HP & The Goblet of Fire

Harry

Despite the very heavy load of homework that the fourth years had been given for the holidays, Harry was in no mood to work when term ended, and spent the week leading up to Christmas enjoying himself as fully as possible along with everyone else. Even Sera had greatly loosened up now, but she’d been spending a lot of her time with her ‘secret boyfriend’.

The Prowlers had split up for a while, it seemed, though it wasn’t something they addressed. With Regulus busy with Tracey, Cedric with Cho, Harry with Celeste, Sera with her guy, and Adrian making it a goal to seduce as many girls as possible before term ended, they rarely spent any time together, even at meals.

Gryffindor Tower was hardly less crowded now than during term-time; it seemed to have shrunk slightly too, as its inhabitants were being so much rowdier than usual. Fred and George had had a great success with their Canary Creams, and for the first couple of days of the holidays, people kept bursting into feathers all over the place. Before long, however, all the Gryffindors had learned to treat food anybody else offered them with extreme caution, in case it had a Canary Cream concealed in the center, and George confided to Harry that he and Fred were now working on developing something else. Harry made a mental note never to accept so much as a crisp from Fred and George in future.

Snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a large, chilly, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that was Hagrid’s cabin, while the Durmstrang ship’s portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost. The house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews and savoury puddings, and only Fleur Delacour seemed to be able to find anything to complain about.

“It is too ’eavy, all zis ’Ogwarts food,” Fleur told them grumpily as they left the Great Hall together one evening. “I will not fit into my dress robes!”

“Oooh there’s a tragedy,” Sera snapped, not bothering to hide her dislike for the girl in the least as she skulked beside Harry and Celeste.

She really thinks a lot of herself, that one, doesn’t she? Harry heard her voice in his head.

“Bye, Harry, I’ll see you later, I got to go,” she said aloud to Harry, completely ignoring Celeste and Fleur, and left in a huff. Harry frowned after her; she was his best friend and he loved her, he really did, but these days he couldn’t stand her horrible attitude towards his girlfriend. He was getting sick of just ignoring it... he’d have to talk to her.

"Will she never like me?" Celeste groaned.

Harry patted her on the shoulder. "She'll come around, don't worry... she's just, uh, protective, I guess. And really not open to anyone not in our immediate friend group... you're with us, of course, but I think she's still just not used to it."

Celeste raised unimpressed eyebrows. "Harry, it's been half-term already... if she hasn't gotten used to me by now, I doubt she will. She just hates me, admit it."

Harry found he couldn't argue with that, and Celeste gave him a small smile and a peck on the lips. "Alright, I need to meet up with my girlfriends now, so I'll see you later, yeah? C'mon, Fleur."

And Harry watched them go, his thoughts occupied by Sera.

Charles

“So, have you picked a dress yet?” Bianca asked Hermione as they left the Great Hall one evening, their classes having ended for the day.

Hermione sighed sadly. “No! I don’t have anything to wear, to be honest... I had to ask my parents for some extra money to buy one; I just received it this morning.”

Bianca smiled. “Well, I don’t have anything great either, so I was thinking we could go shopping together tomorrow? It’s a Hogsmeade weekend.”

Hermione hummed. “That’s an idea, I guess... and I’ll assume Lyra and Daphne are going to be there too?”

Bianca grinned sheepishly. “Yeah...”

“Alright,” Hermione shrugged. “It’s a plan then.”

“I still can’t believe you’re going with Dean,” Ron grumbled.

“You’re joking, Weasley!” Parkinson crowed behind them. “You’re not telling me someone’s asked that to the ball? Not the long-molared Mudblood?”

Charles, Bianca, and Ron all whipped around, but Hermione just sneered. “Do you really want to, Parkinson? ‘Cause two can totally play this game.”

Parkinson went pale and then flushed, looking wildly around, and walked away.

Charles frowned at Hermione. “What was that all about?”

She met his eyes evenly as she smirked. “Nothing, don’t worry ‘bout it Charles.”

As they went up the marble staircase, Ron suddenly looked sideways at Hermione, frowning. “‘Mione, your teeth...”

“What about them?” she said.

“Well, they’re different... I’ve just noticed...”

“Of course they are – did you expect me to keep those fangs Parkinson gave me?”

“No, I mean, they’re different to how they were before she put that hex on you... They’re all... straight and — and normal-sized.”

Hermione suddenly smiled very mischievously, and Charles noticed it too: It was a very different smile from the one he remembered.

“Well... when I went up to Madam Pomfrey to get them shrunk, she held up a mirror and told me to stop her when they were back to how they normally were,” she said. “And I just... let her carry on a bit.” She smiled even more widely. “Mum and Dad won’t be too pleased. I’ve been trying to persuade them to let me shrink them for ages, but they wanted me to carry on with my braces. You know, they’re dentists, they just don’t think teeth and magic — look! Pigwidgeon’s here!”

Ron’s tiny owl was twittering madly on the top of the icicle-laden banisters, a scroll of parchment tied to his leg. People passing him were pointing and laughing, and a group of third-year girls paused and said, “Oh look at the weeny owl! Isn’t he cute?”

“Stupid little feathery git!” Ron hissed, hurrying up the stairs and snatching up Pigwidgeon. “You bring letters to the addressee! You don’t hang around showing off!”

Pigwidgeon hooted happily, his head protruding over Ron’s fist. The third-year girls all looked very shocked.

“Clear off!” Ron snapped at them, waving the fist holding Pigwidgeon, who hooted more happily than ever as he soared through the air. “Here — take it, Charles,” Ron added as the third-year girls scuttled away looking scandalized. He pulled the reply off Pigwidgeon’s leg, and unrolled it.

“Hey, I’ve gotta go meet Lyra,” Bianca suddenly said, smiling as she stood up. “See you!”

They waved back and Bianca left.

“It’s from Charlie,” Ron shrugged as he looked up. “Just saying hi and all that... and asking whether we’ve got dates yet.” As he said that, a happy smile lurked at his lips.

Charles grinned. “Great! Tell him!”

“Yeah, I’ll reply soon... let’s go to the common room.”

Harry

“Hedwig,” Harry sighed in relief. The snowy owl was there with Regulus’ reply clutched in her claws, and was heading straight towards him. Once she’d arrived, he untied the little scroll of parchment and contacted his friends.

Regulus’ reply is here.

The Prowlers knew about his correspondence with Regulus, even though Jéricho wasn’t the happiest about it. This time Harry had written to tell Regulus about the first task (he’d probably heard about it from the other adults, but whatever) and other occurrences happening at Hogwarts.

Gryffindor common room? I’m really not in the mood to go to the Shrieking Shack. came back Adrian’s reply.

Yeah, sure, Harry replied. Now days, no one really cared about the Prowlers entering each other’s common rooms; everyone knew they were as thick as thieves and no one cared to separate or report them.

Everyone in the common room was much too busy in letting off more holiday steam to observe what anyone else was up to. Harry, Adrian, Cedric, Sera, and Jéricho sat apart from everyone else by a dark window that was gradually filling up with snow, and Harry read out:

Dear Harry,

Congratulations on getting past the Fireball! Your strategy was excellent, I’m very proud. But to be honest, I’m impressed with Charles greatly... your brother outflew the Horntail, you know, and that didn’t seem possible to me. Whoever put his name in that goblet shouldn’t be feeling too happy right now! I was going to suggest a Conjunctivitis Curse, as a dragon’s eyes are its weakest point — “That’s what Krum did!” Sera whispered — but your way was better, I’m impressed.

Don’t get complacent, though, Harry. You’ve only done one task; two more tasks means plenty more opportunity of getting hurt. Keep your eyes open and concentrate on keeping yourself out of trouble, okay?

Keep in touch, I still want to hear about anything unusual.

Crux.

“He sounds exactly like Moody,” Harry huffed, tucking the letter away again inside his robes. “‘Constant vigilance!’ And Sirius isn’t much better, you know... You’d think I walk around with my eyes shut, banging off the walls...”

“But he’s right, Harry,” Sera reasoned, “you have still got two tasks to do. You really ought to have a look at that egg, you know, and start working out what it means...”

“Not like I’m not trying,” Harry groaned. “But honestly, I don’t know what the clue means! Besides, how am I supposed to concentrate with all this noise going on? I won’t even be able to hear the egg over this lot.”

“Oh, I suppose not,” she sighed.

Charles

Charles awoke very suddenly on Christmas Day. Wondering what had caused his abrupt return to consciousness, he opened his eyes, and saw something with very large, round, green eyes staring back at him in the darkness, so close they were almost nose to nose.

“Dobby!” Charles yelled, scrambling away from the elf so fast he almost fell out of bed. “Don’t do that!”

“Dobby is sorry, sir!” squeaked Dobby anxiously, jumping backward with his long fingers over his mouth. “Dobby is only wanting to wish Charles Potter ‘Merry Christmas’ and bring him a present, sir! Charles Potter did say Dobby could come and see him sometimes, sir!”

“It’s okay,” said Charles, still breathing rather faster than usual, while his heart rate returned to normal. “Just — just prod me or something in future, all right, don’t bend over me like that...”

Charles pulled back the curtains around his four-poster, took his glasses from his bedside table, and put them on. His yell had awoken Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville. All of them were peering through the gaps in their own hangings, heavy-eyed and tousle-haired.

“Someone attacking you, Charles?” Seamus asked sleepily.

“No, it’s just Dobby,” Charles muttered. “Go back to sleep.”

“Nah... presents!” said Seamus, spotting the large pile at the foot of his bed. Ron, Dean, and Neville decided that now that they were awake they might as well get down to some present-opening too. Charles turned back to Dobby, who was now standing nervously next to Charles’ bed, still looking worried about upsetting him. There was a Christmas bauble tied to the loop on top of his tea cozy.

“Can Dobby give Charles Potter his present?” he squeaked tentatively.

“’Course you can,” Charles said quickly. “Er... I’ve got something for you too.”

It was a lie; he hadn’t bought anything for Dobby at all, but he quickly opened his trunk and pulled out a particularly knobbly rolled-up pair of socks. They were his oldest and foulest, mustard yellow. The reason they were extra-knobbly was that Charles had been using them to cushion his Sneakoscope for over a year now. He pulled out the Sneakoscope and handed the socks to Dobby, saying, “Sorry, I forgot to wrap them...”

But Dobby was utterly delighted.

“Socks are Dobby’s favorite, favorite clothes, sir!” he said, ripping off his odd ones and pulling on the mustard ones. “I has seven now, sir... But sir...” he said, his eyes widening, having pulled both socks up to their highest extent, so that they reached to the bottom of his shorts, “they has made a mistake in the shop, Charles Potter, they is giving you two the same!”

“Ah, no, Charles, how come you didn’t spot that?” said Ron, grinning over from his own bed, which was now strewn with wrapping paper. “Tell you what, Dobby — here you go — take these two, and you can mix them up properly. And here’s your sweater.”

He threw Dobby a pair of violet socks he had just unwrapped, and the hand-knitted sweater Mrs. Weasley had sent. Poor Dobby looked quite overwhelmed.

“Sir is very kind!” he squeaked, his eyes brimming with tears again, bowing deeply to Ron. “Dobby knew sir must be a great wizard, for he is Charles Potter’s greatest friend, but Dobby did not know that he was also as generous of spirit, as noble, as selfless —”

“They’re only socks,” said Ron, who had gone slightly pink around the ears, though he looked rather pleased all the same. “Wow, Charles —” He had just opened Charles’ present, a Chudley Cannon hat. “Cool!” He jammed it onto his head, where it clashed horribly with his hair.

Dobby now handed Charles a small package, which turned out to be — socks.

“Dobby is making them himself, sir!” the elf said happily. “He is buying the wool out of his wages, sir!”

The left sock was bright red and had a pattern of broomsticks upon it; the right sock was green with a pattern of Snitches.

“They’re... they’re really . . . well, thanks, Dobby,” Charles managed, pulling them on, causing Dobby’s eyes to leak with happiness again.

“Dobby must go now, sir, we is already making Christmas dinner in the kitchens!” said Dobby, and he hurried out of the dormitory, waving good-bye to Ron and the others as he passed.

Charles’ other presents were much more satisfactory than Dobby’s odd socks. Hermione had given him a book called Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland; Ron, a bulging bag of Dungbombs; Sirius, a handy penknife with attachments to unlock any lock and undo any knot; and Hagrid, a vast box of sweets including all Charles’ favorites: Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, and Fizzing Whizbees.

Then there was a gleaming new diary the pages of which were never supposed to finish, from his mum, and a cool high-level spell-book by his dad. There was also, of course, Mrs. Weasley’s usual package, including a new sweater (green, with a picture of a dragon on it — Charles supposed Charlie had told her all about the Horntail), and a large quantity of homemade mince pies. At last, only one gift remained. Charles opened it just as enthusiastically as he’d opened his other presents, and felt a gasp of wonder escape him.

It was a shiny snow glob with a mini-Charles in it, waving happily and grinning broadly as he flew around on his Firebolt, looking extremely content and joyful. His hair flew around his face, and he shook his head to get them out of his eyes, his cheeks pink. Looking closely, Charles also saw a miniature golden snitch clutched in the mini-Charles’ fist.

“Oh Merlin, it’s beautiful,” Charles breathed, his expression tender. Ron came over to join him, sitting beside him, and snatched up a neatly-folded note that had fallen on the bed when unpacking the last gift.

“Here,” Ron said, handing Charles the note, who unfolded it slowly.

Dear Charles,

I didn’t really know what to get you, you see... I mean, I haven’t known you very long, and I was afraid of getting you something you didn’t need or like. And gift-giving is quite important in America, in the magical community... so I decided to give you something I thought – hoped – you’d like. If nothing else, it’s great decoration, don’t you think?

Tell me if you like it.

Bianca. 

A small smile lurked at the corner of Charles’ mouth throughout all the time he bathed and got ready. It was still present when he and Ron met up with Hermione in the common room, but there was no Bianca with her.

“Oh, she left early,” Hermione said when Charles asked.

They went down to breakfast together, Charles’ eyes seeking a certain blonde figure. But he didn’t spot her anywhere, which really bummed him out. In fact, he asked everyone – Fred, George, Harry, Lee, Seamus, Dean, and Neville – if they’d seen her, and no one had, but Charles feared he’d managed to come off as desperate. Which he was not. Definitely not.

Charles, Ron, and Hermione spent most of the morning in Gryffindor Tower, where everyone was enjoying their presents, then returned to the Great Hall for a magnificent lunch, which included at least a hundred turkeys and Christmas puddings, and large piles of Cribbage’s Wizarding Crackers.

They went out onto the grounds in the afternoon; the snow was untouched except for the deep channels made by the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students on their way up to the castle. Hermione chose to watch Charles and the Weasleys’ snowball fight rather than join in, and at five o’clock said she was going back upstairs to get ready for the ball.

“What, you need three hours?” said Ron, looking at her incredulously and paying for his lapse in concentration when a large snowball, thrown by George, hit him hard on the side of the head. Hermione giggled at his fate, and disappeared up the stone steps into the castle, waving.

There was no Christmas tea as the ball included a feast, so at seven o’clock, when it had become hard to aim properly, the others abandoned their snowball fight and trooped back to the common room. Charles tried very hard to think about how he’d not seen Bianca anywhere all day. The Fat Lady was sitting in her frame with her friend Violet from downstairs, both of them extremely tipsy, empty boxes of chocolate liqueurs littering the bottom of her picture.

“Lairy fights, that’s the one!” she giggled when they gave the password, and she swung forward to let them inside.

Charles, Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville changed into their dress robes up in their dormitory, all of them looking very self-conscious, but none as much as Ron, who surveyed himself in the long mirror in the corner with an appalled look on his face. There was just no getting around the fact that his robes looked more like a dress than anything else. In a desperate attempt to make them look more manly, he used a Severing Charm on the ruff and cuffs. It worked fairly well; at least he was now lace-free, although he hadn’t done a very neat job, and the edges still looked depressingly frayed as the boys set off downstairs.

Charles tried really hard not to laugh at his friend, figuring it would be not cool and very cruel. He knew Ron wouldn’t laugh at him if the situations were reversed... but still, Charles avoided the eyes of his other roommates, ‘cause he knew that the same thing was on all their minds and they’d start laughing at any sort of eye-contact.

“I still can’t work out how you two got two of the best-looking girls in the year,” muttered Neville.

“Animal magnetism,” said Ron gloomily, pulling stray threads out of his cuffs.

The common room looked strange, full of people wearing different colors instead of the usual mass of black. Parvati was waiting for her date – some older Gryffindor guy, as far as Charles knew – at the foot of the stairs. She looked very pretty indeed, in robes of shocking pink, with her long dark plait braided with gold, and gold bracelets glimmering at her wrists.

“Looking nice, Parvati,” Dean praised.

Parvati’s cheeks flushed slightly, and Charles hid a smirk. It was no secret that she liked Dean; the whole school knew, except the boy in question himself.

“Thanks,” she said. “Padma’s going to meet you in the entrance hall,” she added to Ron.

“Right,” Ron smiled, looking around. “Where’s Hermione?”

Parvati shrugged. “Dunno.”

“See you then,” Charles said. Fred winked at Charles as he passed him on the way out of the portrait hole.

The entrance hall was packed with students too, all milling around waiting for eight o’clock, when the doors to the Great Hall would be thrown open. Those people who were meeting partners from different Houses were edging through the crowd trying to find one another. Parvati found her sister, Padma, and led her over to Charles and Ron.

“Hi,” said Padma, who was looking just as pretty as Parvati in robes of bright turquoise. She’d been smiling broadly, but reaching them, she suddenly didn’t look too enthusiastic about having Ron as a partner; her dark eyes lingered on the frayed neck and sleeves of his dress robes as she looked him up and down.

“Dashing,” she drawled.

“Hi,” said Ron, his smile fading, probably sensing her feelings. Averting his eyes, he began staring around at the crowd. “Oh no...”

He bent his knees slightly to hide behind Charles, because Fleur Delacour was passing, looking stunning in robes of silver-grey satin, and accompanied by the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, Roger Davies. When they had disappeared, Ron stood straight again and stared over the heads of the crowd.

“Where is Hermione?” he said again.

Suddenly, Padma’s eyes widened as she looked to the side. “Oh, look!”

Charles obliged, and his breath caught in his throat. Her dress a stunning blood-red, slightly puffed up – making her look like a princess – and her blonde hair, which reached her waist now since she’d been growing it, was brilliantly curled in an attractive manner, open but with a stylish folded bun done with her side hairs and behind her head.

“Bianca!” Charles gasped as she neared them, smiling. “You... you look amazing.”

“You brush up well, yourself,” Bianca grinned.

A group of Slytherins came up the steps from their dungeon common room. Malfoy was in front; he was wearing dress robes of black velvet with a high collar, which in Charles’ opinion made him look like a vicar. Pansy Parkinson in very frilly robes of pale pink was clutching Theo Nott’s arm, who was in brown robes. Crabbe and Goyle were both wearing green; they resembled moss-colored boulders, with Millicent Bulstrode on Crabbe’s arm and a younger chubby girl on Goyle’s.

Lyra was with Blaise Zabini, walking behind them. She looked very pretty, a lone locked on her neck, her dress yellow and black. Daphne Greengrass was, in turn, with Cassius Warrington, both looking a very true, sophisticated couple.

The real shock, however, was the person on Malfoy’s arm...

“Ginny!” Ron yelped in sheer shock and outrage. “What the bloody hell are you doing?!”

And indeed, it was Ginny Weasley on Malfoy’s arm, looking excellent in a maroon tight-fitting dress and accented her slim figure greatly, her dark red hair in a messy yet elegant braid on one of her shoulders.

Ginny raised a haughty eyebrow at Ron. “Language, Ron. What’s that you’re even wearing? You look like our Great-great-great grandmother.”

“What are you doing with Malfoy? Get off!” Ron nearly shouted, ignoring the jab.

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Shut it, Weasley, you don’t control your sister-”

“-Don’t you dare interfere-”

“He’s right, Ron, shut up,” Ginny snapped irritably. “I can date anyone I like, alright? It’s not your decision, you don’t control me.”

“I’m your big brother-”

“Yet more incompetent-”

The oak front doors opened, and everyone turned to look as the Durmstrang students entered with Professor Karkaroff. Krum was at the front of the party, accompanied by some girl. Charles didn’t much attention to her. Over their heads he saw that an area of lawn right in front of the castle had been transformed into a sort of grotto full of fairy lights — meaning hundreds of actual living fairies were sitting in the rosebushes that had been conjured there, and fluttering over the statues of what seemed to be Father Christmas and his reindeer.

Then Professor McGonagall’s voice called, “Champions over here, please!”

Beaming, Bianca and Charles said “See you in a minute” to Ron and Padma and walked forward, the chattering crowd parting to let them through.

Just then, a hush fell over the crowd. Charles and Bianca together looked over to the side to see a pretty girl in blue robes descending the stairs as if gliding, someone Charles didn’t know... but wait...

He looked closely, and got the shock of his life, his jaw dropping.

It was Hermione.

But she didn’t look like Hermione at all. She had done something with her hair; it was no longer bushy but sleek and shiny, and twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She was wearing robes made of a floaty, periwinkle-blue material, and she was holding herself differently, somehow — or maybe it was merely the absence of the twenty or so books she usually had slung over her back. She was also smiling — rather nervously, it was true — but the reduction in the size of her front teeth was more noticeable than ever; Charles couldn’t understand how he hadn’t spotted it before.

“Oh, she looks so...” Bianca trailed off in awe.

Hermione didn’t notice Bianca and Charles, or Ron and Padma, but rather went straight to Dean, whose mouth was hanging open, his awe-struck eyes wide open. It seemed he’d start drooling any minute now. And it wasn’t just him; more than half the boys looked like that. Dean was just the lucky one to whom Hermione was walking.

Malfoy was also staring at Hermione in a bewildered state, and Parkinson gaped at her, and even she didn’t seem to be able to find an insult to throw at her. Parvati was gazing at Hermione in unflattering disbelief, before stalking past, throwing her looks of deepest loathing. Ginny’s and Ron’s argument was long forgotten, but while the former seemed happy, Ron walked right past Hermione without looking at her.

After the commotion had somewhat subsided, Professor McGonagall, who was wearing dress robes of red tartan and had arranged a rather ugly wreath of thistles around the brim of her hat, told them to wait on one side of the doors while everyone else went inside; they were to enter the Great Hall in procession when the rest of the students had sat down. Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies stationed themselves nearest the doors; Davies looked so stunned by his good fortune in having Fleur for a partner that he could hardly take his eyes off her. Harry and his partner hadn’t arrived yet, so Charles’ eyes fell instead on the girl next to Krum.

“Sera?” he asked, blinking.

Sera smiled at him. “Hi, Charles! Bianca! Wh-”

“Sorry we’re late!” cried a panting voice. It was Harry, running towards them hand-in-hand with his girlfriend Celeste, their cheeks flushed and elegant expensive robes slightly askew, their hairs a bit dishevelled, laughter in their faces.

Professor McGonagall looked disapprovingly at them over her spectacles. “Mr. Potter, you’re supposed to be opening the ball-”

“I’m sorry,” Harry shrugged. “We got... uh, caught up. Won’t happen again.”

Even though she didn’t say anything further, Professor McGonagall’s stern look didn’t leave her face.

Once everyone else was settled in the Hall, Professor McGonagall told the champions and their partners to get in line in pairs and to follow her. They did so, and everyone in the Great Hall applauded as they entered and started walking up toward a large round table at the top of the Hall, where the judges were sitting.

The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished; instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.

Charles concentrated on not tripping over his feet. Bianca seemed to be enjoying herself; she was beaming around at everybody. He caught sight of Ron and Padma as he neared the top table. Ron was watching Hermione and Dean with narrowed eyes, and Padma was looking sulky.

Dumbledore smiled happily as the champions approached the top table, but Karkaroff wore an expression remarkably like Ron’s as he watched Krum and Sera draw nearer. Ludo Bagman, tonight in robes of bright purple with large yellow stars, was clapping as enthusiastically as any of the students; and Madame Maxime, who had changed her usual uniform of black satin for a flowing gown of lavender silk, was applauding them politely. Sirius was there too, looking so handsome that half the girls were neglecting their partners in favor of staring at him, forgetting he was about two or more decades older than them. He had a pretty witch beside him, probably as his date, but Charles hadn't met her before. But Mr. Crouch, Charles suddenly realized, was not there. The fifth seat at the table was occupied by Percy Weasley.

When the champions and their partners reached the table, Percy drew out the empty chair beside him, staring pointedly at Charles. Taking the hint, Charles sat down next to Percy, who was wearing brand-new, navy-blue dress robes and an expression of such smugness that Charles thought it ought to be fined.

“I’ve been promoted,” Percy said before Charles could even ask, and from his tone, he might have been announcing his election as supreme ruler of the universe. “I’m now Mr. Crouch’s personal assistant, and I’m here representing him.”

“Why didn’t he come?” Charles asked, frowning; he wasn’t looking forward to being lectured on cauldron bottoms all through dinner.

“I’m afraid to say Mr. Crouch isn’t well, not well at all. Hasn’t been right since the World Cup. Hardly surprising — overwork. He’s not as young as he was — though still quite brilliant, of course, the mind remains as great as it ever was. But the World Cup was a fiasco for the whole Ministry, and then, Mr. Crouch suffered a huge personal shock with the misbehavior of that house-elf of his, Blinky, or whatever she was called. Naturally, he dismissed her immediately afterward, but — well, as I say, he’s getting on, he needs looking after, and I think he’s found a definite drop in his home comforts since she left. And then we had the tournament to arrange, and the aftermath of the Cup to deal with — that revolting Skeeter woman buzzing around — no, poor man, he’s having a well-earned, quiet Christmas. I’m just glad he knew he had someone he could rely upon to take his place.”

Charles wanted very much to ask whether Mr. Crouch had stopped calling Percy “Weatherby” yet, but resisted the temptation.

Harry

There was no food as yet on the glittering golden plates, but small menus were lying in front of each of them. Harry picked his up and looked around — there were no waiters. Dumbledore, however, looked carefully down at his own menu, then said very clearly to his plate, “Pork chops!”

And pork chops appeared. Getting the idea, the rest of the table placed their orders with their plates too. Harry glanced up at Sera to see how she felt about this new and more complicated method of dining — surely it seemed quite innovative to her — but was deep in talk with Viktor Krum and hardly seemed to notice what she was eating.

It now occurred to Harry that he had never actually heard Krum speak much before, but he was certainly talking now, and very enthusiastically at that.

“Veil, ve have a castle also, not as big as this, nor as comfortable, I am thinking,” he was telling Hermione. “Ve have just four floors, and the fires are lit only for magical purposes. But ve have grounds larger even than these — though in vinter, ve have very little day- light, so ve are not enjoying them. But in summer ve are flying every day, over the lakes and the mountains —”

“Now, now, Viktor!” said Karkaroff with a laugh that didn’t reach his cold eyes, “don’t go giving away anything else, now, or your charming friend will know exactly where to find us!”

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Igor, all this secrecy... one would almost think you didn’t want visitors.”

“Well, Dumbledore,” said Karkaroff, displaying his yellowing teeth to their fullest extent, “we are all protective of our private domains, are we not? Do we not jealously guard the halls of learning that have been entrusted to us? Are we not right to be proud that we alone know our school’s secrets, and right to protect them?”

“Oh I would never dream of assuming I know all Hogwarts’ secrets, Igor,” said Dumbledore amicably. “Only this morning, for instance, I took a wrong turning on the way to the bathroom and found myself in a beautifully proportioned room I have never seen before, containing a really rather magnificent collection of chamber pots. When I went back to investigate more closely, I discovered that the room had vanished. But I must keep an eye out for it. Possibly it is only accessible at five-thirty in the morning. Or it may only appear at the quarter moon — or when the seeker has an exceptionally full bladder.”

Harry snorted into his plate of goulash. Percy frowned, but Harry could have sworn Dumbledore had given him a very small wink.

Meanwhile Fleur Delacour was criticizing the Hogwarts decorations to Roger Davies.

“Zis is nothing,” she said dismissively, looking around at the sparkling walls of the Great Hall. “At ze Palace of Beauxbatons, we ’ave ice sculptures all around ze dining chamber at Chreestmas. Zey do not melt, of course... zey are like ’uge statues of diamond, glittering around ze place. And ze food is seemply superb. And we ’ave choirs of wood nymphs, ’oo serenade us as we eat. We ’ave none of zis ugly armor in ze ’alls, and eef a poltergeist ever entaired into Beauxbatons, ’e would be expelled like zat.” She slapped her hand onto the table impatiently.

Roger Davies was watching her talk with a very dazed look on his face, and he kept missing his mouth with his fork. Harry had the impression that Davies was too busy staring at Fleur to take in a word she was saying.

“Absolutely right,” he said quickly, slapping his own hand down on the table in imitation of Fleur. “Like that. Yeah.”

Harry looked around the Hall. Hagrid was sitting at one of the other staff tables; he was back in his horrible hairy brown suit and gazing up at the top table. Harry saw him give a small wave, and looking around, saw Madame Maxime return it, her opals glittering in the candlelight. 

Sirius was beside Harry, and was talking to his girlfriend - Chiara, he'd introduced. She was the same witch from the World Cup, who'd been flirting with Sirius during the fight.

Suddenly, Harry felt a hand snake up his thigh - which he recognized as Celeste's - and felt a shiver run down his spine, making him recall that evening, just before they’d arrived for the ball...

When all the food had been consumed, Dumbledore stood up and asked the students to do the same. Then, with a wave of his wand, all the tables zoomed back along the walls leaving the floor clear, and then he conjured a raised platform into existence along the right wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello, and some bagpipes were set upon it.

The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause; they were all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn. They picked up their instruments, and Harry, who had been so interested in watching them that he had almost forgotten what was coming, suddenly realized that the lanterns on all the other tables had gone out, and that the other champions and their partners were standing up.

“Come on!” Celeste laughed. “We’re supposed to dance!”

Harry grinned back and stood up gracefully, while watching Charles almost trip over his dress robes as he stood up. The Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune; Harry walked onto the brightly lit dance floor, rolling his eyes as he saw Adrian and Jéricho waving at him and sniggering, and the next moment, one of Celeste’s hands was clutched tightly in his, while his other hand was around her shapely waist.

It was quite pleasant, really. Harry didn’t normally love dancing, but with Celeste it was fun, especially since he was much more focused on her waist and her the feel of her hand in his, and her pretty face with its pretty eyes. Very soon many people came onto the dance floor, so that the champions were no longer the center of attention. Sirius and Chaira were so bloody elegant and wild at the same time it was epic watching them. Jéricho and Tracey were dancing nearby, the former artfully avoiding Tracey’s feet from treading on his while keeping the dance graceful. Dumbledore was waltzing with Madame Maxime, so dwarfed by her that the top of his pointed hat barely tickled her chin; however, she moved very gracefully for a woman so large. Mad-Eye Moody was doing an extremely ungainly two-step with Professor Sinistra, who was nervously avoiding his wooden leg.

Charles seemed to having quite a lot of fun with Bianca, even though Harry knew how much the boy hated dancing. They were talking more and dancing less, actually, just swaying lightly on the spot, but still... Adrian was currently with Fleur Delacour, spinning her around wildly as she laughed. Davies was sulking aside, and watching them, Harry grinned and nudged Celeste to point it out to her.

Harry heard the final, quavering note from the bagpipe with relief. The Weird Sisters stopped playing, and applause filled the hall once more.

“Not sitting down, are we, yet?” Harry raised a knowing eyebrow as the Weird Sisters struck up a new song, which was much faster.

Celeste rolled her eyes, “Don’t be dumb,” and started whooping and dancing. Her laughter was contagious, and Harry didn't resist following her.

Fred and Angelina were dancing so exuberantly that people around them were backing away in fear of injury, while George was sitting at a nearby table, looking depressed.

Spotting him, Harry stopped dancing. “Hey, Celeste, give me a minute, yeah? Dance with Adrian, or something.”

Celeste followed his gaze and frowned, but left as he’d said and cut in with Adrain. Harry, meanwhile, walked over to George.

“Hey, mate, not enjoying yourself?” he said, taking the seat next to George, who sighed heavily. “Yeah... no, I’m just, uh, resting.”

“Where’s Alicia?”

George jerked his head somewhere to the far left, and there Alicia was, looking pretty as ever, dancing with some French. Harry frowned. “Did you guys have a fight or something?”

“Oh, no, no,” George said quickly. “Nothing like that... I just told her I wasn’t in the mood to dance and that she should just enjoy herself... I’ll join her in a bit, probably.”

“What is it, really?” Harry pressed. “You’re one of the most enthusiastic people I know, George, you can’t really be tired... and I’ve never seen you depressed in my life! And since I’ve known you since we were kids, so...”

George visibly hesitated, but then deflated and groaned. “Urgh, fine... just swear you won’t tell anyone, yeah? Neither family nor friends. And especially not Fred.”

Now thoroughly intrigued and concerned (George hiding secrets from Fred?!), Harry raised an eyebrow. “Alright, I swear.”

“Here’s the thing,” George moistened his lips nervously. “I’ve got Bipolar Disorder.”

Harry doubled back. “What?!”

George shrugged and laughed. A bit manically, to be honest. “I know, right? Me, George fucking Weasley, has got Bipolar Disorder!”

“I... how did this even happen?!”

George shrugged again, huffing irritably. “I don’t know, do I? I’ve been feeling up and down lately, almost a whole year, heavy mood swings and excess energy and all that... but I just figured, I’m a teenager! But then it got too much, and so I contacted Bill – I didn’t wanna tell anyone else, for some reason – and he took me to a Healer, muggle and magic both... and well, he’s been sending me medicines and all that in secret, but it’s not working! And I can’t hide it any longer, no matter how much I try! I’m tired of having a fake smile on my face all the bloody time, joking around with Fred when I don’t mean any of it... he’s started to suspect, too.”

“Well,” Harry hesitated, not wanting to upset George any further. “Why don’t you just tell him?”  

“Because it’ll destroy him!” George hissed, now suddenly looking angry. “He’s always cared too much for me, even when he shouldn’t... always cleaning up my mess... I love him, but he’ll hate me.”

Harry sighed. “I... I don’t know how to help you, mate.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” George said shortly. “I just needed to get this off my chest. But if you tell anyone...”

“... I won’t,” Harry promised, and he and George both stood up.

“We should get back to our dates,” George sighed. Harry nodded. “Yeah, we should.”

Bianca

Bianca and Charles were laughing at some silly joke as they went over to the table where Ron and Padma were sitting.

“How’s it going?” Charles asked Ron, sitting down and opening a bottle of butterbeer.

Ron didn’t answer. He was glaring at Hermione and Dean, who were dancing nearby. Padma was sitting with her arms and legs crossed, one foot jiggling in time to the music. Every now and then she threw a disgruntled look at Ron, who was completely ignoring her. Bianca sat down on Charles’ other side.

“Wanna dance with me, Charles?” Padma asked – no, pleaded.

Charles blinked. “Uh... yeah, sure, I guess. But only this one song; I’m kinda tired. You don’t mind, do you, Bee?” he added to Bianca, who shook her head.

As Charles and Padma walked away, Bianca glanced at Ron in time to see a hateful expression appear on and leave his face in a fleeting second as he, too, looked at his best friend’s and partner’s backs.

“Ron, what is it?” Bianca asked.

“What? Oh, nothing,” Ron said immediately. Both his voice and face were normal again, though Bianca wasn’t fooled.

“Oh come on, something’s up,” Bianca snapped. “What’s your deal?”

Suddenly Ron’s face contorted horribly. “Oh nothing... maybe it’s just the fact that my best friends have both been having an excellent time and are being asked around by people to dance and both look wonderful, while I’m here in my grandmother’s 70’s dress with a partner who doesn’t like me and can’t wait to be rid of me, and I don’t even know how to dance!”

Bianca blinked incredulously. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous again! How can you be so selfish, Ronald?! You just can’t bear to see your friends happy, can you?”

Ron’s mouth worked ragefully. “It’s not that! I like them happy, but-”

“Only when you’re happier?” Bianca cut in harshly. “Or you’ll have them sad and miserable too, as long as you can be superior... equal standing works for you too, but below them in something for once? Not acceptable! And you’re such an ass, you can’t even admit it! You’re a lazy, idiotic, ugly loser who won’t even try to be better... you’re happy to let others do your work and take credit, or at least bask in their glory. I can’t believe Charles and Hermione call you their best friend; they deserve so much better it’s laughable!”

And leaving Ron speechless behind, Bianca stormed off to where Hermione and Charles were dancing nearby, joining them.

Harry

Sera came over to the table all the Prowlers were sitting at, and sat down in the chair beside Adrian’s, a bit pink in the face from dancing so long.

“Hi,” said Harry. Cedric and Jéricho echoed him, but Adrian didn’t say anything.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” Sera panted, fanning herself with her hand. “Viktor’s just gone to get some drinks.”

Adrian gave her a withering look. “Viktor?” he said. “Hasn’t he asked you to call him Vicky yet?”

Sera looked at him in surprise. “What’s up with you?” she said.

“If you don’t know,” said Adrian scathingly, “I’m not going to tell you.”

Sera stared at him, then at the others, of whom Jéricho and Harry shrugged in unison, while Cedric remained silent.

“Adrian, what is it?” When he remained silent, Sera continued, “Look, if it’s anything I did, I’ll try and fix it-”

“Oh, will you?” Adrian gritted bitterly.

“Of course I will!” Sera cried. “You’re my best friend, Adrian, of course I’ll try and fix it... just tell me!”

A moment passed, before...

“He’s from Durmstrang!” Adrian spat. “He’s competing against Harry! Against Hogwarts! You — you’re —” Adrian cast around for words strong enough to describe Sera’s crime, “fraternizing with the enemy, that’s what you’re doing!”

Sera’s mouth fell open. “Don’t be so stupid! The enemy! Honestly — who was the one who was all excited when they saw him arrive? You’re his fan!”

Adrian chose to ignore this. “I s’pose he asked you to come with him while you were both in the library?”

“Yes, he did,” said Sera, the pink patches on her cheeks glowing more brightly. “So what?”

“What happened — made you swoon and join his fanclub, did he?”

“No, he didn't! If you really want to know, he — he said he’d been coming up to the library every day to try and talk to me, but he hadn’t been able to pluck up the courage!”

Sera said this very quickly, and blushed deeply.

“Yeah, well — that’s his story,” Adrian said nastily.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Obvious, isn’t it? He’s Karkaroff’s student, isn’t he? He knows who you hang around with... He’s just trying to get closer to Harry — get inside information on him — or get near enough to jinx him —”

Sera looked as though Adrian had slapped her. When she spoke, her voice quivered. “For your information, he hasn’t asked me one single thing about Harry, not one-”

Adrian changed tack at the speed of light. “Then he’s hoping you’ll help him find out what his egg means! I suppose you’ve been putting your heads together during those cozy little library sessions —”

“I’d never help him work out that egg!” Sera nearly shouted, looking outraged. “Never. How could you say something like that — I want Harry to win the tournament, Harry knows that, don’t you, Harry?”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Adrian sneered.

“This whole tournament’s supposed to be about getting to know foreign wizards and making friends with them!” Sera argued hotly.

“No it isn’t!” Adrian shouted. “It’s about winning!”

People were starting to stare at them.

“Adrian,” said Harry quietly, “I haven’t got a problem with Sera coming with Krum-”

But Adrian ignored Harry too. “Why don’t you go and find Vicky, he’ll be wondering where you are-”

“Don’t call him Vicky!”

Sera jumped to her feet and stormed off across the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd. Adrian watched her go with a mixture of anger and satisfaction on his face.

There was a stunned silence for a minute. Harry couldn’t believe what had happened, and from Jéricho’s face, so couldn’t he. Cedric was glaring heatedly at Adrian, who was ignoring everyone. Harry was beyond confused – Adrian was the most light-hearted and fun guy of them all, and he never got such angry rages at any of his friends!

“Vare is Sera?” said a voice.

Krum had just arrived at their table clutching two butterbeers.

“No idea,” Adrian said mulishly, looking up at him. “Lost her, have you?”

Krum was looking surly again. “Veil, if you see her, tell her I haff drinks,” he said, and he slouched off.

“Made friends with Viktor Krum, have you, Adrian?”

Percy had bustled over, rubbing his hands together and looking extremely pompous. “Excellent! That’s the whole point, you know — international magical cooperation!”

To Harry’s displeasure, Percy now took Sera’s vacated seat. The top table was now empty; Professor Dumbledore was dancing with Professor Sprout, Ludo Bagman with Professor McGonagall; Madame Maxime and Hagrid were cutting a wide path around the dance floor as they waltzed through the students, and Sirius’ date and Madame Pomphrey were laughing at something together, sipping on some drinks. Karkaroff was nowhere to be seen, and so was Sirius. When the next song ended, everybody applauded once more, and Harry saw Ludo Bagman kiss Professor McGonagall’s hand and make his way back through the crowds, at which point Fred accosted him.

“What do he think he’s doing, annoying senior Ministry members?” Percy hissed, watching Fred suspiciously. “No respect... George’s behaving better today!”

Harry hmphed angrily, knowing the exact reason George was behaving better. Bagman shook off Fred fairly quickly and, spotting Harry, waved and came over to their table.

“I hope my brother wasn’t bothering you, Mr. Bagman?” said Percy at once.

“What? Oh not at all, not at all!” said Bagman. “No, he was just telling me a bit more about those fake wands of his and his brother’s. Wondering if I could advise them on the marketing. I’ve promised to put them in touch with a couple of contacts of mine at Zonko’s Joke Shop...”

Percy didn’t look happy about this at all, and Harry was prepared to bet he would be rushing to tell Mrs. Weasley about this the moment he got home. Apparently, Fred and George’s plans had grown even more ambitious lately, if they were hoping to sell to the public. Bagman opened his mouth to ask Harry something, but Percy diverted him.

“How do you feel the tournament’s going, Mr. Bagman? Our department’s quite satisfied — the hitch with the Goblet of Fire” — he glanced at Harry — “was a little unfortunate, of course, but it seems to have gone very smoothly since, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes,” Bagman said cheerfully, “it’s all been enormous fun. How’s old Barty doing? Shame he couldn’t come.”

“Oh I’m sure Mr. Crouch will be up and about in no time,” said Percy importantly, “but in the meantime, I’m more than willing to take up the slack. Of course, it’s not all attending balls” — he laughed airily — “oh no, I’ve had to deal with all sorts of things that have cropped up in his absence — you heard Ali Bashir was caught smuggling a consignment of flying carpets into the country? And then we’ve been trying to persuade the Transylvanians to sign the International Ban on Dueling. I’ve got a meeting with their Head of Magical Cooperation in the new year —”

“Let’s go for a walk,” Harry muttered to Celeste, “get away from Percy...”

Pretending they wanted more drinks, Harry and Celeste left the table, edged around the dance floor, and slipped out into the entrance hall. The front doors stood open, and the fluttering fairy lights in the rose garden winked and twinkled as they went down the front steps, where they found themselves surrounded by bushes; winding, ornamental paths; and large stone statues. Harry could hear splashing water, which sounded like a fountain. Here and there, people were sitting on carved benches. Suddenly Celeste sighed. “Oh, come here, not like we’ve got anything better to do...”

Harry grinned as he understood her meaning and soon they were snogging. It was fun with Celeste and Harry really liked her but somehow, he didn’t feel the same spark this time. Not like he always felt. Ignoring it, reasoning that he was just tired, he kept snogging her until he heard an unpleasantly familiar voice.

“... don’t see what there is to fuss about, Igor.”

“Severus, you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!” Karkaroff’s voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. “It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it-”

“Then flee,” said Snape’s voice curtly. “Flee — I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.”

Snape and Karkaroff came around the corner. Snape had his wand out and was blasting rosebushes apart, his expression most ill-natured. Squeals issued from many of the bushes, and dark shapes emerged from them.

“Ten points from Ravenclaw, Fawcett!” Snape snarled as a girl ran past him. “And ten points from Hufflepuff too, Stebbins!” as a boy went rushing after her. “And what are you two doing?” he added, catching sight of Harry and Celeste on the path ahead as they pulled apart, startled. Karkaroff, Harry saw, looked slightly discomposed to see them standing there. His hand went nervously to his goatee, and he began winding it around his finger.

“Sorry, sir,” Celeste gasped. “We just... we just-”

“Teenagers these days,” Snape drawled silkily and rolled her eyes, as if praying to the heavens. “Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter. Now leave.”

With that, he brushed past them, his long black cloak billowing out behind him. Karkaroff hurried away after Snape. Celeste faced Harry again and leaned closer, clearly to continue their previous activity, uncaring of what Snape had just said... and Hary obliged. They didn't even know where they went after that.