The Tri-Wizard Tournament
"So, you reckon the other schools will be here soon, or are we gonna be here until we freeze to death?"
Tracey’s words were cut with frustration and audible discomfort, as the girl wrapped her arms around her jacketed torso tightly, burying her head almost entirely within her scarf, leaving only the dark green beanie exposed. Steph could certainly agree with the sentiment - she was wearing a layer of thermal pants under her jeans, so cold was she in the biting morning chill of the late October air. Even a jumper under her woollen long coat didn't help that much - it was only once she hit herself with a warming charm that the tips of her ears stopped freezing, her toes regained feeling, and the worst of the bruises she hadn't healed had stopped nipping at her. It was a miracle it wasn't snowing yet, in her books.
"Durmstrang will turn up last – and probably late – they’re too proud not to. They’re big subscribers to the superiority of magical blood and the old ways - traditionalists at their most progressive. They are arrogant - and their headmaster is hardly any different. They're probably waiting for the French to turn up first, and then they’ll arrive to show them up." Daphne's words came from the other side of Tracey, who was gamely standing between the two girls. All three wore their house scarves, though the similarities ended there - Tracey was dressed perhaps the most muggle, a jacket and jeans accompanying sneakers and a beanie.
Steph, by contrast, was wearing her wool coat - heavy as it may have been, it helped keep the heat in, and when coupled with a warming charm, it worked wonders to prevent her freezing to death, even this early in the day. Daphne was in stark contrast to both of them, however - she was wearing a blouse and skirt, prim and proper and definitely under a couple warming charms, if the fact that she wasn't shivering was anything to go by.
Steph knew relatively little about the other wizarding schools - Beauxbatons was French, naturally, and apparently had a rivalry with Hogwarts in regard to servicing the Western European wizarding families. This rivalry was made only worse by the fact that, prior to the abolishment of the Triwizard tournament, Hogwarts had won sixty-three times to Beauxbatons' sixty-two.
Durmstrang, she had done her research on after Harry and Neville had come back from the World Cup discussing Viktor Krum - as had seemingly every boy in the blasted school, and not an insignificant amount of the girls. Chang had been obnoxiously babbling in the Ravenclaw common room about the Bulgarian seeker, showing off Witch Weekly pages with his face on them as if he were actually handsome, and not some grumpy looking boy who looked as if he were a product of the Soviet system.
Durmstrang as a school, however, was much like how Krum had appeared in his pictures - dark and sallow, with a particular fondness for the dark arts that Steph cautiously admired. Whilst exposure to the Dark Arts was something that she considered potentially valuable, the subtle disdain in the works she had read made it seem as if it was not mere exposure, but rather full embracement of the Dark Arts that Durmstrang championed.
And then there was the current Headmaster - Igor Karkaroff - whom one only had to mention to Professor Moody for the man to go on a twelve-minute diatribe against the 'cowardly bastard' whom had been thrown in Azkaban by the ex-Auror, only for him to weasel his way out with information about other Death Eaters. It had been with steadily growing unease that Steph had listened to the myriad of ways that Moody had thought about putting the Durmstrang Headmaster six feet under before he had finally worked himself up to a peak, whereupon the growing rage had petered out into single look.
All she knew was she definitely didn't want to be Karkaroff with Moody hunting her.
"True as that may be Daph, but not all of Durmstrang is going to be like Karkaroff. Look at Malfoy - he's hardly a disciple of Dumbledore." Harry's comment was a little more clipped than usual, as if he didn't wish to talk any more than he really had to in that moment - and Steph fought to keep her grimace internalised. Evidently, Harry had taken their conversation the night before to heart, and judging by the slight frown on Daphne's face, she had definitely noticed the sudden shift in attitude from her betrothed.
Neville, clearly in an attempt to break the uneasy tension that had settled onto the quintet, piped up with a slightly optimistic question. "I wonder if Krum'll come? Surely Durmstrang wouldn't let someone of his calibre simply sit it out back in Bulgaria."
"Given what Sirius has said about Karkaroff - Krum'll probably be the Durmstrang Champion. No way in hell Karkaroff will let a chance like that go to waste." Steph silently nodded in agreement with Harry's reply, and over her shoulder, Neville gave a small hum of agreement. Stepping to the left a little, Steph shifted up against Neville's side, enjoying the sudden surge of warmth that enveloped her left side and drawing a happy hum from the boy - one she echoed.
"I would have to agree with your Godfather's assessment, Mister Potter." At the sudden intrusion of the wizened and audibly elderly voice, Steph gave a small jump, glancing over her other shoulder at the lightly amused expression of Albus Dumbledore, eyes twinkling with mirth behind half-moon glasses. "Don't let me interrupt you - but I do believe our guests are about to arrive."
As if on cue, the Headmaster stepped past them and raised his arm at some distant point in the sky to the south, rolling his hand to the right. From the air itself, a small silver disc the size of a dinner plate appeared just in front of the headmaster, and through it Steph could clearly see the peaks of the mountains to Hogwarts' south, capped with the pine trees that still dripped with the dew that had built up over the night. Those same pines seemed to tremble a little, before over the top of the mountain surged a brief flash of blue, rocketing upwards.
The view projected onto the disc seemed to warp and twist, before settling itself back to flat silver as Dumbledore gave a hum of amusement and waved his hand, dispelling the conjuration all without ever raising his wand. It was impressive magic, but also curious magic - how had he known where to focus the spell?
Of all the people to come to her rescue with an academic question, Tracey spoke up, her voice almost awestruck. "Professor.. Was that scrying?"
Evidently, Dumbledore wasn't expecting it either, and the man gave a surprised noise at the remark almost in sync with Steph's eyebrows rising straight to her hairline. How on earth had Tracey identified scrying? Sure, the girl wasn't stupid by any means, but Tracey wasn't the most academic at the best of times, let alone to the point of allowing her to identify obscure magic like scrying.
"It was, indeed, Miss Davis. May I ask how you recognised it?" Tracey's head flicked left and right, seeming just a little uncomfortable at the attention that was being cast on her, and it was only once Steph glanced across at Daphne that she realised that not only were the rest of the quintet staring at her, but so were some of the nearby students. Bashfully, Tracey tugged at her collar and responded.
"I was doing a.. Uh- bit of extra study over the break. Trying to keep in touch with my friends." Steph wasn't blind to how Tracey's eyes flicked to look at her and Neville, but that was probably because they were standing so close to Dumbledore. Given that Tracey was hardly going to turn to look at Daphne, Steph allowed the small smile to dance across her lips at the admission - that was surprisingly thoughtful all things considered, even if it was somewhat above the Slytherin girl's competency.
"Well Miss Davis. Take ten points to Slytherin for your efforts. Regardless, I do believe that’s an area of magic out of reach for most Witches and Wizards, let alone one of your age. It took me until my forties to discover how to properly scry." Dumbledore had that sort of grandfatherly amusement and pride in his tone, and it was so distracting that Steph barely clocked that his words were actually rather condescending. In essence, it was Dumbledore calling Tracey too stupid to achieve something that she had been trying to out of personal interest.
What a knob.
Steph was saved from further commentary as the noise of powerful flaps filled the air as a brilliant carriage the size of a small house soared past the gathered crowd, drawing gasps and scattered cries of alarm and surprise. Barely had she locked her gaze on, before the source of the flapping came into view as the carriage wheeled around, revealing a team of powerful winged stallions with palomino coats, each easily thirty or so hands tall. Beside her, Tracey's voice was suddenly cut with awe. "Are those… Pegasai?"
"Steph?" His voice full of amusement, Harry glanced down the line at her with a knowing smirk - one that flushed the tips of her ears red and brought heat to her cheeks and neck. Fighting the embarrassment, she answered.
"Abraxan, rather. Stubborn and proud animals. I've never seen so many, let alone tame." There was quiet for a moment, before Tracey's voice asked another question - curiosity now infecting the once completely awe-filled words.
"What’s the difference?" Steph blinked, pulling her gaze away from the landing carriage to look at Tracey, whose eyes were twinkling with curiosity. Steph gave a small smile at the other girl, one that pulled Tracey's lips into their own grin.
"Abraxan are more likely to bite." Her smile pulled into a cheeky grin as Tracey jumped a little, eyes widening in surprise. Offering her own small chuckle, Steph continued. "They're also about the size of pygmy elephants, so riding one is a little more difficult. They tend to be native to northern and western Europe, preferring cooler weather. Pegasai are native to Greece and Anatolia."
Turning back to look at the now landed Abraxan and the carriage they had towed, Steph blinked owlishly at the sight of Dumbledore already down the stairs and across the lawn - had he not just been next to them? As if on cue, as he approached the door of the carriage swung open and revealed the towering form of a woman, who easily stood two heads taller than Dumbledore.
Steph stared for a handful of seconds, shaking her head gently as if to clear the distortion from her vision, but to no avail. No - very clearly this woman was not entirely human, she had to be a part something. The woman easily cleared nine feet in height, probably closer to ten than nine.
But then the next figure stepped out of the carriage and Steph's gaze wandered – or rather, snapped – straight to her.
She was… indescribable. She was blonde and fair and seemed to glow with the light of the sun even through the oppressive clouds. She glowed with a soft radiance that drew Steph's gaze inexorably towards her, and Steph found herself drawing a step closer, tilting her head in a mix of confusion and intrigue - just for a second.
For it was only for a moment that the sensations lasted, before a sudden breath of chill air seemed to rip through her as a sharp exhale shot from her lungs, clearing the fog from her head. Her occlumency ripped free whatever fangs the girl had sunk into her mind, leaving Steph reeling for just a moment - her one step forwards turning into two backwards as she made a conscious effort to put distance between her and this... siren, for lack of better term. The backpedalling brought her into contact with Neville again, who stumbled just a little as Steph considered the entrancing girl.
She couldn't be a siren - no way in hell one of those creatures would be allowed at a school, let alone brought to Britain, where they were liable to be culled as a threat to the populace.
"Christ- It’s like the world cup, those cheerleaders." With visible strain in his voice, Neville twisted behind her, breaking contact and giving a soft grunt. When she turned to face him, he was staring down at the ground, blinking furiously and scrunching his face up as if to trying to clear his head. Reaching up to her boyfriend's face, she gently pulled him into a peck on the cheek, releasing him shortly thereafter and revealing a grateful smile on his lips.
"Better?"
"Much, thank you." Giving her a small hug in return, one that brought a warm smile to Steph's face, Neville ultimately released her after a handful of seconds as Harry spoke, his own voice cut with audible caution.
"Yeah - she's Veela, just like the cheerleaders. Has to be, feels just like it." With the grimace audible in his voice, Harry's words came out somewhat strained, prompting Steph to turn and look at him. As with his voice, Harry wore a grimace on his features, and next to him, Daphne looked like she had just swallowed a lemon with the foul expression she was giving the Veela girl.
So that a Veela, then?
Caught momentarily as she was, staring at the Veela with a dozen thoughts in her head, Steph briefly flicked her gaze to Tracey, before sharply recoiling. The girl with the beanie had entirely emerged from the confines of the Slytherin house scarf, and was staring at the Veela with eyes entirely glazed over. Steph didn't know too much about Veela, but she knew enough to know that Tracey had slipped under the girl's spell - it was apparent simply from looking at her.
"Trace?" Softly uttering the girl's name, Steph gently pressed her hand to the girl's sternum as the Slytherin took a step forwards, forcing Steph's fingers back uncomfortably, but keeping the brunette in place and pushing her off balance. It was enough, for as Tracey stumbled back and found her footing, the glazed look in her eyes vanished, and she blinked furiously.
"Wha- Sorry... What happened?" Before Steph could choose her words, Daphne spoke, her voice low and cold.
"Keep your wits about you with Veela about." Daphne's expression could frankly have curdled milk, her unflinching glare cast straight at the blonde girl down on the lawn, who seemed almost to be staring right back up at them all.
"Is that Krum?"
That was all the cue she needed - the hushed and giddy whisper of some unimportant and vacillating girl heralded the oncoming of a figure who essentially commanded an entourage of girls with dreams higher than their IQs. Plucking the book she had been flicking through from the shelf next to her, Steph ducked around the corner of the bookcase and back towards the table at the other end of the library, and relaxed as the increasingly frequent whispers mercifully drew further and further away.
The gossips like Hannah Abbott and Parvati Patil were frankly annoying at the best of times, but they rarely interfered with actual lessons or ventured into the library without good reason. Usually, they and the rest of the gossips crowded neutral spaces - lounges in the Defence Wing, the courtyards and the various benches around the school, places where their presence could be anticipated.
But the roving bands of gossips that trailed Krum (and to a lesser extent the Veela girl, though her followers were almost universally silent gaggles of lovestruck boys) were infuriatingly unpredictable, given that their presence entirely depended upon where the Quidditch star was on that particular day. And much to her dismay, Krum had found the Library as a brief haven from his followers on his very first day.
The library had been utterly insufferable yesterday, when Pince had outright banned a dozen girls from all years from coming into the library for the next three months. Today wasn't much better, but it was better.
"Did you-?" The question was cut short as she hefted the book up with her left hand as she approached the table and the two other people sat around it. It was an unlikely pairing, but Harry and Luna gazed at her with wildly different expressions - Harry with pensive curiosity and anticipation, whereas Luna seemed to be off with the Nargles, as she had put it herself.
"Found it." Steph agreed, setting the DADA book on the table and twisting it around to show the other two sat across from her, keeping her voice low as she did so. She had long since mastered the skill of keeping her voice low enough to be just clearly heard by those across from her, and not Madam Pince - who barely a fraction of a second after Steph thought of her, could be heard across the library chastising a group of gossips in increasingly frustrated tones. "Just about avoided them, too."
"It does seem like a lot of girls have an interest in Krum... I wonder if it has to do with the abnormally high amount of Cockeyed Wroskis this year?" Steph stared at Luna for all of half a second, before shrugging her shoulders and turning her gaze to Harry with a silent warning in her eyes - and it came just in time too, for Harry was just opening his mouth to speak, eyes wide, and probably about to ask what a Cockeyed Wroski was.
"You are Scamander, да?" A heavily accented voice from over her should showed that her assertion had been entirely wrong, for Steph briefly started for just a fraction of a second, before pushing herself to her feet and turning on the spot, taking in the sight of the boy before her. He was a thin boy, but tall despite it, with dark hair and eyes and a large, curved nose that she briefly took in, before examining the rest of his face - she knew who it was, even if she didn't know Krum's face. She could see the mob of girls standing over his left shoulder, peering around and through bookcases to watch him. There was quite a bit of yellow and red on their robes, she idly observed.
"Yes, that would be me. Can I help you?" Keeping her voice level, her occlumency suffocating the butterflies in her stomach before they had a chance to raise her nerves, Steph regarded Viktor Krum with a brief wariness. If he had come here to talk to Harry, it would be understandable - Harry was a celebrity after all, well known around the world. But Steph was basically a no one.
"The Sqvid in the lake has been bothering the ship. Vould you know anything to help keep it avay?" His accent really was quite thick, and it took her a second or two to mentally translate what he had said, before her eyebrows rose in recognition. The Giant Squid in the lake was older than anyone in the castle - at least, alive – and he was probably just exploring something unfamiliar to him. Despite that, a brief jolt of worry shot through her. Durmstrang might hurt the creature if it got too inquisitive, she had to nip that in the bud before it came to pass.
"Ah, he's harmless, more or less. Just don't go throwing spells at him, and he should be fine. I know he likes toast a lot, so feeding him some would probably go a long way to getting him to leave you alone." The Quidditch superstar stared at her for several seconds with those tiny black eyes, before speaking with disbelief in his tone.
"Ve throw bread overboard and he leaves us alone, да?" The word may have been in a foreign language, but she didn't need linguistic skills on par with Bartemius Crouch Snr. to understand what it had been. Tilting her head, she pulled her lips just a fraction thinner.
"He'd probably prefer it if you gave it to him by hand - builds trust far better that way. Animals can tell when you're being stand-offish with them, and they're empathetic enough to be just as distant with you." Krum stared at her with those beady eyes once again, and Steph stared right back, unwilling to break eye contact. Whatever the message it conveyed, the Bulgarian gave a gruff nod and turned away, moving quickly and with relative grace, perhaps as eager as she was to get rid of the fangirls following him around.
Looking back at Harry and Luna, Steph went to sit down, but out of curiosity and perhaps a little wistfulness, she glanced over at the clustered fangirls, and was instead met with a wall of glares, each of varying strength. This, it seemed, could be a problem.
Fucking great.
Steph was officially done with the visiting schools, and they hadn't even been there for a week.
Krum was sitting at the table behind her, and had tried to make some idle small talk with her for a bit, seemingly unable to take the hint that she really had very little interest in him or Quidditch, and would rather have talked about Durmstrang castle - not that he had even mentioned the place. It had taken Draco - of all people - speaking up about Krum's interests and Quidditch for the Bulgarian to leave her alone.
Which meant she was minorly indebted to the blonde ponce.
And just when she had turned to finally talk to Luna about the Defence essay the blonde girl had tried to get assistance with earlier in the Library some eight hours prior, there were now two blondes opposite, and one was glowing like some sort of deity. The Veela - Fleur, as she had been almost instructed as if it were an afterthought - had planted herself next to Luna, and was a complete Princess.
After all, she was French.
Steph didn't like her - didn't like the effect Fleur still had on her, diminished as it may have been by simple awareness and her occlumency. It was just... Wrong, like a Niffler trying to break through the walls of her home to get to the precious goods inside.
The saving grace in that situation, like in many, was Luna, whom had listened to the French girl talk about how inferior Hogwarts was for all of two minutes, before she had asked the Veela if she was infested with Cockeyed Wroskis. Fleur had visibly reeled in surprise at the comment, and constant badgering from Luna had driven the French girl to steadily inch further and further away, until finally she turned to the boy next to her - Roger Davies, their Quidditch Captain - and visibly pulled her lips into a thin line.
It took half a second to see why - Davies had started dumbly staring at her, his jaw half slackened. Ah - seemed some were less aware than they should have been.
Turning her head back to Luna, Steph briefly glanced at her wristwatch - seven twenty-five, almost right at the end of dinner. She'd have the briefest window to talk to Luna before the whole Tri-Wizard fiasco started up, then they'd be escorted off to bed and that would inevitably mean they'd end up in their common room late into the night. Leaning across the table a little more, Steph gave a tap to Luna's calf with the toe of her boot, pulling the girl's attention back to her, and those silvery eyes back onto her own.
"Your essay - I'll read over it now." The blonde's eyes lit up just a little, and she reached into the satchel on the seat next to her and withdrew the roll of parchment, handing it over to Steph, whom laid it out on the table and started reading, eyes dancing over the page as she mouthed the sentences under her breath. The essay wasn't badly written, not by a longshot, and it only took a handful of seconds for Steph to get the gist of what the third years were learning - and it was exactly that which drew a frown onto Steph's lips as she looked over at Luna.
"You're learning Counter Curses?" Unable to keep the incredulity out of her voice, Steph tilted her head at Luna, only for the other girl to nod her head.
"Oh yes, Professor Moody was quite insistent that we learn counter curses. He said it was important that we know at least the basics in self-defence, and how to spot a potential threat." Luna tilted her head in turn, matching the angle Steph's own was at. "Which is interesting, really, given he is the biggest threat in the school."
Steph quietly snorted under her breath, conceding the point. "True... Though I think Dumbledore might be worse."
"Oh, Professor Dumbledore wouldn't hurt you if he could avoid it. I don't doubt Professor Moody would."
"Well.. I suppose so." A flicker of movement up at the head tables - for there were two tonight, to accommodate an influx in guests, many of whom carried that dreary air of ministry employees about them - drew her attention, and she slid the parchment back over the table to Luna, speaking as hurriedly, yet clearly, as she could. "Look good at a glance, maybe put some more emphasis on generalised counter curses - Finite works surprisingly well."
And Morgana knows I've learned the hard way.
Barely had Luna nodded in agreement before Dumbledore himself stepped up to the speaking podium from which he usually addressed the school, the owl figurehead spreading its wings and the conversation throughout the hall quieting down to barely a whisper. Several figures behind Dumbledore stood - their Professors chief amongst them, Moody softly clonking his way out from behind the table, with Snape and McGonagall quick to follow. Around the other end came perhaps one of the most out of place figures - ginger hair and skin like alabaster, his age suggesting that should have been sitting amongst them, he had to be a Weasley, the former head boy if she had to guess.
His expression carried a sense of pride and studious duty to it, but there was an air of snobbish superiority about him that, frankly, Steph disliked on principle.
But next to him was a figure who drew a slight blink of surprise over her face - Sirius Black had followed the Weasley out from behind the head table. Steph hadn't even realised he was there until that point - but it was probably because a figure who really should have been there, Barty Crouch, wasn't.
"Now, if I could have your attention, please. Our impartial judge, the Goblet of Fire, shall now select the champions for the tournament." Raising his arm in a slow sweep, Dumbledore wandlessly dimmed the crackling flames of the braziers hanging from the statues and hooks around the great hall, casting an eerie darkness over the room. A second later, the aforementioned Goblet, which had been sitting in the middle of the hall, suddenly burst to life with ethereal blue flames that easily surged four feet above the rim of the cup, before settling down to a soft crackle barely above the rim.
A hushed whisper shot around the hall as the flames licked into the air, the headmaster dismounting the podium and cautiously approaching the cup, arm outstretched. A steady pace was struck, but Steph could see the headmaster's hand waver as he passed behind Luna, not as if he were afraid, but more as a gentle tremble that came with age - it made sense, he was over a hundred.
... He really was quite old, wasn't he.
A moment later, the elderly headmaster was at the Goblet, and pressed his hand to the underside of the Goblet's curve, holding it there for a mere moment, before stepping back swiftly. In the place of his palm, a glowing silver-blue handprint remained, before slowly fading away as the Goblet's flames reached higher and higher peaks as they crackled with growing intensity. They passed the previous four feet, surging to five or six, before, from the flames, a trio of blue fireworks surged in a trident formation, spiralling high above the hall, before gently floating downwards, into the waiting hands of the headmaster.
The names on them didn't seem to surprise Dumbledore in the slightest, for his eyebrows only twitched slightly, before he raised his voice, holding the papers aloft - Steph could see one was needlessly garish and fancy, doubtless the Beauxbaton's champion, whereas the other two were simple scraps of parchment. "The champion for Beauxbatons is.. Fleur Delacour!"
As applause worked its way around the hall, Fleur stepped out from the bench and stood upright, sweeping her gaze around the hall with a viciously triumphant expression upon her flawless features. She preened for a few seconds in the evermore enthusiastic applause, as if she were being personally acclaimed, before tipping her head up and posing - revelling in the attention as the applause grew louder and louder with each successive motion. After damn near fifteen seconds, she spun on her heel and strutted her way off to the side of the hall, into a door that probably led to some sort of antechamber, applause and her headmistress chasing her the entire way.
Steph wasn't blind to the fact that she felt she could now finally breathe, nor that much of the applause was coming from the male half of the students. Instead, she took the time to flex her fingers, to take breaths, and to clear away the last of the lingering fog.
"The champion for Durmstrang - Viktor Krum!" Barely had Steph registered the name before the boy in question, who had been talking to her at the start of the meal, rose to his feet and gruffly trudged down the aisle between Ravenclaw and Slytherin to even more enthusiastic applause. A single raise of his hand in thanks was all he gave, even as Karkaroff's expression slipped into an unhappy frown at the display, but he quickly followed the boy into the antechamber.
"The Hogwarts Champion, from Hufflepuff, Cedric Diggory!"
If Steph had thought the applause for the other champions was loud, Hufflepuff damn near exploded with cheering and applause as the boy in question was still for a moment, seemingly stunned into disbelief, before bashfully rising to his feet, waving his hand in thanks as a flush settled across his cheeks. Whereas Krum had shunned the spotlight, and Fleur had revelled in it, Diggory was humble, yet allowed people to give him their praise. It was a good mix, in her books - it also helped that he was handsome, but not in an obnoxious way like Fleur.
As Cedric moved off to the antechamber, followed by Professor Sprout, Dumbledore brought his hands together in a soft clap, spinning around to sweep his gaze over the hall, prompting her to do the same. She could see a number of unhappy faces - many of them from Beauxbatons, doubtless Fleur wasn't nearly as popular there as she was here, but only a few from Durmstrang. Their expressions seemed to be more.. Frustrated or begrudgingly accepting, as if this outcome was expected.
Hogwarts' sour faces were from Slytherin - Flint wasn't there anymore, he had long graduated, but Pucey looked a little put out for a handful of seconds, before it vanished as he glanced at her. His gaze softened - although remained sour - and he gave a respectful nod as her gaze moved on.
"We have our champions-" As Dumbledore spoke, a further roar of flames burst from the Goblet, and Steph wheeled her head around to stare at the Goblet of Fire as it trembled on its stand, before shooting one final firework of golden sparkles high into the air. It whizzed around the ceiling, before surging downwards, almost as if it intended to strike Dumbledore, before losing its trail of sparks a handful of feet before the Headmaster, a singed paper drifting down to land in his outstretched hand.
This time, Dumbledore's eyebrows shot to his hairline, and he stared at the page in a mix of disbelief, but also a strangely... resigned acceptance, as if he had dreaded this happening, but was accepting it regardless. Raising his voice, which was still intercut with audible concern, Dumbledore cried out again. "Harry Potter."
The bottom of her stomach dropped out - in a way she had expected to hear Harry's name since the tournament was announced. His life was a comedy of horrific events stacking one upon another, be it dealing with a teacher trying to steal the Philosophers Stone, a dozen ton Basilisk living under the school, or an escaped Azkaban inmate trying to kill him at school. But this tournament was different - it was a bloody death trap; the last one had proved as much when a Cockatrice escaping had resulted in the outright suspension of the tournament.
".. What?"
The confused voice of a boy who was clearly taken entirely by surprise arose from the Hufflepuff table, and Dumbledore whirled around in place, his robes, their various tassels and beads, and his beard all swishing through the air as the headmaster turned to face the boy, offering forwards the parchment with a deathly still hand. Repeating himself at a normal volume, Dumbledore's voice nevertheless boomed around the hall over the sputtering flames of the Goblet of Fire. "Harry Potter."
Standing, Harry reached out with a wavering hand and took the parchment, looking down at it, then back up at Dumbledore with visible confusion on his face. It was at that moment that the final sputtering flames of the Goblet of Fire were snuffed out with a soft whump, the Headmaster's head practically snapping to the look at the now unlit Goblet with startled surprise. From up at the head table, the voice of the Head Auror drifted down the hall. "Harry."
The boy didn't react the first time, but as Sirius Black marched down the hall with visible haste, he reached his godson and rested his hands on Harry's shoulders, turning the boy to look right at him. Audibly stressed, Sirius' voice was soft and firm, brokering no argument as he questioned his Godson in a voice that would have been barely a whisper, and yet that still carried around the hall. "Harry, did you put your name into the Goblet of fire?"
"No- I didn't, Sirius. I- I don't know how.."
"Did you ask anyone else to for you?" Sirius' tone grew audibly more strained, and Harry earnestly shook his head even as Steph wonder. Was that seriously a loophole?
"No - I didn't, nor would I ever. You know how dangerous-" Interrupting the boy, Dumbledore cleared his throat, his tone even quieter - quiet to the point that Steph strained herself to the limit to even catch a hint of what it was that the man said.
"... Elsewhere, perhaps..."
As the two men swept their eyes over the great hall, Sirius drew his wand at pointed it at the Goblet of Fire, around which a dark metal cage rose from the stone floor of the Great Hall. The Head Auror swept his eyes over the room, then raised his voice. "You're all dismissed - return to your dormitories and common rooms immediately. That's an order."
As the Hall dissolved into hushed whispers and excited chattering, Steph bit her lip, eyeing the nervous boy standing between two of the most powerful men in Britain. He had good cause to be nervous, she reasoned - if Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black hadn't been able to protect him from the tournament, and whomever wanted him to end up in it, then that meant basically no one could protect him.
And now he was entered into a tournament that would try its best to kill him.
"Let’s go - I need to write a letter." Flicking her gaze to Luna after speaking, Steph rose to her feet and pulled a thin and strained smile to her lips. Perhaps her dad would know something about that could help, because frankly - Harry was going to need it.
The black corvid streaked through the Great Hall the following morning, making a beeline for the table of the house of the Eagle, the house so often mistakenly associated with the Raven. Releasing the letter in its talon’s grasp, the envelope was deposited in the middle of Steph's plate as she took the final bite of her toast, wiping her greasy fingers on her napkin, before taking a sip of her tea with her right hand, drawing her wand with her left and tapping the envelope with it as she drank her tea.
As the letter unfolded the envelope from within, it rose into the air in front of Steph's face, and her eyes danced across the paper before her. Her dad had been quick on the reply, evidently, and it was a good thing too, given the gravity of the situation. His reply, however, didn't make too much sense - it was as if he were talking about a non-existent conversation that they had, speaking about her Ministry qualification as a Magizoologist - which she definitely wanted to get, but wouldn’t for at least two years after graduation. But the overall conversation didn't make sense to her, why would she need to study the expanded edition-
Steph froze for a second, before spluttering into her tea, which she swiftly lowered in favour of thumping herself on the chest, coughing in an attempt to clear her airways of the tea that had inadvertently ended up in the wrong tube.
Staring with mounting horror, Steph blinked several times as she read the inked words on the page from the top.
Steph,
Good to hear that you got back to me regarding the conversation we had before you left. I do think that you don't need to worry about the business with the 4X creatures, we'll handle your licensing with them at the end of the year. For now, keep an eye on 5X and we can have you try your qualification with them again once you revise the expanded edition. The Ministry said you should pay particular attention to 301-313, and 331-357, as they were your weakest. I think you should be able to take the test again on the 24th. Sorry to hear about what happened at Hogwarts today, I hope you can move past it with ease.
Love,
Dad.
If that wasn't an outright answer, she didn't know what was. What was most concerning was the fact that the numbers were so high. Creatures that deep in the 5X edition of Fantastic Beasts were hardly to be trifled with
Ignoring the somewhat concerned looks from those around her, Steph took a final swig of her tea and rose to her feet, shoving the letter into her jacket's pocket and stepping out into the central aisle. It took her only a second of sweeping the table on the other side of the aisle with her eyes for her to locate the target of her search - unfortunately, it was because he was currently surrounded.
Harry was sat with his back to the Ravenclaw table, and standing in an arc to his left, which he was facing, was a quartet of figures - Malfoy and Parkinson, accompanied by the bell- bookends (she seemed to really need to work on her memory with that word) Crabbe and Goyle. The sight of the crowd ahead of her gave her momentary pause - Malfoy and Parkinson seemed to be taking turns in throwing remarks Harry's way, and by the looks of things, the Hufflepuff table around them was slowly growing more and more agitated by the comments.
But that meant that she would hardly be able to go and ask Harry to meet her somewhere - Malfoy and his ilk would doubtless come try harassing them, and she didn't really fancy getting into a brawl, be it verbal or physical.
... I'm an idiot, aren't I?
It was much easier accusing herself of it mentally, as opposed to being labelled one by someone else, but she moved past that quickly - there was an easy way to make sure that no one would listen in on their conversation. Striding purposefully towards the door, it was only once she was in close proximity that Parkinson noticed her as Draco seemed to dart in like a serpent, laying in his next verbal jab.
"Scamander." Bowing her head slightly in a sign of some respect, Pansy's words drew Draco's attention, the boy straightening up and regarding her with a somewhat smug and almost suave expression.
"Lady Scamander, Good morning." His tone certainly carried that suave tone to it, and judging by how Parkinson looked almost taken aback, Steph wasn't the only one surprised by it. Harry glanced over his shoulder at her as the two Slytherins spoke, giving her a look that bordered between worry and relief - and one she gave only the ghost of a grin to, just to bolster him a little.
"Parkinson, Malfoy, Harry-" Speaking in turn as she faced each of the people in question, Steph drew a heavy breath after speaking Harry's name. Disguising it as a heavy sigh, Steph instead stared at the serpent on the Slytherin house crest on Parkinson's jumper, allowing her tongue to curl and roll as she exhaled. "Library, 10 am."
Draco seemed to twitch a little, as if he suspected something wrong, but Harry visible stiffened at the noise, giving only a slight twitch of his head into a nod as Steph raised her gaze away from Parkinson's jumper. Briefly giving them a once-over, Steph watched as Pansy's expression grew a little thin as she glanced her way - probably worried about what Steph meant to Pansy's relationship with Draco. "Good day."
Walking away, Steph could not help but feel quite pleased with herself, something that only grew stronger when on the stroke of ten, the noise of rustling fabric precluded the Boy-Who-Lived appearing out of thin air next to her in the secluded back corner of the library, folding away his invisibility cloak and shoving it into his pocket. His tone conveyed exhaustion, and with a closer look, he very clearly had not slept well. "Yes? I gather that you need something?"
"Take a breather first-" Her tone chiding, ignoring how she herself was a bundle of nerves, Steph reached into her satchel and set the book she had retrieved from her dorm on the table, the pages already bearing little tabs to mark the pages her father had mentioned, flicking it around so that Harry was able to see the front cover of the book. He wasn't the only one who was antsy in that moment - she had hardly been able to sit still since the moment she had received the letter, and it was only made worse once she had found the pages in question.
".. Yeah, sorry. It’s just been.. A rough night, to say the least." Giving an apologetic smile, Harry glanced down at the book, swallowing gingerly. "So.. What's this about, then?"
"This is the first task." Turning the XXXXX edition of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them back to face her, Steph unfolded the book to the middle and began to gingerly pick her way through the compendium - mentally psyching herself up as she went, and as a result, starting to ramble as she did so. "I wrote to my dad last night after your name came out of the Goblet. I figured that you would need help, given how dangerous the tournament has been in the past, so I wrote to him, and he got back to me this morning and-..."
Drawing a heavy breath, Steph reached inside herself and slammed her occlumency down on her run-away nerves. She was better than this, this shouldn't be worrying her so much - and yet it was. Fucking Dragons, this was something totally new. Harry had been able to rely on help in the past - Dumbledore and Sirius had helped him with the Basilisk, Daphne had helped with Quirrell, but now he was being forced to go it alone. Dumbledore couldn't help at all, stickler as he was for the rules, he wouldn't engage in the tournaments long history of cheating by judges.
And the rest of them could only help in theory.
"Steph.. Calm down. What is it?" He was sounding calm, deliberately so, but he wouldn't be if he knew what he had before him.
"These." Gripping the tab she had pre-marked, Steph flipped over several dozen pages to bring them to stare at the first creature. Sitting on Page 301 was a picture of a Welsh Green Dragon, a creature that Harry visibly recoiled at the sight of, even on a simple page. Steph gingerly swallowed as she spoke. "Welsh Green, narrow but longer ranged jets of fire. Smaller animal than most, usually relatively passive, feasts on sheep. Not too bad all things considered."
".. That's not too bad? A bloody dragon?" His voice barely a hiss, Steph clenched her fingers into fists and exhaled a stiff breath.
"It's better than the alternatives. Next-" Flipping to page 313, Steph turned the book to display the next creature, a dragon with a magnificent silver creature, whose scales bore just the tiniest hint of blue to them. From its nostrils burned blue flames that danced upon the page. "Swedish short-snout. One of the most agile and fast fliers, hottest dragon flames ever recorded. It's only barely bigger than the Welsh Green, but far more dangerous."
".. Merlin, are they trying to kill us?" A humourless chuckle left her, one that died pathetically a second later as the crushing weight of the statement hit home.
"I think they might be. At least it’s not a cockatrice this time. Last time they had one of those, killed a dozen audience members and all three contestants. All the judges were injured, and the Ministries collectively shut the tournament down." Harry stared at her for a second, face a mask of horror. When he spoke, his voice was a squeak of horror.
"When was this?"
"1792." Swallowing the unsaid remark, Steph looked down at the book, flipping to the next tab. "Chinese fireball. Smallest creature here, very nimble and agile. Short, ranged fire, but it’s got a large area of effect, and its cursed fire. I'll need to dig up the counter curse, just in case. Fireball is also notoriously intelligent. Treat it like a wizard, because this thing is smart."
Staring at the final tab, Steph simply swallowed once again, then bit the bullet. Flipping to the final tab, she revealed the monster in all its glory. "Then you've got the worst. Hungarian Horntail. Massive creature, deceptively fast despite that. Lethal in air and on the ground, extremely durable and extremely aggressive. Morgana's Tits - this thing is liable to go after the fucking crowd before the contestant even enters the arena."
Giving a heavy sigh, Steph rested her temple against the palm of her hand as Harry spoke, his voice wavering just a little. "Why... Are you telling me this?"
"Because I don't want my friend to die because I didn't help him prepare. This fucking tournament is a death trap, and someone's put you in it because they want you to die." Harry stared at her for a moment, before a small frown came over his face, his voice, however, filling with hope.
"You.. Don't believe I managed to cheat my way in?" That drew her attention, and Steph frowned at him.
"What? - No, I'm not an idiot, nor conceited enough to think you'd lie to me. I know my friends, and you Hufflepuff's are concerningly earnest." Giving him a small smile and an otherwise out of place chuckle, Steph glanced back at the book, and her smile wavered, growing strained and thin. "Ravenclaw, however, is caught between thinking you're telling the truth, or being blinded by jealousy at you figuring out how to pull the wool over Dumbledore's eyes."
"Believe me, if I knew how to do that, I'd tell Sirius." With a grimace on his features, Harry glanced up at the bookshelf behind which their table was hiding, and Steph followed his gaze to the figure of Daphne Greengrass emerging from behind the other side of the bookcase, staring at the two of them with a scrap of what looked like folded parchment in her hands. His words trailed off as he stared at the girl, drawing a heavy breath, before he glanced to his left at her. "You mind giving us a moment? Daph and I need to talk."
With a glance to her right at the boy, and the sudden conviction on his features, Steph gave a nod. "Take care you two."
As she stood, she paused for a second, turning back to face him and slipping back into Parseltongue for the second time that day. "Don't be too hard on Daph, you'll need her help."
Harry paused for a moment, before nodding slowly and responding in kind. "I'll try."