The rest of the first week back passed slowly while Harry looked forward to his first class with Professor Moody. Fred and George's mysterious 'you'll see' had only served to build his excitement near to bursting by the time their defense class rolled around.
Moody didn't disappoint.
Their first class had been a lecture and demonstration of the Unforgivables. Moody produced a spider for each curse, the first writhing in pain beneath his wand, while the second danced across the wooden desk. The third remained in its jar while he fixed the class with a ferocious stare that was somehow unspoiled by the manic whirling of his magical eye.
"There is no defense for the final curse I'm going to show you," he growled, fixing students at random with a glare from his beady normal eye which finished its journey on Harry. "The only person to ever survive is sitting right here in this class."
The class held their collective breath as the doomed spider dropped onto the desk. Harry found himself transfixed by Moody's wand as it rose, then cut a furious line through the air.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A green flash of light burst from Moody's gnarled, lengthy wand and catapulted Harry back into his recurring nightmare.
" Take me! Not Harry! Please, not Harry!"
" Move aside, or I will kill you as I did your foolish husband."
" No! Stay away from Harry! You can't have him!"
" Avada Kedavra!"
Harry jolted as the same flash bloomed in his memory, bringing him reeling back to the present.
Breath came in gasps. His hands ached with a white-knuckled grip on the edge of his desk.
"Alright, mate?" Ron whispered, glancing over at him.
Harry nodded, trying to swallow with his suddenly dry mouth. The rest of the class hung on to Moody's every word, with the exception of Hermione. She faced him as well, concern etched onto her features though she said nothing. He did his best to listen to the rest of the lecture, but every time he closed his eyes, emerald light shone behind his eyelids.
When class finally ended, Harry stuffed his things back into his bag and rose to follow Ron and Hermione from the room.
"Potter! Longbottom!" Professor Moody called out. "Stay behind."
Ron and Hermione hesitated, looking back with a silent question on their faces.
"I'll catch up with you at dinner."
Harry turned and joined a ghost-white Neville at a desk in the front of the room while they waited for everyone to leave. Once they were alone, Moody shut the door with a wave of his wand and regarded the two students.
"I kept you behind because I need to apologize to you both," he said without preamble. Neville's color returned amidst a flash of confusion that Harry was sure was mirrored in his own expression. "I was an Auror for a long time. I know that when you see an Unforgivable in action, seeing it again can bring back some difficult memories."
They both looked to the ground in embarrassment.
"None of that now," Moody said. "Aurors three times your age with a decade of experience behind them can have the very same thing happen to them. I've seen it, and I've seen it handled worse. It's just the way normal people work. Only people like the Death Eaters can see the horrors of the Unforgivables and feel nothing afterward."
The click of his wooden leg rung throughout the room as Moody began to pace.
"I know your first class was difficult, but it was necessary. You've got to know what we're up against, especially with those recent Dark Marks. That doesn't mean, however, that you need to tough it out in silence. Remember, the teachers are here to help and protect you, myself included."
Harry and Neville nodded in unison while the Professor clunked his way over to a nearby bookshelf and pulled two thick tomes from it.
"Longbottom, I've heard from Professor Sprout that you're something of a prodigy in her greenhouses. I've got a rare book here I confiscated from a raid on a notorious potion-makers house, a couple of years back. It's got quite a few useful magical plants and fungi, along with some non-traditional uses for them."
The book he handed over was so faded that the green cover appeared mostly gray.
"And for you, Potter, I've got a book on advanced dark magical creatures. The notes I received from Professor Lupin said that you were quite proficient in his class. Let me know if you have any questions after reading that book. As an added bonus, you can tell anyone who asks that those were the reasons I kept you behind. That should keep people's noses out of your business."
He waved his wand again and the door swung open. "Go on then. Off with you."
Harry and Neville could only nod again before grabbing their bags and their new books. Harry tried to walk casually from the room, though his heart hammered, telling him to flee the awkward feeling sitting in his chest. He didn't know why Moody had kept Neville behind as well, but if it was anything like his own experience, he knew better than to ask.
The walk to the Great Hall was silent, both boys lost in their own, troubled thoughts.
XxX
The following lesson with Mad-Eye was unremarkable, and it wasn't until a few days before the other schools were due to arrive that Moody produced another unorthodox lesson.
They'd arrived to find the desks pushed against the stone walls, with only Moody's sitting in the middle of the now open floor. A knot of anxiety rose in Harry like bile, tempered only by a small flare of curiosity. Traumatic or not, Moody's first lesson had been interesting. Once everyone had arrived, Moody instructed them to line up along the walls, creating a ring around the open space in the middle.
"So," he said, his magical eye whizzing about. "Who wants to be first under the Imperius?"
To nobody's surprise, Hermione was the first to object. "But sir, casting the Imperius is illegal. The Ministry will arrest you and send you to Azkaban!"
Moody laughed his unsettling, gravelly laugh, the oddity of it forcing Hermione a step back.
"They didn't arrest me after your first class. If you want your first experience with the Imperius to be at the hands of a Death Eater, then so be it!" His shout reverberated around the room. "We're not here to save your skin from an Imperius."
He paused, sweeping around the room, both eyes unnaturally in sync. His voice lowered to a growl.
"Thought it may well do just that against Death Eaters, mark my words."
A unanimous shudder rolled across the room.
"So, if you've any interest in protecting yourself and those you care for, then line up!"
The students scurried into position without even a whisper, the clamber of shoes across the floor reverberating through the classroom. Neville was first, his face as pale as it had been after their first lesson. Even from his place at the back of the line, Harry could see Neville trembling where he stood.
Moody raised his wand to Neville's back, and the muttered " Imperio ," was loud in the otherwise silent space.
Neville's terror slipped away, replaced by a mask of calm indifference. Without any provocation, the shy boy began cartwheeling around the room, ending his display with an impressive flip onto a desk.
With another wave of his wand, Moody ended the enchantment and Neville blinked down at them from atop the desk. He hopped down with far less grace than he had ascended with, though his nerves appeared to have settled. Neville took a place behind Harry, a contemplative look upon his face.
The mood in the room had shifted from frightened to pensive by the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione made it to their turns. Hermione was first and she shot a nervous smile over her shoulder that came to life as a frightened grimace instead.
" Imperio, " Moody whispered, his wand pointed at Hermione's back.
The tension in her posture slid away, and she began to pirouette around the room.
Ron gulped audibly when Hermione was released to take her place at the end of the line. Despite the dazed look in her eye, Harry could tell she was already trying to figure out the mysteries behind the Unforgivable.
Ron did cartwheels similar to Neville, though his routine ended with a handstand. Once released, he took a spot next to Hermione, his freckles standing out harshly against his pale face.
"You're up, Potter," Moody said, both his normal and magical eyes focused on him. He stepped woodenly forward and braced himself as best he could against the unknown.
" Imperio."
The world around him washed away.
His shoulders relaxed and his mind drifted away to weightless freedom. Where he had expected a struggle for dominance, there was only complete and utter contentment. If he tried, he could remember that he was in class and that he had watched his friends do ridiculous things. He knew he was meant to try and fight the Imperius, but he found it impossible to care.
The freedom it offered was peace on a level he had never experienced. He floated in a white void with no problems, no secrets, and no thoughts.
The whisper of a voice echoed through the empty space his worries once occupied.
'Dance,' it said.
It was Moody's voice, gruff and insistent; compelling.
Dancing seemed a marvelous idea. The thought that he'd never danced for even a moment throughout his life was of no consequence. He wanted nothing more.
'Dance,' it repeated, the whisper growing louder, reverberant. 'Dance!'
An image of the routine he should try appeared in his mind.
He frowned.
Thoughts shouldn't intrude into his freedom.
For once, he had nothing weighing him down, and he wouldn't be pushed around in this blissful world. He forced the dance from his mind, returning to the comfort of the meditative void.
' Dance!' Moody's voice shot back, harsher. ' Dance now!'
Though the voice was stronger and the thought of the dance more compelling, the feeling of utter freedom permeated Harry and bolstered him. He wouldn't be told what to do within his own mind-the one thing he could always control.
"I won't."
To his dismay, he found himself on his hands and knees on the cold stone floor of the classroom. The intoxicating feeling of nothingness had vanished, replaced by a reality that threatened to drown him as it rushed back in waves. He stayed there for a moment before looking up to the astonished faces of his classmates.
"That's how it's done!" Moody shouted, lifting Harry roughly to his feet by an arm. "Did you all see that? Potter beat the Imperius when only a handful of you managed to put up any sort of struggle at all."
"But why is that, Professor?" Hermione asked from where she stood next to Ron and Neville. "Does everybody experience the same thing while under the spell?"
"An excellent question. What did you feel?"
"I felt…" she paused, the edges of her mouth turned down at the thought. "I felt like I didn't have a care in the world. Like everything had always been and would always be okay."
Murmurs of agreement swept across the room.
"There's your answer, Ms. Granger. Yes, the Imperius is the same for everyone, but as you saw, not everyone can fight through it."
"But why was it so difficult to ignore the voice, even when everything felt so right?" Hermione persisted.
Moody turned to face her fully, smirking. "Because it's much easier to be someone's tool than to accept personal responsibility. Some become addicted to the contentment and will do anything to keep it in place, other's minds are so weak their thoughts are thoroughly suppressed and they become a mindless slave. Others draw strength from their freedom.
"But, everyone can learn to recognize its effects and beat it," Moody continued, slipping into a lecture. "Some just have to work harder than others. Read up on what you can of it before the next class. I'll write passes to the restricted section for those who need them. You're dismissed."
The class grabbed their things and all but sprinted from the room. Harry followed Ron and Hermione down to Potions, his thoughts occupied by the far too fleeting memory of contentment.
XxX
Breath floated from between his fingers in a cloud as he blew into his frozen hands. He watched the Beauxbatons students file into the Great Hall much more gracefully than Durmstrang had done before them. Or rather, he tried to watch from his place near the back of the assembled Hogwarts students. Short as he was, he could only catch glimpses of light blue robes, though he got a good look at the Headmistress, who stood twice as tall as the student by her side. To Harry's surprise, he heard an occasional shout through the murmurs that surrounded the French school's arrival, but with the chill wind blowing through, they were indistinct.
Being near the back had its benefits, however, as he was one of the first to return to the relative warmth of the castle ahead of most everyone else. He made a beeline for the Gryffindor table, ignoring Ron's pleas to at least go walk near where Viktor Krum was sitting.
Hermione's predictable, "He's just a seeker," saved him from needing to reply.
Up at the Head Table, Durmstrang's Headmaster sat between Snape and Professor Vector, drinking heavily from a goblet that might've fit better in Hagrid's large hands. The gargantuan Headmistress of Beauxbatons sat on Dumbledore's left, opposite Professor McGonagall. She too held a goblet, though she only took a small sip before setting it back to the table with a wince.
Dumbledore stood once the last of the students had settled, the commotion far louder for the castle's new occupants.
"I have the grand honor of welcoming our guests and sister schools to our hallowed halls," he said, waving a hand to encompass the visitors. "I do hope you find yourselves as comfortable here as you might in your own school. It is our wish that you create lasting bonds of friendship and camaraderie through the course of the tournament. After the feast, we will have a few announcements, but until then, please enjoy the wonderful meal!"
A larger spread than Harry had ever seen graced the tables in front of them. The food appeared on tiered plates, each one packed near to overflowing. Along with the standard fare, he saw two new dishes resting in front of him. Steam rose from both, fogging his glasses.
The first was some sort of dumpling that had been stuffed to translucence with meats of various types. The second was a stew of unknown contents. He put one of the dumplings on his empty plate and opted to fill the rest with food he was more familiar with.
When he had finished, he'd nearly felt the need to pop the button on his trousers as he'd often seen his Uncle do. He had gotten better about overeating during the normal meals, but feast days were a special occasion. He was about to lean back and stretch when a distinct and melodious feminine voice spoke from behind him.
"Excuse me," she said, her voice accented but clear. "Would you mind if I took the bouillabaisse from your table? It is one of my favorites and we have eaten ours."
When he turned, his heart gave such a deafening thump that he was surprised he hadn't deafened her. The tall, beautiful, and now that Harry was much closer, admittedly well-figured witch with the silver-blond hair from the World Cup was standing not a foot away from him.
Her curious sky-blue eyes bored into him much as they had in the top-box when she'd caught his eye as they'd passed, though he noticed them flit up to look at his scar. She made no reaction, which pleased him, but the normalcy of the movement served to bring him back to himself.
"Sure," he said, turning to look over his shoulder at the table. "But I'm not sure which-"
"I can make you some!" Ron burst out, his sudden shout making Harry jump.
He looked over to his friend in shock. Not once in their years together had his friend mentioned that he'd ever cooked a single meal.
"The one on the table will be adequate," she said, not once looking at Ron. "May I?" she asked instead, nodding to the untouched pot of soup.
With a nod, he slid to the side so she could reach. He regretted the awkward movement the moment the cloth of her robes brushed his shoulder.
A polite person would have stood up.
A faint wispy scent of cinnamon drifted to him as she reached past and grabbed the stew. She stood and inclined her head in thanks, a small smile adorning her lips.
When he turned back around, Ron continued to stare, glassy-eyed in her direction. Harry shook his head and turned forward to find an annoyed Hermione glaring at their friend.
"Snap out of it, Ronald. You're making a fool of yourself," she said, leaning over the table to swat him on the arm. The sharp contact brought him out of it, and he shook his head.
"She's a Veela," he said after a moment. "Just like at the World Cup. Made my head go all fuzzy."
"She is very pretty," Hermione allowed, if a bit reluctant. "But that doesn't mean she's Veela. They're exceedingly rare. Besides, the people in the top-box with us at the World Cup didn't turn stupid."
"But she's got that silvery hair like the ones on the pitch did, and she does that weird thing to you, just like they did. You both felt it, right?"
Hermione crossed her arms. "Firstly, there are many potions and spells that can change your hair color. She could even be a metamorphmagus. Although that would be far less likely than being a Veela."
"A metamorph-what?"
"Honestly, Ron. It's like you don't even care that you live in an incredible, magical world," she snapped. "Look it up! Besides, even if she was one, I wouldn't feel anything because I'm a girl."
Ron turned to Harry, his wide-eyes begging for some sort of life preserver. "You felt it too, right, Harry?"
Harry shrugged in apology. "I didn't feel my mind go fuzzy or anything. Sorry," he said quietly.
"You see?" Hermione said triumphantly. "It's incredibly uncommon for someone to be able to resist a Veela's allure, though it doesn't work on…" she trailed off, glancing to Harry before refocusing on Ron. "Nevermind. The point is, she's probably not a Veela."
"That's not a normal girl," Ron persisted, jerking his head down the table where both Neville and Seamus still stared after Fleur, besotten.
"She's probably just as normal as the rest of us," Hermione shot back, anger tinting her cheeks pink. "Don't you dare start sounding like the Slytherins, calling anyone with mixed blood a 'that'."
Ron wilted, then nodded. He didn't speak for the rest of the meal, except once to timidly ask someone to pass a pumpkin pastie. When the desserts had vanished and the conversation slowed, Dumbledore stood.
At some point during the feast, two men had joined Dumbledore and Harry was surprised to recognize them both. Ludo Bagman, a chubby man who had been the announcer at the World Cup, and Barty Crouch. Even in the middle of a school, he appeared as though he were preparing to interrogate someone about a murder, rather than listening to the Headmaster talk.
"And now, let us discuss the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore said into the noisy room, his words calming the dinnertime conversations. "Allow me to introduce two of the key organizers for this event, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, and Mr. Ludo Bagman."
Bagman waved as his name was called, while Crouch simply nodded.
"Mr. Crouch is our head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and has been working tirelessly with our Ambassadors to bring us both the Quidditch World Cup and the Triwizard Tournament. It is our hope that these events will strengthen our bonds with our friends from the continent. Mr. Bagman is our head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and has worked alongside Mr. Crouch, Headmaster Karkaroff, Headmistress Maxime, and myself to set up the tasks that our champions must overcome."
Mutterings broke out across the students at the end of Dumbledore's speech, which he quieted with a raised hand.
"I know you are all wondering about the details of the tournament, so I will attempt to assuage your curiosity. First things first, allow me to show you how we will determine our illustrious champions."
He waved a hand toward the door nearest the staff table and all eyes moved to follow. Filch strode out of the room carrying a large wooden chest that he placed between Dumbledore and Mr. Crouch before sliding back into the shadows along the wall.
"We have worked countless hours to devise a series of tasks that are worthy of the Triwizard title but aren't as deadly as its predecessors. Although the chance of mortal injury is reduced, do not think the tasks will be simple spell casting or minor puzzles. The champions will still be pushed to the peak of their abilities and beyond; magically, physically, and mentally. They must be able to think on their feet and adapt to new and dangerous situations as they arrive."
He stooped to open the chest, tapping it on its lid with his knobby wand. Everyone sat up a little straighter to get a glimpse of what lay inside.
"This," he said, straightening up with something held in his hand, "is the Goblet of Fire."
True to its name, pale, ethereal blue flames filled the wooden goblet.
"The selection process is simple," Dumbledore continued. "Anyone who wishes to be considered for champion will place their name and school on a piece of parchment and drop it into the Goblet. You will have twenty-four hours to submit your name. We will announce the champions after the Halloween feast tomorrow night."
Speculative conversation filled the Great Hall with indistinct chatter.
"Before we go any further, we must discuss a few rules. Firstly, as the danger has been lessened, but is still not insignificant, allow me to remind you that we will require all students applying to be of majority age."
His pronouncement was met with a veritable roar of disapproval, two of the loudest being from Fred and George, voicing their same concerns from the opening feast.
"This is non-negotiable," Dumbledore continued over the din, quieting the room. "I will be placing an age-line around the Goblet to dissuade any who think to circumvent this rule. Secondly, this is a warning to those who would reach for the glory of being the Triwizard Champion. Once your name is in the Goblet, you are placed in a magically binding contract. You will be unable to withdraw without sacrificing your magical abilities. I implore you to consider yourself and your skill before entering your name.
"The Goblet will be placed in the Entry Hall tonight and will be available to those students wishing to enter. And now, I bid you goodnight."
Conversation rose among the students as they stood, benches scraping against the floor. A few shouts mingled in with the noise and Harry turned his head to see the beautiful girl slip out of the Great Hall before everyone else.
"I wonder who the Hogwarts champion will be," Ron wondered aloud.
"Dunno," Harry said. "I don't know many seventh-year students."
Ron glanced over his shoulder to where Dumbledore had set the goblet on the head table. "I wish I could enter."
"You'd die," Hermione said flatly. "You heard Dumbledore. There's a chance that a seventeen-year-old champion will be killed. Someone our age wouldn't stand a chance."
"Being dead might finally get you off my back," Ron shot back.
She offered him a glare that was part venom, part hurt, and she stormed ahead of them and out of sight. Ron stayed foul-tempered all the way back to Gryffindor tower, only beginning to perk up when Fred and George began detailing their idea for getting through Dumbledore's age line.
Later that night, Harry and Ron climbed the stairs to the dorms. It'd taken some coaxing, but Ron's mood had finally shifted back to something a bit less sour, and it'd only taken one sacrificial game of wizards' chess to do it. Out of practice, Harry hadn't lasted long, but he'd done a good enough job for Ron to be satisfied when his knight brought Harry's king to his knees.
They opened the door to their dorm to find both Seamus and Dean wearing unusual robes. To Harry's amazement, rather than their standard black robes for school, they appeared to be embroidered and surprisingly colorful. Dean's was a deep red, almost black, in the dim light with matching embroidered designs tracing over the shoulders and down the arms. Seamus's was a near to gaudy gold, with stripes of black across the bottom half that saved him from looking like a bumblebee by virtue of their verticality.
The two boys turned to Harry and Ron, grins on their faces. "What sort of affair did you two get saddled with?" Dean asked, jerking his thumb over to Seamus. "He got stuck with his dad's old set. I doubt yours will be quite the eyesore his are."
"It's growing on me," Seamus said, his Irish accent still thick from the summer holiday. "I doubt people will be able to keep their eyes off me."
"For the wrong reasons," Ron said, walking over to his trunk. "I haven't checked mine yet. What about you, Harry?"
"Me neither," he said, casting his mind back to the small black box that had sat among his other school things. He trusted Mrs. Weasley, but he couldn't get the image of her faded flower-print dress out of his mind.
"You first," Ron said, producing a faded maroon box from the depths of his trunk. He frowned down at the package in his hand.
Harry pulled his garment box from where it rested atop his invisibility cloak and slipped the red ribbon off with a brush of his hand. He set it on his bed and pulled the lid off, exposing the folded robe held inside. A silent sigh of relief escaped him when he found his new robes flower-print free. Mrs. Weasley wouldn't give him something garish on purpose…but he hadn't been able to fully banish the worry.
He lifted the black robe and turned to show it to the others. Green accents adorned the front with silver embroidery tracing a leafy pattern through the colored sections. A simple while shirt and black trouser pair remained sitting inside the box.
Dean whistled. "Sharp robes…but…"
"You know you're not in Slytherin, don't ya'?" Seamus finished for Dean, gesturing to Harry's robes as he turned them around to inspect the front.
"Mrs. Weasley got them for me," he said, frowning down at the garment. "She knows I'm in Gryffindor…"
"Who knows what Mum thinks sometimes," Ron said, fiddling with the lid to his box. "She makes those ugly sweaters for us every y-" He went silent as he lifted his robe into the air, a frilly monstrosity hung between his hands.
Thin sleeves ended in voluminous folds with the top layer the same faded red as the rest of the robes, with off-white fabric beneath. The frills culminated in a bulbous collection just below the neckline that looked more akin to a tumor than a fashion statement.
"Fantastic," Ron muttered into the awkward silence that had descended on the dorm. He stuffed the embarrassing clothes into his trunk and slammed the lid shut. "Just fantastic."
XxX
Sleep had done little to improve Ron's mood, and Hermione's lingering frostiness only compounded his seething anger. They ate breakfast in heavy silence, though by unspoken agreement, each one of them ate a little faster than normal in a rush to go see who would put their names in the goblet.
They were almost finished when the morning post arrived, the normal flock of owls bolstered by what Harry could only presume was foreign birds. Owl after owl dropped a letter in front of a stone-faced Viktor Krum. Hedwig landed in front of Harry, drawing his attention back forward.
"That was quick," he said, offering a piece of bacon before untying the letter. He received a nip on the back of the hand as an angry response, and he offered more bacon as an apology. Hedwig stole a third piece from Ron's plate before flying off to rest in the owlery.
"Ruddy bird," Ron grumbled under his breath as Harry opened the letter.
Harry,
I heard about what happened at the World Cup, even all the way out here. I've been stealing copies of the Prophet to try to stay as up to date as I can, though I think the butcher I've been getting them from has it out for me now.
I'm glad to hear you weren't hurt in the attack. Those idiots would love to get their hands on you, so do your best to keep your head down in the future.
I can't believe they're having the tournament again! What's Dumbledore thinking? People used to die like crazy in those things. If I'm remembering right, all the champions died the last dozen times it was held, which was the whole reason they quit doing it.
Also, as much as I love Hedwig, we're going to have to start using other owls. She's a bit too noticeable, and too many people know she's yours.
There was a long streak of ink after the word 'noticeable' and a few dark brown drops.
She bit me! Before I met her, I'd never have thought an owl could be so smart, but here we are. How'd you manage to find a bird that can read anyway?
I'm trying to find some leads on where Wormtail went so I can get out of this mess, but it's a bit hard when you're as far away as I am. But don't worry. I'll figure it out soon enough.
Take care,
Padfoot
Harry reread the letter before carefully folding it and sliding it into a safe inner pocket on his robes. He made a mental note to send Sirius a reply soon. He wasn't quite sure what he'd put in the reply, but the idea of having someone to finally write to brought a small smile to his face.
Ron finished his meal and stood, with Harry and Hermione following suit. They joined the small crowd of other students filing into the already-packed entry hall. Shoulders and elbows bumped him as Harry slid through the gaggle of students blocking his view with Ron elbowing his way through amidst multiple complaints.
They broke through to the front to find Dean grinning from ear to ear. "Did you see it?" he asked, pointing to where the Goblet sat atop a waist-high pedestal.
"See what?" Harry asked.
"Fred and George! They tried using an aging potion to get past Dumbledore's age line. It threw them back and they grew huge beards!"
Ron let out a snort of laughter from beside Harry.
"They went to the hospital wing to get Madam Pomfrey to remove them," Neville continued, a laugh escaping him. "They kept changing the color of each other's beards as they left."
Harry laughed at the image of the twins with their bright red hair and lime green beards. It faded as the entry doors swung open to reveal Headmaster Karkaroff leading a straight-backed group of students behind him. They walked as one, their footfalls echoing through the hall as their heavy winter boots stomped against the stone floor. As Karkaroff reached the Goblet, he held a hand up and they stopped with one final stomp.
Karkaroff turned and stuck a hand into his blood-red robes. He produced a small handful of ripped parchment and held the first up to his eyes.
"Milanov." A heavyset student with close-cropped jet black hair stepped forward, grabbed the offered parchment, and dropped it in the Goblet. The magical artifact accepted the offering with a small flare of blue flame.
Konev, Petrich, and Ribar all followed suit, their expressions stony. The Headmaster listed through the names of his entire retinue, finally ending with, "Krum."
The seeker stepped forward and held his hand out, accepting the parchment placed in his palm. He squeezed his hand tight before tossing the parchment into the Goblet, the fire flaring for a moment longer than it had for the others. The Bulgarian school fell back into line without comment and marched from the hall, their steps echoing even as they stepped out into the cool October air.
The assembled students didn't have to wait long until the next potential champion stepped forward, garnering cheers of approval from a large gaggle of Hufflepuffs standing nearby. Harry couldn't help but notice most of the shouts were distinctly feminine. Cedric Diggory dropped his parchment inside with a determined grin and a quick nod. He stepped away quickly as another group shadowed the entry-way. The conversation in the hall became muted, punctuated by an occasional indistinct yell from near to the door.
Madame Maxime strode through the doorway, long fur robes sweeping across the floor behind her. Walking alongside, striding next rather quickly, was the silver-haired girl, her perfect features set in a mask of determination. The shouts drew nearer as she did, and Harry caught a flicker of a frown cross her lips. He watched her as she passed, the top of her head coming only to her Headmistress's waist.
She dropped her parchment into the Goblet and stepped to the side, then placed her hands behind her back as she waited for the others to do the same. Harry looked over as Ron took a hesitant step forward, his mouth open to speak. Before either of them could do anything, Madam Maxime had the Beauxbatons students moving with a word, and he turned to watch.
He started when he saw the beautiful witch watching him, her indifferent mask replaced by a burning curiosity. He met her sky-blue eyes for only a moment before letting his slide to a point on her forehead. As though she hadn't been looking his way at all, she turned her head back to the side, her long loose hair swinging with the motion.
Ron took a step forward as the students moved out of sight. "Did you see?" he asked, his voice tinged with wonder. "She looked at me."
Hermione's head swiveled as she shot Ron a withering glare from her spot on the other side of Neville, but Harry doubted Ron could see her and was certain he wouldn't care. He let his gaze wander back towards the doors and frowned.
It wouldn't be hard to believe the tale of the Boy-Who-Lived made it over the Channel, though…he wasn't sure he noticed her gaze flit up to his scar.
Fred and George reappeared sporting both identical grins and knee-length purple beards. As Harry watched, George's shifted to light pink, while Fred's slid into a deep black. They spotted Harry and Ron and approached with a wave.
"Got a massive lecture from Pomfrey," Fred said in answer to Harry's unasked question.
George nodded. "She said we cast too much magic at the jinx when we changed the colors, and we overpowered the spell. Now we just have to wait for them to fall off."
"It's growing on me though," Fred added thoughtfully.
They hung around the Goblet for a while longer, much to their delight when they saw Malfoy rebound off the age line after an attempt to stride through it. Crabbe and Goyle attempted the same, with similar results. When the sky had darkened and the Front Hall had grown chill with the setting sun, Dumbledore stepped into the hall and removed the Goblet from its pedestal.
"The entry period for the Triwizard Tournament is now closed. If everyone would kindly find their way into the Great Hall, a nice warm dinner is about to be served."
He paused as he turned and found Fred and George leaning against the wall on either side of the doors to the Great Hall looking nonchalant. George buffed his fingernails on his beard just in time for it to turn a vibrant shade of blue.
Dumbledore's eyes crinkled as he chuckled.
"Five points to Gryffindor for giving me something new to strive toward."