, and the whole class jumps again.
"Now . . . those three curses — Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus — are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practise constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills . . . copy this down. . . ."
They spend the rest of the lesson taking notes on each of the Unforgivable Curses.
No one speaks until the bell rings - but when Moody dismisses them, they leave the classroom.
Once they leave, there's a torrent of talk bursting forth. Most people are discussing the curses in awe voices - "Did you see it twitch?"
"- and when he killed it - just like that!"
"They are talking about the lesson," Harry thinks, "as though it is some sort of spectacular show, but I don't find it very entertaining." He looks at Hermione and Jayla, knowing they don't find it entertaining.
"Hurry up," she says tensely to the boys and Jayla.
"Not the ruddy library again?" Ron asks.
"No," Hermione replies curtly, pointing up a side passage. "Neville." Neville is standing alone, halfway up the passage, staring at the stone wall opposite him with the same horrified, wide-eyed look he wore when Moody demonstrated the Cruciatus Curse.
"Neville?" Jayla says gently.
Neville looks around.
"Oh hello," he replies, his voice much higher than usual. "Interesting lesson, wasn't it? I wonder what's for dinner, I'm — I'm starving, aren't you?"
"Neville, are you all right?" Hermione asks.
"Oh yes, I'm fine," Neville fibs in the same unnaturally high voice. "Very interesting dinner — I mean lesson — what's for eating?"
Ron gives Harry a startled look.
"Neville, what — ?"
But an odd clunking noise sounds behind them, and they turn to see Professor Moody limping toward them. All five of them fall silent, watching him apprehensively, but when he speaks, it is in a much lower and gentler growl than they have yet heard.
"It's all right, sonny," he says to Neville. "Why don't you come up to my office? Come on . . . we can have a cup of tea. . . ."
Neville looks even more frightened at the prospect of tea with Moody. He neither moves nor speaks. Moody turns his magical eye upon Harry.
"You all right, are you, Potter?"
"Yes," Harry replies, almost defiantly.
Moody's blue eye quivers slightly in its socket as it surveys Harry. Then he says, "You've got to know. It seems harsh, maybe, but you've got to know. No point pretending . . . well . . . come on, Longbottom, I've got some books that might interest you."
Neville looks pleadingly at Harry, Ron, Jayla, and Hermione, but they don't say anything, so Neville has no choice but to allow himself to be steered away, one of Moody's gnarly hands on his shoulder.
"What was that about?" Ron wonders, watching Neville and Moody turn the corner.
"I don't know," Hermione replies, looking pensive.
"Some lesson, though, eh?" Ron questions Harry as they set off for the Great Hall. "Fred and George were right, weren't they? He really knows his stuff, Moody, doesn't he? When he did Avada Kedavra, the way that spider just died, just snuffed it right —"
"Stop it!" Jayla snaps, making them look at her and see her close to tears again. "You're lucky you couldn't hear his screams as he was being tortured."
But Ron falls suddenly silent at the look on Harry's face and Jayla's words.
Ron doesn't speak again until they reach the Great Hall when he says he supposes he should try to start on Professor Burbage's homework tonight since he's behind a whole year.
Jayla stares at her plate as she eats, the spider's tiny voice still echoing around inside her head.
Hermione doesn't join in with Harry and Ron's conversation during dinner but eats furiously fast and then leaves for the library again. The boys and Jayla walk back to Gryffindor Tower, and Harry keeps thinking of nothing else all through dinner, now raises the subject of the Unforgivable Curses himself.
"Wouldn't Moody and Dumbledore be in trouble with the Ministry if they knew we'd seen the curses?" Harry asks as they approach the Fat Lady.
"Yeah, probably," Ron replies. "But Dumbledore's always done things his way, hasn't he, and Moody's been getting in trouble for years, I reckon. Attacks first and asks questions later — look at his dustbins. Balderdash."
Harry looks at Jayla and sees how quiet she is after their lesson with Professor Moody.
The Fat Lady swings forward to reveal the entrance hole, and they climb into the Gryffindor Common Room, which is crowded and noisy.
"Shall we get our class stuff, then?" Harry asks.
"I s'pose," Ron groans.
The boys go to their dormitory to fetch their books and other things and find Neville alone, sitting on his bed, reading. He looks calmer than at the end of Moody's lesson, though still not entirely normal. His eyes are rather red.
"You all right, Neville?" Harry asks him.
"Oh yes," Neville replies, "I'm fine, thanks. Just reading this book Professor Moody lent me. . . ."
He holds up the book: 'Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean'. "Apparently, Professor Sprout told Professor Moody I'm really good at Herbology," He says. There is a faint note of pride in his voice that Harry has rarely heard there before. "He thought I'd like this."
"Telling Neville what Professor Sprout had said," Harry ponders, "had been a very tactful way of cheering Neville up, for Neville very rarely hears that he is good at anything. It was the sort of thing Professor Lupin would have done."
"You should come with us," Ron suggests, and Neville looks at them, smiling. "Jayla could help you with your homework too."
Harry and Ron take their books for their classes and return to the Common Room. Neville joins them, grabs his books, and goes downstairs. The boys join Jayla by the fireplace, taking their books out and using the table in the middle for support. Neville notices Jayla quiet as she sits, looking into the flames, and he looks at the books on the nearby shelf. He picks up one, looking at the cover after an hour of doing their homework, though there is little progress on his Divination homework bearing sums and symbols. He takes the book and sits by Jayla's feet, making her glance at him as he opens the book.
When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow. When it healed and Jem's fears of never being able to play football were assuaged, he was seldom self-conscious about his injury. His left arm was somewhat shorter than his right; when he stood or walked, the back of his hand was at right angles to his body, his thumb parallel to his thigh. He couldn't have cared less, so long as he could pass and punt. When enough years had gone by to enable us to look back on them, we sometimes discussed the events leading to his accident. I maintain that the Ewells started it all, but Jem, who was four years my senior, said it started long before that. He said it began the summer Dill came to us when Dill first gave us the idea of making Boo Radley come out.
Neville reads 'To Kill A Mockingbird', and Ron and Harry stop their work and list, watching Jayla as she smiles, closing her eyes. For another hour, Neville reads as they listen, and more Gryffindors sit around the Common Room; even some first-years join them after dinner to listen.
The Common Room soon slowly empties as people go up to bed. Crookshanks wanders over to them, leaping lightly onto Jayla's lap, and stares inscrutably at Harry, as Hermione might look if she knows they aren't doing their homework properly.
Staring around the room, trying to think of anything but sleep, Harry isn't sure he'll have a good night's sleep, Harry sees Fred and George sitting together against the opposite wall, heads together, quills out, pouring over a piece of parchment. It is most unusual to see Fred and George hidden away in a corner and working silently; they usually like to be in the thick of things and the noisy centre of attention. There is something secretive about how they are working on the piece of parchment, and Harry is reminded of how they had sat together writing something back at the Burrow. He thinks then that it is another order form for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, but it doesn't look like that this time; if it is, they will surely let Lee Jordan in on the joke. He wonders whether it has anything to do with entering the Triwizard Tournament.
As Harry watches, George shakes his head at Fred, scratches out something with his quill, and says, in a hushed voice that nevertheless carries across the almost deserted room, "No — that sounds like we're accusing him. Got to be careful . . ."
Then George looks over and sees Harry watching him. Harry grins and quickly returns to his homework — he doesn't want George to think he is eavesdropping. Shortly after, the twins roll up their parchment, say good night, and go to bed.
Fred and George have been gone for ten minutes or so when the portrait hole opens, and Hermione climbs into the Common Room carrying a sheaf of parchment in one hand and a box whose contents rattle as she walks in the other. Crookshanks arches his back, purring.
"Hello," she greets her friends, "I've just finished!"
"Where is she!" Jayla hears Hades shout.
"So have I!" Ron says triumphantly, throwing down his quill.
"Come back!" Loki shouts after Hades as they run down the spiral staircase into the Common Room.
Hermione sits down, laying the things she carries in an empty armchair, and pulls Ron's predictions toward her.
"There she is!" Hades cries, jumping into Jayla's lap. She holds her cat into her chest, and Loki jumps up.
"Not going to have a very good month, are you?" Hermione jokes sardonically as Crookshanks jumps from Jayla's lap, Loki taking his spot and curling up in her lap.
"Ah well, at least I'd be forewarned," Ron yawns. "But I'm not doing Divination anymore. I'm doing Muggle Studies."
"Really? How'd that happen?" She asks, looking at him.
"Jayla suggested I talk to Professor McGonagall and change before the year starts," he replies, smirking.
"That's good. I'm glad," Hermione retorts, making Ron look at her.
"Thanks," Ron smiles and sighs, looking at the homework; they've gotten some from DADA, Muggle Studies, Arithmancy, or Ancient Runes. "We've been working like House-Elves here!" Hermione raises her eyebrows. "It's just an expression," he argues hastily. Harry lays his quill down too, having just finished his Arithmancy homework.
"What's in the box?" Harry asks, pointing at it. Jayla moves, looking at her best friend as she cradles Hades.
"Funny you should ask," Hermione muses, with a nasty look at Ron. She takes off the lid and shows them the contents.
Inside are about fifty badges, all of different colours but all bearing the same letters: S.P.E.W.
"'Spew'?" Harry questions, picking up a badge and looking at it. "What's this about?"
"Not spew," she huffs impatiently. "It's S-P-E-W. Stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."
"Never heard of it," Ron argues, frowning.
"Well, of course you haven't," Jayla retorts briskly, "Hermione's only just started it."
"Yeah?" He asks in mild surprise. "How many members have you got?"
"Well — if you three join — four," Hermione replies.
"And you think we want to walk around wearing badges saying 'spew,' do you?" Ron questions.
"S-P-E-W!" She argues hotly. "I was going to put Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status — but it wouldn't fit. So that's the heading of our manifesto."
She brandishes the sheaf of parchment at them.
"I've been researching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can't believe no one's done anything about it before now."
"Hermione — open your ears," Ron says loudly. "They. Like. It. They like being enslaved!"
"Our short-term aims," Hermione replies, speaking even more loudly than Ron and acting as though she doesn't hear a word, "are to secure House-Elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about non-wand use and trying to get an Elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures because they're shockingly underrepresented."
"And how do we do all this?" Harry asks.
"We start by recruiting members," Hermione replies happily. "I thought two Sickles to join — that buys a badge — and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. You're treasurer, Ron — I've got you a collecting tin upstairs — and Harry, you're secretary, so you might want to write down everything I'm saying now, as a record of our first meeting. Jayla, as you've been helping me and corresponding with Dobby and Flora, you are my second."
There is a pause in which Hermione beams at the pair of them, and Harry sits, torn between exasperation at Hermione and amusement at the look on Ron's face. The silence is broken, not by Ron, who looks as though he is temporarily dumbstruck, but by a soft tap on the window. Harry looks across the now empty Common Room and sees, illuminated by the moonlight, a snowy owl perches on the windowsill.
"Hedwig!" he shouts, and he launches himself out of his chair and across the room to open the window.
Hedwig flies inside, soaring across the room, and lands on the table atop Harry's homework.
"About time!" Harry sighs, hurrying after her.
"She's got an answer!" Ron says excitedly, pointing at the piece of parchment tied to Hedwig's leg.
Harry hastily unties it and sits down to read; after that, Hedwig flutters onto his knee, hooting softly. Jayla moves, letting Loki and Hades curl around her, watching Hedwig.
"What does it say?" Hermione asks breathlessly.
The letter is very short and looks as though it was scrawled in a great hurry. Harry reads it aloud:
Harry
- I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to you. It's been a busy few weeks with everything. Especially after what happened at the World Cup. With all the strange rumours floating around, I know you can handle this. I want to come and see you soon. Maybe when you have your first Hogsmeade trip. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore - Fudge mentioned he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is. I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron, Hermione, and Jayla. Keep your eyes open, Harry.
Sirius
Harry looks up at Ron, Jayla, and Hermione, who stares back at him.
"He's been working?" Hermione whispers. "He's coming here?"
"Dumbledore's reading what signs?" Ron wonders, looking perplexed. "Harry — what's up?"
Harry hits himself in the forehead with his fist, jolting Hedwig from his lap. She moves over to Jayla, perching herself on the top of the armchair.
"I shouldn't've told him!" Harry groans furiously.
"What are you on about?" Jayla asks in surprise.
"He wants to come visit!" He says, now slamming his fist on the table, making the others jump. "I don't want him to miss work because he's worried about me and he thinks I'm in trouble! And there's nothing wrong with me! And I haven't got anything for you," he snaps at Hedwig, who clicks her beak expectantly, "you'll have to go up to the Owlery if you want food."
"I know, Harry's moody," Jayla mutters, smiling as she digs into her robe pocket and hands some owl treats she keeps for when Ryder delivers her family letters.
Hedwig gives him an extremely offended look and takes off for the open window, cuffing him around the head with her outstretched wing as she goes.
"That's a naughty word. Where'd she learn that?" Jayla muses, smiling.
"Harry," Hermione begins in a pacifying sort of voice.
"I'm going to bed," Harry says shortly. "See you in the morning."
After Harry leaves, Jayla looks at Ron and Hermione. "I'm telling Dumbledore about the scar and nightmares."
"He won't like that," Ron argues, looking at her.
"I don't care," she replies. "Good night," she gets up, picking Hades and Loki from her lap. "Loki, go to Mason and bed. No overnight stays."
"You tell them," Hermione teases, getting up with her, and they head to their dormitory.
Upstairs in the dormitory, he pulls on his pyjamas and gets into his four-poster, but he doesn't feel remotely tired.
"If Sirius comes to visit and gets into trouble for missing work, it will be my fault. Why didn't I keep my mouth shut? A few seconds' pain and I had to blab. . . . If I'd just had the sense to keep it to myself. . . ."
He hears Ron enter the dormitory briefly but does not speak to him. For a long time, Harry lies staring up at the dark canopy of his bed. The dormitory is completely silent, and, as he has been less preoccupied, Harry will realise that the absence of Neville's usual snores means he is not the only one lying awake.
Early next morning, Harry wakes with a plan fully formed in his mind, as though his sleeping brain was working on it all night. He gets up, dressed in the pale dawn light, leaves the dormitory without waking Ron, and returns to the deserted Common Room. Here, he takes a piece of parchment from the table upon which his Arithmancy homework still lies and writes the following letter:
Dear Sirius,
I reckon I just imagined my scar hurting, I was half asleep when I wrote to you last time. There's no point in coming back; everything's fine here. Don't worry about me; my head feels completely normal.
Harry
"Going to lie to Uncle Sirius?" Jayla asks, making Harry jump and turn to her.
"I can't get him into trouble at work for missing time off," Harry argues, looking at her.
"I get it, I do. But you need to be honest. He cares about you. A lot. And he wants to make sure that you're okay with his own eyes," she reminds him. "So rip up that stupid letter and write a new one, saying you'll meet him at Three Broomsticks for a lot of Butterbeer." Harry smiles at her and rips the letter before writing a new one. "He's your family, Harry."
"Do you want to join me to the Owlery?" Harry requests, and she smiles.
"I would love to," she replies. They climb out of the portrait hole, up through the silent castle (held up only briefly by Peeves, who tries to overturn a large vase on him halfway along the fourth-floor corridor, but Jayla threatens him), finally arriving at the Owlery, which is situated at the top of the West Tower.
The Owlery is a circular stone room, rather cold and draughty because none of the windows have glass. The floor is covered in straw, owl droppings, and the regurgitated skeletons of mice and voles. Hundreds upon hundreds of owls of every breed imaginable are nestled here on perches that rise right up to the top of the tower, nearly all of them asleep, though here and there a round amber eye glares at Harry. "I hate it in here," Jayla grumbles, looking at the sleeping owls. "I feel like they're all going to attack at any point."
"Thanks for that image," Harry grumbles, spots Hedwig nestled between a barn owl and a tawny, and hurries over to her, sliding a little on the dropping-strawn floor.
"They need to clean this regularly," she says, looking around.
"I thought House-Elves did it?" He wonders, looking around.
"No, it's supposed to be them, but they have a lot to do at night. I think I might suggest that all owl owners take shifts," The Darkmore Heiress tells him.
"What?" Harry asks, taking a while to persuade her to wake up and then to look at him. She keeps shuffling around on her perch, showing him her tail.
"She's mad at you, and swearing too," Jayla informs him, smiling as Hedwig shows her furious attitude at his lack of gratitude the previous night. "She's not budging. You need to apologise to her for your horrible attitude towards her."
"I'm sorry," he tells Hedwig, who turns her head.
"Ooh, she really doesn't like you this morning," she remarks, making Harry turn and glare at her. "I think a lot of attention and treats is the way to go. But I think Pig will help." She turns to the little owl, who happily nips at her fingers.
"Yeah, do you mind, Pig?" Harry asks, smiling at Pigwidgeon, who happily sticks her leg out and allows him to tie the letter to it.
"Just go to the Ministry, all right?" Harry suggests, stroking her back as he carries her on his arm to one of the holes in the wall.
She nips his finger, perhaps rather harder than she ordinarily has done, but hoots softly in a reassuring sort of way all the same. Then she spreads her wings and takes off into the sunrise. Harry watches her fly out of sight with the familiar feeling of unease in his stomach. He was sure Sirius's reply would alleviate his worries rather than increase them, but Jayla's words helped calm him down.
Harry goes back to Hedwig, who looks at him, and he takes out a handful of treats for her. "Take the day off," he tells her.
"She likes that idea," Jayla informs him. "Come on, I need my coffee."
"I hope you didn't lie to Sirius," Hermione says sharply over breakfast when he and Jayla come from the Owlery. "You didn't imagine your scar hurting, and you know it."
"How do you know that?" Harry asks, looking at her.
"I saw your note in the bin," she replies, looking back at him.
"He didn't send that letter," Jayla assures her.
"Good -," Granger retorts, but Ron huffs.
"Drop it," Ron says sharply to Hermione as she opens her mouth to argue some more, and for once, Hermione heeds him and falls silent.
Harry does his best not to worry about Sirius over the next couple of weeks after sending his letter. He knows Sirius is now a Hit Wizard, but he still worries. True, Harry can not stop himself from looking anxiously around every morning when the post owls arrive, nor late at night before he goes to sleep, preventing himself from seeing horrible visions of Sirius, cornered by dangerous Wizards down some dark London street. Still, times he tries to keep his mind off his Godfather. He wishes he still had Quidditch to distract him; nothing works so well on a troubled mind as a good, hard training session.
Jayla does help Harry, mainly because of the black candle at night, but things are different without Quidditch to clear his mind when he watches Jayla enjoying herself as she flies and sometimes joins her as they continue their lessons, even Ron joins her.
On the other hand, their lessons are becoming more complex and demanding than ever before, particularly Moody's Defence Against the Dark Arts.
To their surprise, Professor Moody announces that he will put the Imperius Curse on each of them to demonstrate its power and see whether they can resist its effects.
"But — but you said it's illegal, Professor," Hermione argues uncertainly as Moody clears away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a large clear space in the middle of the room. "You said — to use it against another human was —"
"Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like," Moody replies, his magical eye swivelling onto Hermione and fixing her with an eerie, unblinking stare. "If you'd rather learn the hard way — when someone's putting it on you so they can control you completely — fine by me. You're excused. Off you go."
He points one gnarly finger toward the door. Hermione goes very pink and mutters something about not meaning that she wants to leave. Harry and Ron grin at each other. Jayla looks terrified. They know Hermione would rather eat bubotuber pus than miss such an important lesson.
Moody begins to beckon students forward and puts the Imperius Curse upon them. Harry watches as, one by one, his classmates do the most extraordinary things under its influence. Dean Thomas hops three times around the room, singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown imitates a squirrel. Neville performs a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he will certainly not be capable of in his normal state. None of them seems to be able to fight off the curse, and each recovers only when Moody has removed it.
"Potter," Moody growls, "you next."
Harry moves into the middle of the classroom, into the space that Moody has cleared of desks. Moody raises his wand, points it at Harry, and says, "Imperio!"
It is the most wonderful feeling. Harry feels a floating sensation as every thought and worry in his head is wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. He stands there feeling intensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching him.
And then he hears Mad-Eye Moody's voice, echoing in some distant chamber of his empty brain: "Jump onto the desk . . . jump onto the desk. . . ."
Harry bends his knees obediently, preparing to spring.
"Jump onto the desk. . . ."
"Why, though?" Another voice awakens in the back of his brain.
"Stupid thing to do, really," says the voice.
"Jump onto the desk. . . ."
"No, I don't think I will, thanks," replies the other voice, a little more firmly . . . "no, I don't really want to. . . ."
"Jump! NOW!"
The next thing Harry feels is considerable pain. He has both jumped and tried to prevent himself from jumping — the result is that he smashes headlong into the desk, knocking it over, and, by the feeling in his legs, fractures both his kneecaps.
"Now, that's more like it!" growls Moody's voice, and suddenly, Harry feels the empty, echoing feeling in his head disappear. He remembers exactly what is happening, and the pain in his knees seems to double.
"Look at that, you lot . . . Potter fought! He fought it, and he damn near beat it! We'll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention — watch his eyes, that's where you see it — very good, Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling you!"
Jayla looks around the room and steps forward. "It's my turn now, Professor," she volunteers, and Moody looks at her, surprised a little.
"The way he talks," Harry mutters as he hobbles out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class an hour later (Moody insisted on putting Harry through his paces four times in a row until Harry could throw off the curse entirely), "you'd think we were all going to be attacked any second."
"Yeah, I know," Ron retorts, who is skipping on every alternate step. He has had much more difficulty with the curse than Harry, though Moody assures him the effects will wear off by lunchtime. "Talk about paranoid . . ." Ron glances nervously over his shoulder to check that Moody is definitely out of earshot and goes on. "No wonder they were glad to get shot of him at the Ministry. Did you hear him telling Seamus what he did to that Witch who shouted 'Boo' behind him on April Fools' Day? And when are we supposed to read up on resisting the Imperius Curse with everything else we've got to do?"
"Are you okay?" Harry asks, looking at Jayla. She has also had the Imperius Curse put on her multiple times till she can fight against it.
"Yeah," Jayla replies in a croaky voice, still feeling the strange effects of the curse on her as she walks along the hallway.
All the fourth years have noticed a definite increase in the amount of work they are required to do this term. Professor McGonagall explains why when the class gives a particularly loud groan at the amount of Transfiguration homework she has assigned.
"You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education!" she tells them, her eyes glinting dangerously behind her square spectacles. "Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer —"
"We don't take O.W.L.s till fifth year!" Dean Thomas argues indignantly.
"Maybe not, Thomas, but believe me, you need all the preparation you can get! Miss Granger and Miss Darkmore remain the only people in this class who have managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion. I might remind you that your pincushion, Thomas, still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!"
Hermione, who has turned rather pink again, seems to be trying not to look too pleased with herself.
Jayla humbly smiles at the others around the room, not ashamed about being the best in the class and any class she takes.
Harry is pleased to receive top marks on his Arithmancy homework. Professor Vector is impressed with his dedication to the topics in class. She even comments in front of the class about him only starting this year and already up to scratch.
Ron loves Muggle Studies; he asks Hermione about things he learns in class, finding it fun and interesting, much more than he did in Divination. He enjoys the homework and learning about transport and technology. He wants to learn more about it and asks questions in class.
Meanwhile, Professor Binns, the ghost who teaches History of Magic, has them writing weekly essays on the Goblin Rebellions of the eighteenth century. Jayla and Hermione find the subject interesting. Though Harry and Ron grow bored like most of the class, the girls help them when they do their homework at the end of the day. Jayla even puts Goblin traditions into Harry's lessons during their little lessons.
Professor Snape is forcing them to research antidotes. They take this one seriously, as he has hinted that he might be poisoning one of them before Christmas to see if their antidote works.
Professor Flitwick has asked them to read three extra books to prepare for their Summoning Charms lesson. Though notes that Jayla already knows this spell, commenting on her use during her first year against their former Professor and You-Know-Who.
Even Hagrid is adding to their workload. The Blast-Ended Skrewts are growing remarkably, given that nobody has yet discovered what they ate. As part of their "project," Hagrid is delighted and suggests they visit his hut on alternate evenings to observe the Skrewts and note their extraordinary behaviour.
"I will not," Draco Malfoy argues flatly when Hagrid proposes this with the air of Father Christmas pulling an extra-large toy out of his sack. "I see enough of these foul things during lessons, thanks."
Hagrid's smile fades off his face.
"Yeh'll do wha' yer told," he growls, "or I'll be takin' a leaf outta Professor Moody's book. . . . I hear yeh made a good ferret, Malfoy."
The Gryffindors roar with laughter. Malfoy flushes angrily, but the memory of Moody's punishment is still sufficiently painful to stop him from retorting.
"Poor Draco," Jayla mutters, though she finds it a little funny; she loves her cousin when he's not being a pain.
Harry, Ron, Jayla, and Hermione return to the castle at the end of the lesson in high spirits; seeing Hagrid put down Malfoy is particularly satisfying, especially because Malfoy has done his very best to get Hagrid sacked the previous year.
When they arrive in the Entrance Hall, they find themselves unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students congregating there, all milling around a large sign erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Ron and Jayla, the tallest of the four, stand on tiptoe to see over the heads in front of them and read the sign aloud to the other two:
TRIWizard TOURNAMENT
The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o'clock on Sunday, the 30th of October. Any weekend activities will end half an hour early —
"Brilliant!" Harry beams. "That means we can go after we finish our homework."
"No! That means no music class!" Jayla groans, enjoying the new activity.
Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast.
"Only a week away!" Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff huffs, emerging from the crowd, his eyes gleaming. "I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I'll go and tell him. . . ."
"Cedric?" Ron asks blankly as Ernie hurries off. No one but Hermione notices the blank look coming over Jayla's face when her ex-boyfriend is mentioned.
"Diggory," Harry replies. "He must be entering the tournament."
"That idiot, Hogwarts champion?" He questions as they push through the chattering crowd toward the staircase.
"He's not an idiot. You just don't like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch," Jayla retorts. "I've heard he's a really good student — and he's a prefect."
She speaks as though this settles the matter.
"You only like him because he's handsome," Ron argues scathingly.
"Excuse me, we don't like people just because they're handsome!" Hermione snaps indignantly.
Ron gives a loud false cough, which sounds oddly like "Lockhart!"
"I hope that wasn't directed at me!" Jayla snaps, chasing Ron into the Great Hall for dinner. Her mood improves with the sign's appearance in the Entrance Hall, which has a marked effect on the castle's inhabitants.
During the following week, there is only one topic of conversation, no matter where Harry goes: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumours fly from student to student like highly contagious germs: who will try for Hogwarts champion, what will the tournament involve, and how will the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differ from themselves?
Harry notices, too, that the castle seems to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits have been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sit huddled in their frames, muttering darkly and wincing as they feel their raw pink faces. The suits of armour are suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, is behaving so ferociously to any students who forget to wipe their shoes that he terrifies a pair of first-year girls into hysterics.
Other members of the staff seem oddly tense too.
"Longbottom, kindly do not reveal that you can't even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone from Durmstrang!" Professor McGonagall barks at the end of one particularly difficult lesson, during which Neville has accidentally transplanted his own ears onto a cactus.
When they go down to breakfast on the morning of the 30th of October, they find that the Great Hall has been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hang from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers' table, the most prominent banner bears the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.
Harry, Ron, Jayla, and Hermione sit beside Fred and George at the Gryffindor table. Once again, and most unusually, they are sitting apart from everyone else and conversing in low voices. Ron leads the way over to them.
"It's a bummer, all right," George says gloomily to Fred. "But if he won't talk to us in person, we'll have to send him the letter. Or we'll stuff it into his hand. He can't avoid us forever."
"Who's avoiding you?" Ron asks, sitting next to them.
"Wish you would," Fred grumbles, looking irritated at the interruption.
"What's a bummer?" Ron asks George.
"Having a nosy git like you for a brother," George retorts.
"You two got any ideas on the TriWizard Tournament yet?" Harry asks. "Thought any more about trying to enter?"
"I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen, but she wasn't telling," George says bitterly. "She just told me to shut up and get on with transfiguring my raccoon."
"Wonder what the tasks are going to be?" Jayla muses thoughtfully.
"You know, I bet we could do them, Harry. We've done dangerous stuff before. . . ." Ron says, making the others look at him.
"Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven't," Fred argues. "McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they've done the tasks."
"Who are the judges?" Harry asks. They haven't gotten to the Triwizard Tournament in his lessons with Jayla yet, but they'll get first-hand experience now.
"Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel," Hermione explains, and everyone looks around at her, rather surprised, "because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage."
She notices them all looking at her and says, with her usual air of impatience, that nobody else has read all her books, "It's all in Hogwarts, A History. Though, of course, that book's not entirely reliable. A Revised History of Hogwarts would be a more accurate title. Or A Highly Biassed and Selective History of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School."
"What are you on about?" Ron asks though Harry thinks he knows what is coming.
"House-Elves!" She snaps, her eyes flashing. "Not once, in over a thousand pages, does Hogwarts, A History mention that we are all colluding in the oppression of a hundred slaves!"
Harry shakes his head and applies himself to his scrambled eggs. His and Ron's lack of enthusiasm has done nothing whatsoever to curb Hermione's determination to pursue justice for House-Elves. Jayla tries to help Hermione, but she knows it will be a long road for any House-Elf; she wishes to be free from their enslavement, as Hermione puts it.
True, both of them have paid two Sickles for a S.P.E.W. badge, but they only did it to keep her quiet. Their Sickles have been wasted; if anything, they seem to have made Hermione more vociferous. She has been badgering Harry and Ron ever since, first to wear the badges, then to persuade others to do the same, and she has also taken to rattling around the Gryffindor Common Room every evening, cornering people and shaking the collecting tin under their noses. Jayla only wears the badge to stop Hermione but tells her best friend she only helps when talking to other House-Elves with all her studies.
"You do realise that your sheets are changed, your fires lit, your classrooms cleaned, and your food cooked by a group of magical creatures who are unpaid and enslaved?" she keeps saying fiercely.
Some people, like Neville, have paid to stop Hermione from glowering at them. A few seem mildly interested in what she has to say but are reluctant to take a more active role in campaigning. Many regard the whole thing as a joke.
Hermione even cornered Mason with his friends; one, a Muggle-born like Hermione, Noah, gives him some money and happily wears the badge.
Ron now rolls his eyes at the ceiling, flooding them all in autumn sunlight, and Fred becomes extremely interested in his bacon (both twins have refused to buy a S.P.E.W. badge). George, however, leans in toward Hermione.
"Listen, have you ever been down in the kitchens, Hermione?"
"No, of course not," Hermione replies curtly, "I hardly think students are supposed to —"
"Well, we have," George says, indicating Fred, "loads of times, to nick food. And we've met them, and they're happy. They think they've got the best job in the world —"
"That's because they're uneducated and brainwashed!" Hermione begins hotly, but her next few words are drowned out by the sudden whooshing noise from overhead, which announces the arrival of the post owls. Harry looks up at once and sees Hedwig soaring toward him. Hermione stops talking abruptly; she, Jayla, and Ron watch Hedwig anxiously as she flutters onto Harry's shoulder, folds her wings, and holds out her leg wearily.
Harry pulls off Sirius's reply and offers Hedwig his bacon rinds, which she eats gratefully. Then, checking that Fred and George are safely immersed in further discussions about the Triwizard Tournament, Harry reads Sirius's letter in a whisper to Ron, Jayla, and Hermione.
Hello Harry,
I'm glad you've come to your senses. Don't worry so much about me. I may be old, but I've still got some fight still in me. I will see you soon for your first official Hogsmeade trip, and we'll meet at the Three Broomsticks. Don't forget what I said about your scar. We'll talk more when I see you.
Sirius.
"That's good. Least you get to see him at some point," Ron says in a low voice.
"Yeah, you can catch up, and you can tell him more about your scar," Jayla agrees. "You need to talk to him about it, even if you don't want to."
Harry rolls up the letter and slips it inside his robes, wondering whether he feels more or less worried than before. He supposes that Sirius managing to get back home without getting hurt or something is a good thing. He can't deny that the idea that Sirius is coming to see him is reassuring; at least he won't have to wait so long for a response every time he writes if he sees his Godfather in person.
"Thanks, Hedwig," he says, stroking her. She hoots sleepily, dipping her beak briefly into his goblet of orange juice, then takes off again, desperate for a good long sleep in the Owlery.
There is a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that day. Nobody is very attentive to anything, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang; even Jayla and Harry's little lessons are more interesting than usual, as it is half an hour shorter. Jayla wishes she could attend her new music class before everything starts tomorrow.
When the bell rings early, Harry, Ron, Jayla and Hermione hurry up to Gryffindor Tower, depositing their bags and books as instructed, pulling on their cloaks, and rushing back downstairs into the Entrance Hall. All the students dressed in school clothes instead of casual clothes for the big occasion.
The Heads of Houses are ordering their students into lines.
"Weasley, straighten your hat," Professor McGonagall snaps at Ron. "Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair."
Parvati scowls and removes a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait.
"Follow me, please," Professor McGonagall says. "First years in front . . . no pushing. . . ."
They file down the steps and line up in front of the castle. It is a cold, clear evening; dusk is falling, and a pale, transparent-looking moon is already shining over the Forbidden Forest. Standing between Jayla and Hermione in the fourth row from the front, Harry sees Dennis Creevey positively shivering with anticipation among the other first years. He also spots Mason looking forward stiffly as they all wait in the cool autumn air.
"Nearly six," Ron comments, checking his watch and then staring down the drive that leads to the front gates. "How d'you reckon they're coming? The train?"
"I doubt it," Hermione argues.
"How, then? Broomsticks?" Harry suggests, looking up at the starry sky.
"I don't think so . . . not from that far away. . . ."
"A Portkey?" Ron suggests. "Or they could Apparate — maybe you're allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from?"
"You can't Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds, how often do I have to tell you two?" Jayla sighs impatiently.
They scan the darkening grounds excitedly, but nothing moves; everything is silent and quiet as usual. Harry is starting to feel cold. He wishes they'd hurry up. Maybe the foreign students are preparing for a dramatic entrance. . . . He remembers what Mr Weasley had said back at the campsite before the Quidditch World Cup: "Always the same — we can't resist showing off when we get together. . . ."
And then Dumbledore calls out from the back row where he stands with the other teachers —
"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"
"Where?" many students ask eagerly, all looking in different directions.
"There!" yells a sixth year, pointing over the forest.
Something significant, much larger than a broomstick — or, indeed, a hundred broomsticks — is hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time.
"It's a dragon!" shrieks one of the first years, losing her head completely.
"Don't be stupid . . . it's a flying house!" Dennis Creevey says.
Dennis's guess is closer. . . .
"No it's a carriage!" Mason shouts over everyone, beaming, his mood improving.
As the gigantic black shape skims over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, they see a massive, powder blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward them, pull through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant.
The front three rows of students draw backwards as the carriage hurdles ever lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed. Then, with an almighty crash that makes Neville jump backwards onto a Slytherin fifth-year's foot, the horses' hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage lands, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses toss their enormous heads and roll large, fiery red eyes.
"Impressive landing," Jayla snickers, earning a few laughs from people who hear her.
Harry just has time to see that the door of the carriage bears a coat of arms (two crossed golden wands, each emitting three stars) before it opens.
A boy in pale blue robes jumps down from the carriage, bends forward, fumbles momentarily with something on the carriage floor, and unfolds a set of golden steps. He springs back respectfully. Then Harry sees a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage — a shoe the size of a child's sled — followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman he has ever seen in his life. The size of the carriage and of the horses is immediately explained. A few people gasp.
Harry has only ever seen one person as large as this woman in his life, and that is Hagrid; he doubts whether there is an inch difference in their heights. Yet somehow — maybe simply because he is used to Hagrid — this woman (now at the foot of the steps and looking around at the waiting, wide-eyed crowd) seems even more unnaturally large. As she steps into the light flooding from the Entrance Hall, she is revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face, large, black, liquid-looking eyes, and a rather beaky nose. Her hair is drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She is dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleam at her throat and on her thick fingers.
Dumbledore starts to clap; the students, following his lead, break into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman.
Her face relaxes into a gracious smile, and she walks toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, has barely bent to kiss it.
"My dear Madame Maxime," he says. "Welcome to Hogwarts."
"Dumbly-dorr," Madame Maxime replies in a deep voice. "I' ope I find you well?"
"In excellent form, I thank you," Dumbledore retorts.
"My pupils," Madame Maxime says, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.
Harry, whose attention has been focused completely upon Madame Maxime, now notices that about a dozen boys and girls, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, have emerged from the carriage and are now standing behind Madame Maxime. They are shivering, which is unsurprising, given that their robes are made of fine silk, and none wear cloaks. A few have wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads. From what Harry can see of them (they are standing in Madame Maxime's enormous shadow), they are staring up at Hogwarts apprehensively.
"' As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Madame Maxime asks.
"He should be here any moment," Dumbledore replies. "Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"
"Warm up, I think," Madame Maxime says. "But ze 'orses —"
"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them," Dumbledore assures her, "the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other — er — charges."
"Skrewts," Ron mutters to Harry, grinning, but Jayla nudges him in the ribs and earns a grunt.
"My steeds require — er — forceful' andling," Madame Maxime says, looking as though she doubts whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts can do the job. "Zey are very strong. . . ."
"I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job," Dumbledore replies, smiling.
"Very well," Madame Maxime replies, bowing slightly. "Will you please inform zis' Agrid zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey?"
"It will be attended to," Dumbledore reassures her, bowing.
"Come," Madame Maxime says imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parts to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.
"How big d'you reckon Durmstrang's horses are going to be?" Seamus Finnigan wonders, leaning around Lavender and Parvati to address Harry and Ron.
"Well, if they're any bigger than this lot, even Hagrid won't be able to handle them," Harry retorts. "That's if he hasn't been attacked by his Skrewts. Wonder what's up with them?"
"Maybe they've escaped," Ron jokes hopefully.
"Oh don't say that," Hermione says with a shudder. "Imagine that lot loose on the grounds. . . ."
"I think they're adorable," Jayla argues, earning looks from her classmates. "What?"
They stand, shivering slightly now, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive. Most people are gazing hopefully up at the sky.
For a few minutes, the silence is broken only by Madame Maxime's huge horses snorting and stamping. But then —
"Can you hear something?" Ron asks suddenly.
Harry listens; a loud and oddly eerie noise is drifting toward them from out of the darkness: a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner were moving along a riverbed. . . .
"The lake!" yells Lee Jordan, pointing down at it. "Look at the lake!"
From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, they have a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water — except that the surface is suddenly not smooth at all. Some disturbance is taking place deep in the centre; great bubbles are forming on the surface, and waves are now washing over the muddy banks — and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appears as if a giant plug has just been pulled out of the lake's floor. . . .
What seems to be a long, black pole begins to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool . . . and then Harry sees the rigging. . . .
"It's a mast!" he says to Ron and Hermione.
"I hope the Giant Squid is okay," Jayla whispers, watching the water.
Slowly, magnificently, the ship rises out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It has a strangely skeletal look, as though it is a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes look like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerges entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water and gliding toward the bank. A few moments later, they hear the splash of an anchor thrown down in the shallows and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank.
People are disembarking; they can see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship's portholes. All of them, Harry notices, seem to be built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle . . . but then, as they draw nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the Entrance Hall, he sees that their bulk is really because they are wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted fur. But the man leading them up to the castle is wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair.
"Dumbledore!" he calls heartily as he walks up the slope. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"
"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replies.
Karkaroff has a fruity, unctuous voice; when he steps into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle, they see that he is tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair is short, and his goatee (finishing in a small curl) does not entirely hide his rather weak chin. When he reaches Dumbledore, he shakes hands with both of his own.
"Dear old Hogwarts," he says, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth are rather yellow, and Harry notices that his smile does not extend to his eyes, which remain cold and shrewd. "How good it is to be here, how good. . . . Viktor, come along, into the warmth . . . you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold. . . ."
Karkaroff beckons forward one of his students. As the boy passes, Harry catches a glimpse of a prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He doesn't need the punch on the arm Ron gives him or the hiss in his ear to recognise that profile.
"Harry — it's Krum!"