Eleanor never did explain how she'd managed to wring a payment out of Ludo Bagman, and the twins never asked. Not properly, anyway.
All they knew was that, on the eve of the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, Bagman had cornered them in a quiet corridor, a harried look on his face and a jingling pouch clutched in his unsteady hand.
"Here you are, lads. Your gold—and your share of the profits," he said, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. He avoided looking at either twin directly, choosing instead to fiddle nervously with his sleeve before shoving the pouch into George's hands. "Right then. See you at the task tomorrow."
And with that, he turned on his heel and legged it down the corridor as though the hounds of hell were on his tail.
"Open it," Fred muttered, snatching the pouch from George's fingers.
A shower of Galleons spilled into their palms, gleaming like treasure dredged from the bottom of a goblin vault.
The twins stared at one another, momentarily robbed of speech.
"Slytherins," Fred said finally, almost in awe.
"Slytherins," George echoed, before buttoning the pouch up again and tucking it safely inside his cloak. "Maybe they're not all bad."
Fred frowned, considering this. "Still don't trust 'em."
"Neither do I. But we might owe one."
The following morning, during a brisk and muddy Herbology lesson that had half the class elbow-deep in Knotgrass, Fred sidled closer to Eleanor.
"Ta," he said gruffly, barely moving his lips as he yanked up a stubborn root.
Eleanor straightened up, her voice sweet as syrup. "Didn't quite catch that, Weasley. You'll need to speak up."
Fred rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Seymour."
Her grin bloomed like a sunflower. Across the field, George saw it and blinked in surprise. It was a rare thing, Eleanor smiling with her whole face.
"Strong-arming Ministry officials is practically a Slytherin extracurricular," she said brightly, brushing a smear of earth from her gloves. "You'd be surprised what slips out in the Common Room. Timing and a few well-placed hypotheticals can do wonders."
Fred raised an eyebrow. "So all it took was a whisper in the right ear?"
Eleanor's expression turned seraphic. "More or less. All very innocent, of course. I always have everyone's best interests at heart."
Fred snorted. "You're a terrible liar."
"And yet, here you are. Richer than yesterday."
He looked at her, then—really looked—and something sharpened in his gaze.
"You knew about the joke shop idea. Ages ago. George said so. How?"
Eleanor shrugged and dug her nails into the bunch of Knotgrass she was holding. "Lucky guess."
Fred didn't press, but the look he gave her said he didn't buy it for a second.
From further down the bed, George caught Eleanor's eye and she winked cheekily.
Later, as the lesson ended and the class dispersed, Berenice slipped a hand around Eleanor's wrist and pulled her aside.
"You've got to be more careful, Nell."
Eleanor raised an eyebrow as she ran a quick wand through her hair, tidying the windblown strands. "About what?"
"You know what." Berenice's voice dropped to a whisper. "Warrington's sniffing about. And he's the last person you want accusing you of treason."
Eleanor's brown eyes flashed. "Warrington can go hang."
Berenice didn't smile. Instead, she glanced down the corridor, then dragged Eleanor into a nearby alcove. Her voice was low and serious.
"This is bigger than House gossip. People are whispering things, Nell. Outside of Hogwarts. The Dark Mark at the World Cup—no one's been caught. Something's building. I can feel it. And you might be able to dodge the Common Room, but I can't. People are starting to talk. Please, just... steer clear of the Gryffindors."
Eleanor grasped Berenice's wrists tightly. "What do you know, Bunny? What aren't you saying?"
Berenice hesitated. Her grey eyes flickered.
"I don't think Harry Potter was chosen by accident," she said at last.
Eleanor froze. Her grip on Berenice tightened. She glanced over her shoulder, drew her wand, and murmuredMuffliatounder her breath. Then she leaned in, her voice barely audible.
"Have youSeensomething?"
Berenice shook her head. "Not exactly. But the dreams—they're getting worse. There's a storm coming, Nell. A real one. Please... keep your head down. Avoid Gryffindors. Do it for me. Maybe it's nothing, but I don't want to find out the hard way."
Eleanor looked torn. Her fingers twitched around her wand.
"I'll try," she said finally. "That's the best I can promise."
Berenice let out a shaky breath of relief. "Thank you."
Eleanor squeezed her hand.
At lunch, Eleanor barely touched her food. Her eyes were fixed on the champions' table. Of the four, only Viktor Krum seemed unruffled—no surprise, given his international Quidditch career. Cedric looked ashen, barely able to swallow. Fleur kept checking her wand hand. And Potter—Potter looked like someone had told him he'd be facing a Hungarian Horntail.
"Twenty Galleons says he faints," someone nearby muttered.
Eleanor rolled her eyes just as Professor McGonagall arrived to escort the champions to the first task.
The whole school spilled from the castle into the chill November air, trekking down the slope towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A towering tent stood like a behemoth amid the trees, and at its centre—sweet Merlin—a cage the size of Hagrid's hut.
"You've got to be joking," Adrian muttered. "They're actually usingdragons?"
"Apparently," Berenice said crisply, darting ahead to claim a prime seat and giving a sharp look to a cluster of Hufflepuff first-years who scurried aside without argument.
"I reckon someone's getting flambéed today," Eleanor said airily, settling into her seat. "Question is, who?"
"You think it'll be Fleur, don't you?" Berenice asked, not bothering to hide her irritation.
"It's not personal," Eleanor replied smoothly. "Potter'll pull some Gryffindor nonsense, Krum's trained for this kind of thing, Cedric's top of his year. Fleur's the outlier."
"Still a bit sexist."
"Logical," said Adrian with a grin. "She's not wrong."
Just then, Bagman's amplified voice boomed across the grounds.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament! Today's challenge: retrieve the golden egg. Let's see what our champions are made of!"
What followed was pandemonium.
Cedric started strong, transfiguring a rock into a dog to distract the Swedish Short-Snout. It nearly worked—until the dragon turned and scorched the air right beside him. The girls in the crowd shrieked as flames licked the edge of his robes.
"Bet that scar'll double his fan club," Fred muttered.
"Jealous?" George teased.
Fleur fared little better. Her Sleeping Charm only half-stuck, and the dragon—half-snoring—still managed to singe her skirt.
Krum's Conjunctivitis Curse was almost perfect, blinding the Chinese Fireball long enough to nab the egg—but the dragon's thrashing destroyed half her real ones, and it took six handlers to calm her down.
Berenice buried her face in Adrian's cloak. "I can't watch. This is madness. Potter's toast."
Eleanor glanced at the Gryffindor stands, noting how pale Harry looked. Hermione was babbling at him nervously. He looked like he might leg it back to the castle.
"There's something seriously wrong with this school," Lucy Vane muttered nearby.
Then it was Harry's turn.
The Hungarian Horntail was worse than the rest. Bigger. Meaner. Spikier. Eleanor could practicallyfeelthe heat of it from the stands.
Potter stepped forward—and shouted:"Accio Firebolt!"
"He's cracked," said Adrian.
But Berenice's eyes were shining. "No, look—look!"
The Firebolt came screaming through the air, and in a flash, Harry was on it, soaring upwards like a shot.
Gasps and cheers erupted from the stands.
"He's going to do it flying!" someone yelled.
Bagman was howling with delight. "Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! Great Scott, he's a natural!"
Harry ducked and dived, dodging fire with terrifying grace. Eleanor found herself on her feet, shouting encouragement along with half the school. She hardly noticed. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest.
And then, in a moment of perfect timing, Harry swooped down andsnatchedthe egg from beneath the Horntail's nose.
The crowd exploded.
Bagman's voice roared. "Our youngest champion gets the egg first! Unbelievable!"
As the handlers swarmed the Horntail, still seething with fury, the champions were led away. The crowd began to disperse, buzzing with excitement.
A voice tickled Eleanor's ear.
"Still think we're all brainless Gryffindors, Duchess?"
Her heart jumped. She turned slightly, just enough to see him walking beside her. Fred.
"Gryffindorks with a death wish," she murmured, barely turning her head.
He chuckled and, just for a moment, his fingers brushed hers. Warm. Steady.
"Slytherins," he said, with something like affection.
She let her fingers close gently around his—just once—before slipping away ahead of him, the ghost of his smile following her all the way back to the Slytherin common room.