“The Triwizard Tournament,” Hermione read, then groan.
“It seems we were right,” Cedric said.
Harry frowned. “I wish we weren't,” he said.
Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale.
“They won't tip over, though,” Cedric said.
“Let me guess – magic,” Hermione said. Cedric nodded his head.
Leaning against the window, Harry could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as their carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle; Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville jumped down from their carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when they were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit Entrance Hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.
“Blimey,” said Ron, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, “if that keeps up, the lake’s going to overflow. I’m soak— ARGH!”
“What happened?” Harry asked.
A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron’s head, and exploded.
“Peeves,” Luna said.
“What a way to be welcomed,” Harry said.
Drenched and spluttering, Ron staggered sideways into Harry, just as a second water bomb dropped – narrowly missing Hermione, it burst at Harry’s feet, sending a wave of cold water over his trainers into his socks.
“Oh, great,” Harry said, sighing.
People all around them shrieked and started pushing each other in their efforts to get out of the line of fire – Harry looked up, and saw, floating twenty feet above them, Peeves the poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow-tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again.
“PEEVES!” yelled an angry voice. “Peeves, come down here at ONCE!”
“One of the professors, most likely,” Luna said.
Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress and Head of Gryffindor house, had come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop herself falling.
“That would probably hurt a bit,” Hermione said,
“Ouch – sorry, Miss Granger –“
“That’s all right, Professor!” Hermione gasped, massaging her throat.
'I know that she didn't really mean to do that,” Hermione said.
“Peeves, get down here NOW!” barked Professor McGonagall, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upwards through her square-rimmed spectacles.
“Not doing nothing!” cackled Peeves, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. “Already wet, aren’t they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!”
“And we were most likely trying to dry off, not wanting to get even more wet,” Hermione said.
And he aimed another bomb at a group of second-years who had just arrived.
“I shall call the Headmaster!” shouted Professor McGonagall. “I’m warning you, Peeves –“
“I doubt he really cares what she's saying, other than the threat to the headmaster,” Cedric said. “And I really doubt that Dumbledore would do that, considering that Filch has been doing what he could to get Peeves kicked out for years now.”
Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely.
“Well, move along, then!” said Professor McGonagall sharply to the bedraggled crowd. “Into the Great Hall, come on!”
“She could at least held dry us or something,” Hermione said, frowning.
Harry, Ron and Hermione slipped and slid across the Entrance Hall and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face.
“He really isn't starting this year out all that great, is he?” Hermione said.
The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in mid-air. The four long house tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here. Harry, Ron and Hermione walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. Pearly white and semi-transparent, Nick was dressed tonight in his usual doublet, with a particularly large ruff, which served the dual purpose of looking extra festive and ensuring that his head didn’t wobble too much on his partially severed neck.
“Yeah, really don't want to have to see that again,” Hermione said. “Or hear about it, as it is.”
“Good evening,” he said, beaming at them.
“Says who?” said Harry, taking off his trainers and emptying them of water.
“Yeah, with the rain and then Peeves, it hasn't been much of a good evening yet,” Hermione said.
“Hope they hurry up with the Sorting, I’m starving.”
The Sorting of the new students into houses took place at the start of every school year, but by an unlucky combination of circumstances, Harry hadn’t been present at one since his own. He was quite looking forward to it.
“It'll be interesting to know if it's the same as my own or not,” Harry said. “It'll also be interesting to know who the new house members are.”
Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice called down the table, “Hiya, Harry!”
“Colin Creevey,” Luna said.
“Yeah, he's really the only one who says that to Harry in that kind of voice,” Cedric said.
It was Colin Creevey, a third-year to whom Harry was something of a hero.
“Hi, Colin,” said Harry warily.
“Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother’s starting! My brother Dennis!”
“Er – good,” said Harry.
“He’s really excited!” said Colin, practically bouncing up and down in his seat.
'If he's anything like his brother, I don't doubt it,” Luna said.
“I just hope he’s in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?”
“Er – yeah, all right,” said Harry. He turned back to Hermione, Ron and Nearly Headless Nick. “Brothers and sisters usually go in the same houses, don’t they?” he said. He was judging by the Weasleys, all seven of whom had been put into Gryffindor.
“Yeah, but not everyone is like them,” Cedric said.
“Plus, I wouldn't be surprised if them all ended up in Gryffindor is because it was expected that they do so,” Hermione said. “I mean, with both of their parents in it and the older ones talking about how 'great' it is to be in there, well, they probably believe that that house is the only worthwhile one.”
“And some people pretty much say that it's that house or that they don't deserve to be in the family if they get another house,” Luna said.
“Oh, no, not necessarily,” said Hermione. “Parvati Patil’s twin’s in Ravenclaw, and they’re identical, you’d think they’d be together, wouldn’t you?”
“That's a good example,” Cedric said.
Harry looked up at the staff table. There seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first-years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the Entrance Hall floor, but there was another empty chair, too, and he couldn’t think who else was missing.
“The new DADA teacher isn't there yet,” Hermione said. “I mean, you didn't mention seeing a new face, after all.”
“Where’s the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?” said Hermione, who was also looking up at the teachers.
They had never yet had a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. Harry’s favourite by far had been Professor Lupin,
“Well, considering that he's not only the only one who taught you anything, but is also the only one who didn't purposely set out to hurt you, it makes sense that he'd be your favourite,” Cedric said.
“True,” Harry said.
who had resigned last year. He looked up and down the staff table. There was definitely no new face there.
“Maybe they couldn’t get anyone!” said Hermione, looking anxious.
“Actually, there is a clause between the Ministry and Hogwarts that allows the Ministry to appoint someone as a teacher should no other one be found,” Cedric said. “It's not used often, but I do remember my mother telling of the one year that it happened when she was in school. That's actually the only reason why I even know about it.”
Harry scanned the table more carefully. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions
“He wouldn't be able to see over the table otherwise,” Luna said.
beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway grey hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra’s other side was the sallow-faced, hook-nosed, greasy-haired Potions master, Snape – Harry’s least favourite person at Hogwarts. Harry’s loathing of Snape was matched only by Snape’s hatred of him, a hatred which had, if possible, intensified last year, when Harry had helped Sirius escape right under Snape’s overlarge nose – Snape and Sirius had been enemies since their own schooldays.
“You know, I have to wonder why that is. I mean, outside of Sirius almost getting Snape killed. Somehow, I get the feeling that it goes back even farther than that,” Hermione said. “Which makes me wonder what it is.”
“I have the feeling that we'll most likely never find out,” Cedric said. “At least, not unless we can talk to one or two of them.”
On Snape’s other side was an empty seat, which Harry guessed was Professor McGonagall’s. Next to it, and in the very centre of the table, sat Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster, his sweeping silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificent deep-green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. The tips of Dumbledore’s long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. Harry glanced up at the ceiling, too. It was enchanted to look like the sky outside, and he had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it.
“Lovely,” Cedric said, before sighing. “Well, at least it'll be safe, since it won't do everything that the outside does.”
“Oh, hurry up,” Ron moaned, beside Harry. “I could eat a Hippogriff.”
“Lovely,” Hermione said, shaking her head.
“I will admit, it would be nice if they had some sort of snack type of food to eat before the sorting, nothing too big, but something to tide us over, since the food trolley only comes around once, and you're technically not allowed to go up and get anything else from it after that one time,” Cedric said. “And, with what it serves, people are bound to feel rather hungry by the time they get to the school.”
“They probably do that because of the feast, though,” Hermione pointed out. “By being that hungry, people are bound to eat a lot at the feast.”
“That still doesn't mean that they can't at least give us a chance to have food more than once on the train,” Cedric said.
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened, and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first-years up to the top of the Hall.
“She didn't come back in before then,” Harry noted. The others looked at him. “Oh, I was remembering what it was like before our sorting, how she disappeared for a moment, which gave the ghost a chance to introduce themselves.”
“I'd say that probably means that the ghosts were meant to have a chance to do that to begin with, then,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, but Nick's right next to us,” Harry pointed out.
“True. Though, just because you notice most things doesn't mean you notice everything. It's very possible that Nick left for a moment to say hi and came back,” Hermione said. “It's not like you were watching him the entire time, and kept an eye on what he was doing.”
“It is also possible that McGonagall didn't do the same thing that she did to your group. She could have just given the speech and led the first years in. I doubt it, though, since the way your sorting and pre-sorting ceremony went is much like mine did,” Cedric said.
If Harry, Ron and Hermione were wet, it was nothing to how these first-years looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailing.
“Really, really am glad not to be a first year,” Hermione muttered.
All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school – all of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousey hair, who was wrapped in what Harry recognised as Hagrid’s moleskin overcoat. The coat was so big for him that it looked as though he was draped in a furry black marquee. His small face protruded from over the collar, looking almost painfully excited.
“I think we know who Colin's brother is,” Luna said. The others laughed.
“Well, we actually don't know if that's true, but I would imagine that it is if he's anything like Colin,” Harry told her.
When he had lined up with his terrified-looking peers, he caught Colin Creevey’s eye,
“I definitely think it is him,” Cedric said.
gave a double thumbs-up and mouthed, “I fell in the lake!” He looked positively delighted about it.
“I doubt that's the usual reaction people would have,” Hermione said.
“I don't think it is,” Cedric said, smiling.
Professor McGonagall now placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first-years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty, patched wizard’s hat. The first-years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was silence. Then a tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into song:
“Are you going to sing it, Hermione?” Harry asked. She blushed slightly and shrugged.
“Do you want me to?” she asked nervously.
“It's your choice, but since it says that it's a song, I think you should,” Cedric said. “But you don't have to if you don't want to.”
“Okay,” Hermione said, thinking about it, and then decided. Taking a deep breath, she began to sing, softly, but still loud enough for the others to hear.
“A thousand years or more ago, When I was newly sewn, There lived four wizards of renown, Whose names are still well known:
Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor, Fair Ravenclaw, from glen, Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad, Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.
They shared a wish, a hope, a dream, They hatched a daring plan To educate young sorcerers Thus Hogwarts School began.
Now each of these four founders Formed their own house, for each Did value different virtues In the ones they had to teach.
By Gryffindor, the bravest were Prized far beyond the rest;
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest Would always be the best;
For Hufflepuff, hard workers were Most worthy of admission;
And power-hungry Slytherin Loved those of great ambition.
While still alive they did divide Their favourites from the throng, Yet how to pick the worthy ones When they were dead and gone?
’Twas Gryffindor who found the way, He whipped me off his head
I wonder if that's true Harry thought, but he didn't say anything. He was enjoying the song, finding that Hermione's voice was nice.
The founders put some brains in me So I could choose instead!
Now slip me snug about your ears, I’ve never yet been wrong, I’ll have a look inside your mind And tell where you belong!’
“Brava,” Cedric said, clapping along with the other two. Hermione blushed.
“Thank you,” she said. She waited for the clapping to die down before going back to the chapter.
The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished.
“That’s not the song it sang when it sorted us,” said Harry, clapping along with everyone else.
“Well, considering that it would most likely get boring to not only be a hat, but sing the same song, it makes sense,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, I guess I should have mentioned that,” Cedric said. He didn't remember mentioning it when Harry was sorted, and, with the fact that Harry didn't attend the two sortings before now, well, it made sense that he didn't think about it before then.”
“Sings a different one every year,” said Ron. “It’s got to be a pretty boring life, hasn’t it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one.”
“And probably listening to what's going on with Dumbledore,” Luna said.
Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment.
“When I call out your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool,” she told the first-years. “When the Hat announces your house, you will go and sit at the appropriate table.
“Ackerley, Stewart!”
A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on and sat down on the stool.
“Ravenclaw!” shouted the Hat.
“So Ravenclaw gets the first student of this year,” Harry said.
Stewart Ackerley took off the Hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him. Harry caught a glimpse of Cho, the Ravenclaw Seeker, cheering Stewart Ackerley as he sat down. For a fleeting second, Harry had a strange desire to join the Ravenclaw table too.
Harry blushed while the other three did their best to retain their giggles (the girls) and chuckles (Cedric). Luna's giggle, though, didn't sound real, and the look on her face said that she wasn't actually all that happy to know that.
“Baddock, Malcolm!”
“Slytherin!”
The table on the other side of the Hall erupted with cheers; Harry could see Malfoy clapping as Baddock joined the Slytherins. Harry wondered whether Baddock knew that Slytherin house had turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other.
“Honestly, if he's in that house, he's probably aware of it, as several generations of his family were in there as well,” Cedric said. “At least, that's the most likely thing that happened, especially if Malfoy and several of the others are willingly clapping for him. I don't think they would do that if they didn't recognize his family name.”
Fred and George hissed Malcolm Baddock as he sat down.
“Branstone, Eleanor!”
“Hufflepuff!”
“Cauldwell, Owen!”
“Hufflepuff!”
“Creevey, Dennis!”
Tiny Dennis Creevey staggered forward, tripping over Hagrid’s moleskin, just as Hagrid himself sidled into the Hall through a door behind the teachers’ table. About twice as tall as a normal man, and at least three times as broad, Hagrid, with his long, wild, tangled black hair and beard, looked slightly alarming – a misleading impression, for Harry, Ron and Hermione knew Hagrid to possess a very kind nature.
“Though his choice of pets tends to make you think otherwise,” Hermione said.
He winked at them as he sat down at the end of the staff table, and watched Dennis Creevey putting on the Sorting Hat. The rip at the brim opened wide –
“Gryffindor!” the Hat shouted.
“I do believe that Colin's going to be happy about that,” Luna said. Hermione suddenly thought of something.
“You know, I have a question. In Muggleborn families, is it common for siblings to be magical if an older one is?” Hermione asked.
Cedric thought for a moment.
“I think so. I mean, I know of a few Muggleborn students who have younger siblings at Hogwarts with them,” he said. “Knowing that, it's very likely, though I haven't actually thought about it before...”
Hermione nodded, going back to the book.
Hagrid clapped along with the Gryffindors, as Dennis Creevey, beaming widely, took off the Hat, placed it back on the stool, and hurried over to join his brother.
“Colin, I fell in!” he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. “It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!”
“Cool!” said Colin, just as excitedly. “It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!”
“Wow!” said Dennis, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and pushed out of it again by a giant sea-monster.
There was some laughter at that.
“What a reason to be excited about,” Cedric said, chortling.
“Dennis! Dennis! See that boy down there? The one with the black hair and glasses? See him? Know who he is, Dennis?”
“I think you're popular with the whole family,” Luna said.
“Please don't say he's going to be like Colin was in his first year,” Harry said. He'd noticed, in the last book, that Colin hadn't been as bad in the previous book – or, rather, he at least hadn't appeared to be as bad. He hoped that he didn't have to deal with it this year as well.
Harry looked away, staring very hard at the Sorting Hat, now sorting Emma Dobbs.
The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moving, one by one, to the three-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall passed the ‘L’s.
“Oh, hurry up,” Ron moaned, massaging his stomach.
“The Sorting is a bit more important that food,” Cedric said.
“I'm sure that Ron will think otherwise,” Hermione said.
“Now, Ron, the Sorting’s much more important than food,” said Nearly Headless Nick, as “Madley, Laura!” became a Hufflepuff.
“ ’Course it is, if you’re dead,” snapped Ron.
“Yeah, someone living should have said that,” Luna said.
“I do hope this year’s batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch,” said Nearly Headless Nick, applauding as “McDonald, Natalie!” joined the Gryffindor table. “We don’t want to break our winning streak, do we?”
Gryffindor had won the Inter-House Championship for the last three years in a row.
“And two of those years were mostly because of something we did,” Harry said, motioning to him and Hermione.
“Pritchard, Graham!”
“Slytherin!”
“Quirke, Orla!”
“Ravenclaw!”
And finally, with “Whitby, Kevin!” (“Hufflepuff!”)the Sorting ended.
“Ron will be happy,” Luna said.
Professor McGonagall picked up the Hat and the stool, and carried them away.
“About time,” said Ron, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate.
“Actually, he still has to wait for Professor Dumbledore to say something,” Cedric said. “I doubt it will take that long, though. His speeches usually come after the feast.”
Professor Dumbledore had got to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome.
“I have only two words to say to you,” he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. “Tuck in.”
“Hear, hear!” said Harry and Ron loudly, as the empty dishes filled magically before their eyes.
Nearly Headless Nick watched mournfully as Harry, Ron and Hermione loaded their plates.
“It has to such for him to sit there and watch everyone else eat,” Hermione said.
“Aaah, ’at’s be’er,” said Ron, with his mouth full of mashed potato.
“Lovely,” Hermione said, wrinkling her nose.
“You’re lucky there’s a feast at all tonight, you know,” said Nearly Headless Nick. “There was trouble in the kitchens earlier.”
“Why? Wha’ ’appened?” said Harry, through a sizeable chunk of steak.
“I probably shouldn't talk with my mouth full,” Harry said.
“Peeves, of course,” said Nearly Headless Nick,
“Somehow, I'm not surprised,” Cedric said.
“Do you think that's why he did what he did earlier?” Hermione said, referring to the water balloon incident.
“Possibly,” Cedric said. “Though this would be the first time he'd done it, as far as I know.”
shaking his head, which wobbled dangerously. He pulled his ruff a little higher up his neck. “The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast – well, it’s quite out of the question, you know what he’s like, utterly uncivilised, can’t see a plate of food without throwing it.”
“Which is why he's never allowed to come,” Cedric said.
“We held a ghosts’ council – the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance – but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down.”
“I have to agree with Nick,” Harry said.
The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin ghost, a gaunt and silent spectre covered in silver bloodstains. He was the only person at Hogwarts who could really control Peeves.
“Other than the headmaster,” Cedric added.
“Not that he does anything to stop him,” Luna said.
“Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something,” said Ron darkly.
“Which, if you think about it, doesn't really make sense. He's been told several times before, and it's doubtful that the answer would chance, unless he changed,” Hermione said.
“I think he's hoping that it'll change,” Luna said. “Without him having to change.”
“So what did he do in the kitchens?”
“Oh, the usual,” said Nearly Headless Nick, shrugging. “Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits –“
“There are house-elves at Hogwarts?” Hermione said, sounding surprised.
“Yeah,” Cedric said, realizing that he hadn't mentioned it before. “They're responsible for the food, keeping the great hall cleaned, and the dormitories.”
“I take it that they're not paid, though,” Hermione said.
“Not that I know of,” Cedric said. She nodded, not exactly happy with his response, but, remembering what he had told them during the second book, knew that it wasn't something she could change, for it wasn't what they wanted, but what she wanted. No matter what argument she used, it would all boil down to the fact that she wanted it, not them, and that would make her worse than anyone else when it came to them.
That said, it didn't mean that she couldn't do something to help keep them from being abused...
Clang. Hermione had knocked over her golden goblet. Pumpkin juice spread steadily over the tablecloth, staining several feet of white linen orange, but Hermione paid no attention.
“That's right. All my book self knows about house-elves is what happened to Dobby and Winky, meaning that I'm most likely going to do what it was that you mentioned I would most likely do when holding back on telling me about house-elves actually being slaves,” Hermione said.
“There are house-elves here?” she said, staring, horror-struck, at Nearly Headless Nick. “Here at Hogwarts?”
“You know, when you think about it, it makes sense that there are,” Harry said. “I mean, while Filch does some things, he's only one person and he also a Squib, and the castle is huge, so...”
“It kind of makes sense that there's some other type of help there,” Hermione said.
“Exactly,” Harry said.
“Certainly,” said Nearly Headless Nick, looking surprised at her reaction.
“I think that Nick forgot that, as a Muggleborn, knowledge like that isn't known to me all that much,” Hermione said.
“The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred.”
“I’ve never seen one!” said Hermione.
“Truthfully, a mark of a good house-elf is not to be seen,” Luna said.
“So they only do their work when no one can see them?” Hermione asked. Luna nodded. “Then how do you know that they're there?” Hermione asked Cedric.
“If you know where the kitchens are, you can see them. While they don't show themselves when cleaning the rest of the place, they do in the kitchens. But that's mostly because that's their domain in a way,” Cedric said. “And the kitchens are actually near the Hufflepuff dorms, so...”
“You sneak there a bit, don't you?” Hermione said.
“I have a few times,” Cedric admitted. Hermione smiled at him as she shook her head.
“I'm a growing boy. I need food,” he said, and she laughed at him.
“Okay, I think I wouldn't mind being in Hufflepuff, just for that fact,” Harry said jokingly. While Hufflepuff was one of the two houses he liked the sounds of a bit, he wasn't sure if that was the house he definitely wanted to be in. So far, he wasn't upset with Gryffindor, and he hadn't heard enough about Ravenclaw to make a definite decision of which of the three houses – Slytherin was an automatic disqualification, due to who it's members were and had been. Truthfully, though, he was leaning not to be in Gryffindor as well, if only so he wouldn't end up subjected to Oliver Wood, should he decide to do Quidditch in his second or third year – he'd already decided that, while it was cool to be on the team in first year, that didn't mean he actually wanted it.
“Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?” said Nearly Headless Nick. “They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning ... see to the fires and so on ... I mean, you’re not supposed to see them, are you? That’s the mark of a good house-elf, isn’t it, that you don’t know it’s there?”
“I have the feeling that, for the Hogwarts elves, it's also because Muggleborns probably would act like I'm most likely about to,” Hermione said. “At least, if they've heard about them before.”
Hermione stared at him.
“But they get paid?” she said. “They get holidays, don’t they? And – and sick leave, and pensions and everything?”
Nearly Headless Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck.
“That's not nice,” Hermione said, frowning.
“I think he was probably a pure-blood when alive, because that would be the response of most of them when asked about it,” Luna said.
“Sick leave and pensions?” he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it once more with his ruff. “House-elves don’t want sick leave and pensions!”
Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from her.
“Your going to starve yourself,” Luna said.
“That's not smart,” Cedric said. “You'll insult them if you do that, which will hurt their feelings, and make them think that they're something wrong. And, if they think something is wrong, they will do anything they can to fix it, and when I say that, I mean anything, even at the expense of themselves.”
“Oh,” Hermione said, eyes wide. She wished that she could somehow get to her book self and tell her to eat, if only to keep the elves from doing something that would harm them because she was being an idiot.
“Oh, c’mon, ’Er-my-knee,” said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. “Oops – sorry, ’Arry –“ He swallowed. “You won’t get them sick leave by starving yourself!”
“Slave labour,” said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose. “That’s what made this dinner. Slave labour.”
And she refused to eat another bite.
The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark windows. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings.
“Treacle tart, Hermione!” said Ron, deliberately wafting its smell towards her. “Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!”
But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up.
There was some laughter at that, though Hermione couldn't really find it funny since she knew what not eating could do to the elves.
When the puddings, too, had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.
“So!” said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. “Now that we are all fed and watered” (“Hmph!” said Hermione),
“Hermione, you can't blame him for the fact that you decided not to eat because of who made the dinner,” Harry said.
“I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.
“Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch’s office, if anybody would like to check it.”
“Which no one will – except the Weasley Twins, so they know what to bring to the castle from Hogsmeade,” Cedric said.
The corners of Dumbledore’s mouth twitched.
“I think he knows that no one will do that,” Harry said.
“Oh, he does,” Cedric said.
He continued, “As ever, I would like to remind you all that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year.
“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.”
“That's going to surprise everyone,” Cedric said. “I'm not too surprised to hear that, though. With the tournament, it makes sense that it would happen.”
“What?” Harry gasped. He looked around at Fred and George, his fellow members of the Quidditch team. They were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak.
“Well, they are Quidditch nuts,” Luna said. “I'm sure that, if you looked at him, Ron would be doing the same thing.
Dumbledore continued, “This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy – but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts –“
But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.
A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black travelling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swivelled towards the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark grey hair, then began to walk up towards the teachers’ table.
“I think the new teacher's there,” Cedric said.
A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right and limped heavily towards Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione gasped.
The lightning had thrown the man’s face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any Harry had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces were supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing.
“Okay,” Harry said. “What happened to him?”
Cedric, who was recognizing the description due to having met him before, said, “It's Mad-Eye Moody, and that's what doing his job has done to him.”
“Nice,” Hermione said.
But it was the man’s eyes that made him frightening.
One of them was small, dark and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye – and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man’s head, so that all they could see was whiteness.
“Is that why he's called Mad-Eye?” Hermione asked.
“I wouldn't be surprised, but I do not know when he started being called that,” Cedric said.
The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words Harry couldn’t hear. He seemed to be making some enquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded, and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.
The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark grey hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages towards him, raised it to what was left of his nose and sniffed it.
“I take it he's making sure that it wasn't poisoned,” Harry said. Cedric nodded.
He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.
“May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,” said Dumbledore brightly, into the silence. “Professor Moody.”
It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students clapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid. Both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody’s bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.
“That makes sense. He did make quite an entrance, after all,” Luna said.
“Moody?” Harry muttered to Ron. “Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?”
“Must be,” said Ron, in a low, awed voice.
“Oh, that's probably why else everyone is silent,” Cedric said. “Most of the wizarding world knows who he is, and have probably told their children about him as well.”
“What happened to him?” Hermione whispered. “What happened to his face?”
“Dunno,” Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination.
Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his travelling cloak, pulled out a hip-flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and Harry saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot.
“Is that normal when it comes to Aurors?” Hermione asked.
“Not that I know of, but with how good at his job he was, as well as the fact that he was fighting in a war, well...” Cedric said, not bothering to finish. It was clear enough what he was saying.
Dumbledore cleared his throat again.
“As I was saying,” he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, “we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”
“That should get everyone's attention,” Luna said.
“You’re JOKING!” said Fred Weasley loudly.
The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody’s arrival suddenly broke.
Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.
“I am not joking, Mr. Weasley,” he said, “though, now you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag and a leprechaun who all go into a bar –“
“I don't think that he's going to be finishing that,” Harry said.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.
“Er – but maybe this is not the time ... no ...” said Dumbledore.
“No, I don't think that it is,” Hermione said.
“Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament ... well, some of you will not know what this Tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.
“The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago, as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry – Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the Tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities – until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the Tournament was discontinued.”
“I really hope that it's changed enough that there won't be the problems that caused a death toll to begin with,” Hermione said.
“Death toll?” Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. But her anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly with each other, and Harry himself was far more interested in hearing more about the Tournament than in worrying about deaths that had happened hundreds of years ago.
“Harry, you of all people should be a bit more concerned about this death toll, since you know that there is someone who wants to kill you out there,” Luna said.
“There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the Tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “none of which have been very successful.”
“Which is a good thing, in my opinion,” Hermione said.
“However, our own Departments of International Magical Co-operation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that, this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.”
“Just because they did that doesn't mean that the champions won't be in danger anyway,” Harry said.
“The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween.”
“Please, please say that my book self realizes the fact that this is going to happen on Halloween is something to make note of,” Harry prayed.
“I have a feeling that your praying will be less than effective,” Luna said.
“An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money.”
“The last bit is going to definitely catch people's attentions,” Hermione said.
“I’m going for it!” Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualising themself as Hogwarts champion.
“There are probably quite a few people doing that,” Cedric said.
At every house table, Harry could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbours. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quietened once more.
“Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts,” he said, “the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year.”
“You mean that there wasn't one before,” Hermione said, shaking her head.
“Only students who are of age – that is to say, seventeen years or older – will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration.”
“That's not going to make everyone happy,” Cedric said. Not that he would be one of those upset about it; because the selection of the champions would take place on Halloween, he himself would be of age by then, so, if his book self wanted to, he could enter.
“This” – Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious –
“Their mother would kill them if they even tried to enter it anyway, so it's probably a good thing they can't enter,” Harry said.
“They'll probably still try, though,” Hermione pointed out.
“True, but I have the feeling that the professors have probably thought about that and have something planned to keep that from happening,” Cedric said.
“I hope your right,” Hermione said.
“is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the Tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion.”
“Which means that, chances are, anything they'll think of won't work, to a point,” Cedric said. He could think of at least one way it would work, but that was about it.
His light-blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred and George’s mutinous faces. “I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.”
“From what we've been told about him, I have a feeling whoever does will end up embarrassed in some way if they try,” Hermione said. “Because I doubt he'd do anything to really hurt them.”
“The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October, and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected.”
“I'm not sure how well that will work,” Cedric said. “I mean, I'm pretty sure that only the person's house will like it if they're picked. I'm also sure that no one other than the Slytherins will like it if someone from that house is chosen as well. I mean, the other houses will at least be polite to someone chosen from one of the other two houses, but no one will be happy if the champion is a Slytherin.”
“And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning.”
“I have the feeling that there is no student – other than Hermione – who actually agrees with that,” Cedric said.
“Bedtime! Chop chop!”
Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet, and swarmed towards the double doors into the Entrance Hall.
“They can’t do that!” said George Weasley,
“Uh, yes they can,” Luna said.
who had not joined the crowd moving towards the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. “We’re seventeen in April, why can’t we have a shot?”
“Yeah, I will admit it does kind of suck for those who would be seventeen that school year as well, but have their birthday after the date of the champions being chosen,” Harry said.
“They’re not stopping me entering,” said Fred stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. “The champions’ll get to do all sorts of stuff you’d never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!”
“That would be enough to help the twins start their business for sure,” Luna said.
“Yeah,” said Ron, a faraway look on his face. “Yeah, a thousand Galleons ...”
“I'm not surprised that the money caught Ron's interest,” Hermione said. “Considering the way he is about being poor, it makes quite a bit of sense.”
“Come on,” said Hermione, “we’ll be the only ones left here if you don’t move.”
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred and George set off for the Entrance Hall, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen entering the Tournament.
“It's probably a way that will make sure no one under age gets in,” Luna said.
“Who’s this impartial judge who’s going to decide who the champions are?” said Harry.
“Dunno,” said Fred, “but it’s them we’ll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Ageing Potion might do it, George ...”
“Unless they've been given a list of who is of age by the time it comes to choosing the champion and who isn't,” Hermione said.
“Dumbledore knows you’re not of age, though,” said Ron.
“Yeah, but he’s not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?” said Fred shrewdly.
“It doesn't mean that he won't have a part in doing so, though,” Hermione said.
“Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he’ll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are.”
“I doubt that's true,” Cedric said.
“Dumbledore’s trying to stop us giving our names.”
“That makes it sound as though they think the age limit is personally against them,” Harry said.
“People have died, though!” said Hermione in a worried voice, as they walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase.
“I doubt that they'll really care about that, though,” Luna said. “Considering the way they live life and all, they'll just think that it would be fun with the risk.”
“Yeah,” said Fred airily, “but that was years ago, wasn’t it?”
“Unless they've completely changed the way the tournament goes, that element of someone dying is still there,” Hermione said.
“Anyway, where’s the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?”
“What d’you reckon?” Ron asked Harry. “Be cool to enter, wouldn’t it? But I s’pose they might want someone older ... dunno if we’ve learnt enough ...”
“We're only fourth years. We definitely haven't learned enough,” Harry said.
“I definitely haven’t,” came Neville’s gloomy voice from behind Fred and George. “I expect my gran’d want me to try, though, she’s always going on about how I should be upholding the family honour.”
There were some frowns at that.
“I’ll just have to – ooops ...”
Neville’s foot had sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. There were many of these trick stairs at Hogwarts; it was second nature to most of the older students to jump this particular step, but Neville’s memory was notoriously poor.
“I wonder why his memory is bad,” Harry muttered. He knew that, in the Muggle world, some people were born with some problems to their brains – which was where memory was – but that some people were also that way because of physical abuse. Truthfully, he was kind of lucky that he wasn't that way, considering how hard Dudley tended to hit him.
Harry and Ron seized him under the armpits and pulled him out, while a suit of armour at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked, laughing wheezily.
“Shut it, you,” said Ron, banging down its visor as they passed.
“I doubt it really did any good, though,” Harry said.
They made their way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, which was concealed behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress.
“Password?” she said, as they approached.
“Oh, you don't know what it is,” Cedric said.
“Balderdash,” said George, “a Prefect downstairs told me.”
“Or maybe you do,” Cedric corrected himself.
“It's lucky that George was about to get a Prefect to tell him,” Luna said.
“How do the upper years usually get into the dorms?” Hermione asked.
“Well, the upper years – save for whoever the fifth year prefects are – tend to arrive all together, and all the Prefects are told the password beforehand,” Cedric said.
“So they tend to take care of it while also informing everyone else what the password is in effect as well,” Harry said.
“Exactly,” Cedric said.
The portrait swung forwards to reveal a hole in the wall, through which they all climbed. A crackling fire was warming the circular common room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables. Hermione cast the merrily dancing flames a dark look, and Harry distinctly heard her mutter “slave labour”, before bidding them goodnight, and disappearing through the doorway to the girls’ dormitories.
“I wonder how you're going to sleep considering your things and your bed are going to be the results of house-elves as well,” Luna said.
Harry, Ron and Neville climbed up the last, spiral staircase until they reached their own dormitory, which was situated at the top of the Tower. Five four-poster beds with deep crimson hangings stood against the walls, each with its owner’s trunk at the foot. Dean and Seamus were already getting into bed; Seamus had pinned his Ireland rosette to his headboard, and Dean had tacked up a poster of Viktor Krum over his bedside table.
“So he's a fan of Krum like Ron is,” Harry said.
“I have a feeling that Krum is a fan favourite of many others,” Hermione said.
His old poster of West Ham football team was pinned right next to it.
“Mental,” Ron sighed, shaking his head at the completely stationary soccer players.
Harry, Ron and Neville got into their pyjamas and into bed. Someone – a house-elf, no doubt – had placed warming pans between the sheets.
“It's very likely,” Luna said.
It was extremely comfortable, lying there in bed and listening to the storm raging outside.
“I might go in for it, you know,” Ron said sleepily through the darkness, “if Fred and George find out how to ... the Tournament ... you never know, do you?”
“No, there really is no way to know how a champion is sorted,” Cedric said.
“S’pose not ...” Harry rolled over in bed, a series of dazzling new pictures forming in his mind’s eye ... he had hoodwinked the impartial judge into believing he was seventeen ... he had become Hogwarts champion ... he was standing in the grounds, his arms raised in triumph in front of the whole school, all of whom were applauding and screaming ... he had just won the Triwizard Tournament ... Cho’s face stood out particularly clearly in the blurred crowd, her face glowing with admiration …
“I wonder just how many people are having the same dream,” Hermione said.
“Probably everyone who wants to enter,” Cedric said.
“Why did it have to mention the fact that Cho's face stood out the most?” Harry groaned. Luna was frowning at hearing that, not liking Harry's crush being displayed like that. Of course, she didn't like hearing about Cho that much at all.
“Because she's your crush,” Hermione said. “It's natural that you'd want her to admire you.”
Harry grinned into his pillow, exceptionally glad that Ron couldn’t see what he could.
“Yeah, I can see why. I mean, he's probably wonder what it was that was making you smile,” Cedric said.
“That's the end of the chapter,” Hermione said, yawning, which started a chain reaction.
“I think we should leave the next chapter until tomorrow,” Cedric said.
“Okay,” the others agreed, and Hermione bookmarked the book before setting it down. Then she followed the other three to her dorm with Luna, heading straight to her room. Changing, she settled herself into bed, falling asleep rather easily. The others did as well, everyone asleep within ten minutes of laying down.