➣ 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝟒 “𝙅𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝘽𝙚𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙖𝙡”
⋆｡°✩°｡⋆
TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT
The delegations from Beauxbatons and
Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o’clock
on Friday the 30th of October. Lessons will
end half an hour early.
Students will return their bags and books
to their dormitories and assemble in front
of the castle to greet our guests before
the Welcoming Feast.
That was the sign placed at the entrance to the Great Hall, and it had had the desired effect on the student body, for the entire two weeks that followed, no other topic was worthy of talking more than the Triwizard Tournament. It was unsettling because most of the students — and especially their fellow Hufflepuffs — wanted Cedric to compete and represent Hogwarts, but Nicolás knew he wouldn’t. He promised not to submit his name…
The castle seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armor were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, was behaving so ferociously to any students who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year girls into hysterics.
Other members of the staff seemed oddly tense too.
Nicolás felt a bit confident about the incoming visitors. If there was one thing his grandfather and his mom had been very insisting on when he was younger, it was that languages were fundamental to building relations beyond your home. He and Caelum were raised speaking English and Spanish, but they also learned a bit of French, and Italian.
He would be able to communicate with the Beauxbatons students; he had also tried to learn a little bit of Bulgarian ever since Durmstrang had been announced to visit.
As the arrival of the foreign schools approached, Nicolás noticed Cedric grow nervous whenever someone approached him and asked if he would participate in the tournament. It was weird, but he decided to let it slip off.
When they went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, they found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers’ table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.
Nicolás and Cedric sat beside Alec, Amara, and Aurora. Silently, all of them ate their breakfast, looking around as the rest of the students broke into hushed conversation.
The classes of the day had gone quickly, and Nicolás couldn’t decide who ran out of Transfigurations quicker, if Professor McGonagall — no doubt desperate to make her Gryffindors behave — of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in her class.
Quickly, they ran to the basement and left their bags in their dorms, before smarting themselves up and running to Professor Sprout, who was waiting for them at the entrance alongside the other Heads of Houses, ordering the students in lines.
“Morrison, have you not learned how to tie your tie? Garlick, Haywood, can you stay still, this is no playground! Bagby, please take that thing off your robes pocket, it makes you look like a buffoon,” Professor Sprout was uncharacteristically snappy that day, almost as much as Professor McGonagall.
“Follow me, please,” said Professor Sprout. “First years in front... no pushing...”
They filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest.
Nicolás stood in between Cedric and Alec, who was vibrating in his spot; he was always excited to meet new people.
“You reckon they’ll arrive on the train?” asked Alec.
“Doubtful,” said Cedric.
“I don’t think the train would pick them up in their countries,” said Nicolás.
“Maybe they came in their own trains from their countries and then —” Alec’s words were cut off when Dumbledore’s voice rang loudly from the back row, where he stood with the other teachers.
“Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!”
“Where?” said many students eagerly, all looking in different directions.
“There!” yelled a sixth year, pointing over the forest. Something large was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time.
“It’s a dragon!” shrieked one of the first years, losing her head completely.
When the castle lights finally hit the object, they saw what it was.
It was gigantic, powder blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant; Abraxans.
The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed — then, with an almighty crash that made poor Neville jump backward, the horses’ hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden Abraxans tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes.
The door of the carriage bore a coat of arms (two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars) and it was opened as soon as it landed.
A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully. A shining, high-heeled black shoe emerged from the inside of the carriage — a shoe the size of a child’s sled — followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman he had ever seen in his life. The size of the carriage, and of the horses, was immediately explained. A few people gasped.
That woman… was it possible… she had to be part giant, like Hagrid was, right? Whatever she was, it was none of Nicolás’ business to dwell upon, his mom had taught him better manners than that
She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her fingers.
Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman.
Her face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it.
“My dear Madame Maxime,” he said. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”
“Dumbledore,” said Madame Maxime in a deep voice and a thick French accent. “I hope I find you well?”
“In excellent form, I thank you,” said Dumbledore.
“My pupils,” said Madame Maxime, waving one of her hands carelessly behind her.
About a dozen boys and girls, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks. A few had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads.
“Has Karkaroff arrived yet?” Madame Maxime asked.
“He should be here any moment,” said Dumbledore. “Would you like to wait here and greet him, or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?”
Madame Maxine chose to enter the castle alongside her students; this was only after Dumbledore assured her that Hagrid would take care of the Abraxans.
A loud and oddly eerie noise was drifting toward them from out of the darkness: a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner were moving along a riverbed.
“The lake!” yelled Lee Jordan of Gryffindor, pointing down at it. “Look at the lake!”
The usually smooth surface of the lake was being disturbed from deep in the center; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks, and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake’s floor.
What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool. It was the mast of a ship.
“It’s a ship!” Nicolás exclaimed.
Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank.
People were disembarking; they could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship’s portholes. All of them seemed to have hunky builds, but then, as they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the entrance hall, their bulk was revealed to be due to the fact that they were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted fur. But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair.
“Dumbledore!” he called heartily as he walked up the slope. “How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?”
“Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore replied.
Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle, they saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee (finishing in a small curl) did not entirely hide his rather weak chin.
When he reached Dumbledore, he shook his hand with both of his own. “Dear old Hogwarts”
Nicolás noticed something funny. As he spoke, for some reason, the man seemed uncomfortable. He looked up at the castle with a faint smile, a smile that didn't reach his eyes and which held very little sincerity. Without waiting any further, Karkaroff beckoned his students with his arm to enter the castle. As they passed, an excited murmur broke throughout the Hogwarts student body; when they reached them, one of the Durmstrnag students, Nicolás noticed, was none other than Viktor Krum
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
The Hogwarts students were the last to enter the Great Hall. The Beauxbatons had chosen the Ravenclaw table to sit, while the Durmstrangs stomped to the Slytherin table.
The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were face-to-face, so, when Nicolás and Cedric passed them, Nicolás noticed how three of the Beauxbatons — two girls and one boy — had no cloaks; they were shaking in their seats, doing their best to clutch their scarves and shawls close to their necks and heads.
Nicolás looked around, but those who took notice of them would merely blush and move aside in a hurry. Nobody moved to ask them anything nor to offer any help.
With doubtful steps, Nicolás approached them, Cedric's shadow at his back.
Nicolás cleared his throat, “Vous n'avez pas de capes?” he asked.
The three of them raised their heads with wide eyes. The boy sprang to his feet, a wide smile breaking through his face.
The boy was tall; as tall as Cedric — Nicolás barely reached his chest —, and very handsome. His hair was a silky jet-black parted in the middle and reached his jaw. His eyes were a deep blue with small hints of green, like seaweed. His build was pretty much the same as Nicolás', only wider on the shoulders like Cedric, if less athletic.
His friends were just as gorgeous; one was a black girl with blue hair, and the other was pink-haired with snowy pale skin.
“Non, nous ne le faisons pas. Je ne pensais pas que quiconque à Poudlard parlerait français ! Je m'appelle Laurent,” the boy introduced himself with a small fancy bow, taking Nicolás' hand in his own. He gestured to his friends and said, “Voici Charlotte et Claire.”
His voice was velvety and overly fancy, the French accent giving it a slightly flirty edge.
"Je m'appelle Nicolas. Donne moi une seconde," said Nicolás with a nod. He took off his cloak, and with his wand, he tapped it and said, "Geminio!"
In seconds, next to it were three other cloaks, exactly the same. He handed them to the Beauxbatons, who took them with wide eyes.
“Nous ne nous attendions pas à un beau chevalier en armure brillante,” said Laurent in a sultry voice.
Nicolás felt his cheek heat, he pinched his ear lobe and scratched the back of his neck; he had never had someone being so upfront, not before nor now that Cedric was his boyfriend. He turned to the girls behind Laurent, “C'est un belle-parleur, hein?”
The girls giggled as Laurent went pink, from his neck up to the top of his ears.
Nicolás chuckled. “Profitez du festin. Et bienvenue à Poudlard!” he said, and with a short bow, turned around.
He came face-to-face with a frowning Cedric. His jaw was set, as if he were clenching his teeth. His shoulders were squared, making him look bigger. His eyes, steeled, were trained on Laurent and his friends; the Beauxbatons didn't even notice him, too focused on the cloaks Nicolás had handed them.
"What's got your knickers in a twist?" said Nicolás frowning.
"Nothing," Cedric grunted. He turned around and stomped towards the Hufflepuff table, without sending a lost glance at Nicolás.
"Ow, what's wrong with you two, Lovebirds?" asked Alec with a tense smile as they sat.
"I couldn't possibly know," said Nicolás, his eyes trained on Cedric, "Cedric seems to have lost control over his tongue; his speech appears to have regressed to that of a territorial gorilla."
"Leave it, Nicolás," Cedric grunted, narrowing his eyes at him, clearly not appreciating his wit.
"Oh, look at that, I had thought he forgot about me!" said Nicolás, looking at an uncomfortable Alec. "Also, leave what exactly, if I may know?" he hissed lower so only Cedric could hear.
"Just forget it," Cedric grunted.
"Mhm, very congruent, very mature, enlightening even," Nicolás retorted. He looked at Alec and added, "Gorillas communicate in grunts."
Cedric merely grunted again, looking ahead.
"So... should we start to get worried?" asked Amara unsure; next to her, Aurora seemed just as worried. Nicolás shrugged.
Before Nicolás could come up with another sarcastic comment on Cedric, Professor Dumbledore, Madame Maxine, and Professor Karkaroff approached the table in the front, followed by the Heads of Houses, and lastly the rest of the teaching staff. Weirdly, Mr. Filch added two extra chairs.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and — most particularly — guests,” said Dumbledore, beaming around at the foreign students. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.”
“The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast,” said Dumbledore. “I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!”
And there it was again. That damned tournament. Ever since he started to know about it, things had been going downhill. The plates and goblets on the tables filled with food, this time, a wider variety, including food from their guests’ countries.
They ate in silence, as Cedric still refused to say a single word that wasn't an annoyed grunt.
A while later, Mr. Crouch Sr. and Ludo Bagman arrived and sat at the staff table. They were the ones Filch put chairs for.
After dessert had been eaten, Dumbledore stood up again.
“The moment has come,” said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of faces. “The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket, just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year.
“But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.
“Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions’ efforts.
“The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch.”
Filch approached Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students.
“The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman,” said Dumbledore as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, “and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways… their magical prowess — their daring — their powers of deduction — and, of course, their ability to cope with danger.”
Every student in the hall seemed to hold their breath in expectation. Nicolás' breath got caught in his throat when his eyes fell on Cedric.
The firelight had been dimmed, and his handsome face was only faintly bathed in soft golden, making his honey eyes sparkle. His sight was transfixed on the jeweled casket; Nicolás could almost see the gears of his brain working the endless possibilities of the tournament. He... he wouldn't, would he? He had promised, but...
Dumbledore then went on to announce who would be his impartial judge: the Goblet of Fire.
Finally, Dumbledore took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames.
“Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet,” said Dumbledore. “Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.
He then went on to remark two things: underage students weren't permitted to participate, and to ensure this, Dumbledore was going to create an age line, making it impossible for those who didn't meet it, to pass through.
Second, he impressed upon them how sure they needed to be before submitting their names, because, if they were chosen, there would be no second thoughts, no way out; to submit their names equaled to signing a magical binding contract.
Nicolás tried to ignore the way his lower ribs hurt at the thought, praying to all deities he didn't believe in so Cedric would actually think of that; because, upon all else, Cedric was already old enough to submit his name.
Once the feast was finished, everyone stormed out of the hall. The Beuxbatons would return to their carriage just as the Durmstrangs would return to their ship.
The walk back to the basement was awkward. Alec, Amara, and Aurora got so tired of their issue, that they chose to stay behind and a little away from them.
All the way down to their common room, Nicolás had tried to talk with Cedric, each time being met with little more than a grunt. Hell, Cedric wasn't even looking at him, and it hurt. When they reached their dorm, Nicolás was already fed up with Cedric's attitude.
He threw a towel on Cedric's face and muttered, "Next time, remember me to transfigure it into a banana, maybe that way you'll be able to talk like a normal human being!" and stormed out.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
“Where are you going so early?” asked Cedric in a sleepy voice.
It almost hurt his eyes how handsome Cedric was; really, it shouldn't be permitted to exist like that. Even rubbing his half-lidden eyes, disheveled hair sticking out in different directions, and rosy cheeks, he was a breathtaking view.
Cedric's odd behavior the day before culminated in them going to bed in silence. Their beds had been enchanted into a single one, so they had to suck it up and go to bed together.
It was awkward, and it was the very first time they had gone to bed together in such conditions. There was no easy talk, no sweet nothings; no fleeting touches, no quick kisses. Nothing. They lay, side by side, looking up, and fell asleep stiffly.
Nicolás was still tormented by Cedric's behavior. Cedric wasn't the kind of person to simply grunt away his problems and to Nicolás, above all else.
Today was the death anniversary of Uncle James and Aunt Lily, and as the two years before, Nicolás, Caelum, and Harry were allowed to leave the school grounds with his mom and Aunt MAría. Right now, Nicolás was not in the mood to continue dealing with Cedric's mysteriously sudden teenage angst.
“Oh, now you’re speaking, huh?” he snapped back. Okay, that wasn’t the most mature thing he could’ve done, but Cedric wasn’t exactly acting like a mature teenager either.
“You’re not letting it go, are you?” Cedric sighed, rubbing his face.
“Cedric, I — look, I don’t have time now, we’ll speak at the feast tonight, yes?” Nicolás asked. Reluctantly, Cedric nodded. With a smile, Nicolás bent to kiss him before walking out.
When he reached the Entrance Hall, his eyes fell on the still-burning Goblet of Fire. Looking at the thing too, were his mom and aunt. They were probably making sure no underage student tried anything stupid — given the way his mom was holding the Weasley twins by their ears, probably scolding them — while Aunt María seemed deep in talk with Moody; her eyes, like those of a hawk, scanned the man's face in each move, from his scarred face to his wooden leg.
Soon, Harry and Caelum arrived next to him.
“I hope we can continue our conversation at another time, Alastor,” said Aunt María, shaking the man’s hand.
Moody grunted, “Aye, greetings to your parents,” then he turned around, his eyes, normal and magical, falling on Nicolás. He narrowed his eyes at him, before continuing his way.
“Oh, Baby,” his mom let go of the Weasley twins and walked to hug him. “How have you been doing?”
“It’s been — good, Mom,” he chose to say. There was no point in bothering her with his boyfriend problems.
“Were the Weasleys trying something?” asked Caelum, smirking as the twins rubbed their hurt ears.
“Foolish boys, those two,” said Aunt María. “Carolina stopped them, though. I say, let them screw it, maybe then they’ll learn something.”
Together, they all moved towards the exit. The moment they reached the entrance, however, a loud boom echoed from the hall of the goblet, followed by the loud crashing of two bodies against the floor, and the entire place erupted in laughter.
“Well, there you have it,” sighed Carolina, shaking her head.
They reached the outside of the castle grounds — finally outside the Anti-Apparition Charms — and Apparated to Godric’s Hollow.
The next three hours were spent in silence. They arrived at the large graveyard and searched for Uncle James and Aunt Lily's tombstone. They left the lilies they brought and contemplated the silence for a while.
The first times they brought Harry, they had helped him deal with the sense of loss. Harry had always been aware that his parents were dead, that was not new to him, but he had never really had any chance to connect with them. Back at the Dursleys, he knew nothing about their deaths, not even how they really happened.
Now he had a bigger connection and a more profound knowledge of them — now he knew he was a wizard, just like them, he knew they had given their lives for him —, and he was learning how to deal with that.
He had come to peace with the knowledge that Voldemort had killed them, and what that entailed.
Now, Harry liked to bring the lilies, and sit in silence by their tombstone; giving them his respects. Nobody spoke, they simply stayed there, existing.
Nicolás beckoned his mother and aunt a little far and asked, “What did they say, the Death Eaters?”
María sighed, “We had them under Veritaserum but they didn’t offer much.”
“Said it was an independent plot. They have no information on Voldemort whatsoever,” added Carolina.
“Which is why they all fled as soon as the Dark Mark was cast,” finished María.
“And did they say who incited the riot?” asked Nicolás.
“They said Lucius Malfoy, but the Minister refused to believe such thing, because Malfoy wasn’t caught,” said Carolina in a tense voice.
“Foolish bigot,” growled María. "Fudge's little but a tool, and not even the brightest in the shed I'd say. I'm surprised he hasn't sunk this island on the ocean. But just you wait until I get my hands on that useless peacock; he will wish he had cut his stupid hair.”
By the time they arrived back at Hogwarts, most students were already in the Great Hall for the feast and to see who the Goblet of Fire would choose as the champions for the tournament.
Something that should’ve put him on alarm was how nervous Cedric acted when he saw him, how jumpy he was, and how, underneath the emotions battling in his face, the most notorious one was guilt.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
The feast went on silently. Everyone was absorbed in their food, but the excitement could still be felt. It was as though an electrical current unceasingly traveled along, jumping from student to student.
The moment the food had been eaten, and the plates and goblets were empty once more, Dumbledore got to his feet, and every sound in the Great Hall died. Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff were at his side immediately. Ludo Bagman and Mr. Crouch also got to their feet.
“Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” said Dumbledore. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber,” he indicated the door behind the staff table, “where they will be receiving their first instructions.”
He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting… A few people kept checking their watches…
Suddenly, the flames inside the goblet turned red again. Sparks began to fly from it. The next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it — the whole room gasped.
Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm’s length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.
“The champion for Durmstrang,” he read, in a strong, clear voice, “will be Viktor Krum.”
A storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Viktor Krum rose from the Slytherin table and slouched up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.
“Bravo, Viktor!” boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. “Knew you had it in you!
The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone’s attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.
“The champion for Beauxbatons,” said Dumbledore, “is Fleur Delacour!”
Fleur was a tall blonde girl who very much resembled a Veela — perhaps she was part Veela —, gracefully, she got up from the Ravenclaw table, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up the path between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.
When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next…
And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.
Time seemed to have slowed down the moment Dumbledore's eyes fell on the piece of parchment.
Nicolás' heart was beating in his ears. It was so deafening, that he couldn't make out any other sound apart from it. Cedric turned to him, looking apologetic, but his erratic heart didn't let him get a single of the words Cedric uttered. His attention was entirely focused on the Goblet of Fire. And finally, when Dumbledore spoke, that was all Nicolás heard with cruelly renewed clarity.
“The Hogwarts champion,” Dumbledore called, “is Cedric Diggory!”
If time had slowed down before, it was at this moment that it froze, and for only a moment, the world lost its meaning. It felt as if a bucket of ice-cold water had fallen over his head. He heard, with piercing clarity, the moment his heart dropped from his chest and crashed into the hall's floor, breaking into a thousand million tiny pieces.
Everything he had hoped for... everything he had tried to stop... all for nothing. For an agonizing moment, the precognitive vision of Cedric's death was crystal clear in his eyes, clearer than ever before.
That... that couldn't be... Cedric had promised not to submit his name, and yet he did but... only... Cedric... he... he didn't promise, did he? The night Nicolás, with his heart aching, asked him to promise it, he didn't answer with a compromise... no. He merely kissed Nicolás... to... to shut him up.
Suddenly, the air he took in seemed to be as thick as stones, refusing to go down his throat. Hands shaking, he directed his blurry eyes at Cedric.
Cedric was already looking at him with a smile on his face. What reason did he have to smile? Not that it mattered, for when he noticed Nicolás' face, his smile faded in less than a breath. But before Cedric could speak, their table erupted.
Every single Hufflepuff — all, except for Nicolás — had jumped to their feet, screaming and stamping, clapping Cedric on the shoulders and back. Cedric moved his hand to grab Nicolás', but the moment their skins made contact, Nicolás snatched his hand back like it had been burned. Cedric looked hurt, but not more than Nicolás was, slowly shaking his head with his mouth opened in silence and his watery eyes.
All the hands on him finally got Cedric to his feet, away from Nicolás, and out of the table. He headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers’ table, not before sending Nicolás another pitiful look.
The continuing noise from his fellow Hufflepuffs was becoming too much for Nicolás to bare. He didn’t even notice Amara got her hands on his cheeks.
“Hey, hey! Nico! Here! Do you hear me?” she asked over the noise.
But Nicolás was trapped in Milo’s precognitive vision. All he could hear was the sound of Cedric’s lifeless body crashing into the graveyard; all he could see were those vacant eyes.
The applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.
“Excellent!” Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down; Nicolás was taking loud gasps for air. “Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —”
But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him.
The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.
Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out —
“Harry Potter.”
Of course, if Nicolás thought things were pretty shit right now, life needed to prove to him they could get even shittier. But that was just wrong. There was no way Harry had...
Nicolás’ eyes snapped to the Gryffindor table, where everyone was looking at Harry either confused or impressed; nobody was as confused as Harry was. Instantly, Harry’s eyes searched his own, and shook his head desperately, looking on the verge of crying.
At the top table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall.
“Harry Potter!” Dumbledore called again. “Harry! Up here, if you please!”
With slow steps, Harry walked up to Dumbledore and through the door behind the staff table. Ludo Bagman jumped to his feet and followed Harry with a wide smile.
“What in the actual hell was that?” asked Alec.
“How did Harry put his name?” asked Amara.
Nicolás shook his head, still trying to get his mind around everything that had just taken place.
“No — Harry didn’t — we weren’t even here,” Nicolás tried to explain.
Next, and in line, Dumbledore, Mr. Crouch, Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, Professor McGonagall, and Snape entered the chamber after Harry.
Quickly, Nicolás jumped to his feet and ran in their direction. Moody’s eyes followed him with something akin to satisfaction as he crossed the door. He heard the voices coming from there.
Madame Maxime was accusing Harry of lying and accusing Dumbledore of making a mistake when placing the Age Line around the Goblet of Fire. Dumbledore, annoyingly courteous as ever, admitted the possibility of making a mistake.
“Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!” said Professor McGonagall angrily. “Really, what nonsense! Harry could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, I’m sure that should be good enough for everybody else!”
“It’s true, Professor!” Nicolás exclaimed, hurrying towards them.
“Mr. Cardona,” said Dumbledore.
“Oh, but if it isn’t our favorite ombudsman?” sneered Snape. Nicolás merely sent him a nasty silent look.
He walked to stand in front of Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. Cedric desperately searched his eyes, but Nicolás refused to even recognize his presence.
“It’s impossible for Harry to have put his name in the goblet, Professor. As you and Professor McGonagall are well aware, Harry was away from the school grounds all day.”
“What do you suggest happened then, Mr. Cardona?” asked Dumbledore mildly.
“That’s precisely what I wonder myself, Professor. It’s quite obvious someone put Harry’s name without his request,” he sent Snape a look. “And now Harry’s name is bound to this stupid competition,” he added bitterly.
“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament,” said Mr. Crouch.
“Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front,” said Bagman, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed.
Karkaroff, still thinking he could change what already happened, threatened to retire Durmstrang from Hogwarts grounds instantly.
“Empty threat, Karkaroff,” growled a voice from near the door. “You can’t leave your champion now. He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?”
Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud clunk.
“Convenient?” said Karkaroff. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Moody.”
“Don’t you?” said Moody quietly. “It’s very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter’s name in that goblet knowing he’d have to compete if it came out.
“Very powerful they had to be, indeed. Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!” said Moody. “It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament… I’m guessing they submitted Potter’s name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category...”
Nicolás narrowed his eyes. “That seems like an awful lot of thought for something that just so happened, Professor.”
“There are those who’ll turn innocent occasions to their advantage,” Moody retorted in a menacing voice. “It’s my job to think the way Dark wizards do, as some of you ought to remember...” he coldly looked at Karkaroff.
“Alastor!” said Dumbledore warningly. Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction — Karkaroff’s face was burning.
“How this situation arose, we do not know,” said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. “It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do...”
Dear Lord, what was Nicolás supposed to do now? It was one thing to know that the possibility of Cedric’s death coming true had increased a hundred percent, but to add Harry to the mix? Goddamned it! His mother was going to have a heart attack when she read his letter.
“Well, shall we crack on, then?” Bagman said excitedly, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. “Got to give our champions their instructions, haven’t we? Barty, want to do the honors?”
“What about him?” asked Snape vitriolic, looking at Nicolás. “Mr. Cardona clearly has no business staying here any longer.”
"I reckon that in the face of such a magnitude of failure under his very own roof, my presence is the least Professor Dumbledore can abide, isn't it, Professor? It almost appears as though Harry isn't even safe here at all."
Dumbledore looked at him leveled for a tense moment and nodded. "Of course, Mr. Cardona. Barty, if you will."
Mr. Crouch seemed to come out of a deep and lethargic reverie.
“Yes,” he said, “instructions. Yes... the first task...”
He moved forward into the firelight. The days after the Quidditch World Cup hadn’t done him any good; he looked ill. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin that had not been there at the Quidditch World Cup.
“The first task is designed to test your daring,” he told Harry, Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor, “so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard...very important…
“The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges.
“The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests.”
Mr. Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore.
“I think that’s all, is it, Albus?”
“I think so,” said Dumbledore, who was looking at Mr. Crouch with mild concern. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?”
“No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry,” said Mr. Crouch. “It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment… I’ve left young Weatherby in charge… Very enthusiastic… a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told…”
“You’ll come and have a drink before you go, at least?” said Dumbledore.
“Come on, Barty, I’m staying!” said Bagman brightly. “It’s all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!”
Mr. Crouch, now annoyed, refused the drink, remarking he needed to leave at once. Dumbledore moved to invite Madame Maxime, but the French headmistress had already put an arm around Fleur and was walking out in silence, still indignant with the development of the tournament. Karkaroff, hard-faced, beckoned Krum to follow him outside in silence. Krum moved a moment later, for he was looking at Nicolás very intently.
Once they were alone in the room with Dumbledore, Nicolás enveloped an arm around Harry. He really needed to get away from Dumbledore.
“Good night, Professor,” said Nicolás, walking out with Harry.
He heard Cedric saying his goodbyes to Dumbledore, and soon, his steps were behind them. Nicolás really didn't have it in himself to deal with Cedric and everything he was feeling related to him, at least not at the moment.
“Nico, I swear I—”
"I know you didn't, Little One, I would dare entertain the thought," said Nicolás. "But I'm afraid Moody's right. Someone wanted to get you in the tournament and went to lengths to do so. We know they'll try to do something while you're at it."
"B-bu who?" asked Harry.
"We both know the answer to that," said Nicolás grimly.
"Nicolás," said Cedric breathless. He had just arrived next to them, looking hopelessly at Nicolás, but he wasn't having any of it.
"Come," he told Harry. "I'll take you to your common room."
Turning his back to Cedric — not even acknowledging him —, he made the way up the staircases with Harry, stopping at the Fat Lady's portrait. Just, the Lady wasn't alone, sitting smugly next to her was another witch; both witches looked at them with keen interest.
“Well, well, well,” said the Fat Lady, “Violet’s just told me everything. "Who’s just been chosen as school champion, then?”
"I assure you, my Lady, tonight's not the moment to discuss such matters," said Nicolás.
“Balderdash,” said Harry dully.
“It most certainly isn’t!” said the pale witch indignantly.
“No, no, Vi, it’s the password,” said the Fat Lady soothingly.
"I will beg of you not to pester Harry about it," said Nicolás.
"I must remind you that not-Gryffindor students are forbidden to enter," said the Fat Lady.
"Of course, my Lady, I was only escorting Harry to this point," Nicolás reassured.
Looking at him with endearment, she swung forward on her hinges to let Harry into the common room.
Nicolás squeezed Harry's tense shoulders. "Write a letter, tell Caelum to do the same, and I'll do the same. I'm sure everyone back home will want to read what happened."
With that, and one last hug, Nicolás walked back to the basement and into the Hufflepuff Common Room.
Hufflepuff House was probably the most underrated house of Hogwarts, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that when he entered, he was greeted by the noise of a loud party, where everyone was celebrating Cedric. Cedric stood in the middle, laughing and joking, as everyone congratulated him for being chosen as Hogwarts' champion. When his eyes fell on Nicolás, he beckoned him to come closer.
When he saw Nicolás wouldn’t move, he tried to walk to him, but Nicolás wheeled on his heels and went upstairs to their dorm; as far away from Cedric as he could.
Now the shock was giving way to rage, and the last thing he wanted was to lash out at Cedric, least of all in front of their entire house.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
As the next morning barely arrived, Nicolás woke up to find Cedric's arms wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly against his warm chest. It was very comfortable and snuggly if he decided to ignore that he was angry at Cedric at the moment, of course.
Carefully, he untangled Cedric's arms and slipped out of bed. Cedric didn't wake up, nothing more than a small unconscious whine as he mindlessly palmed the now empty spot where Nicolás had laid.
Nicolás had gone to bed close to midnight after writing a letter to his mother, and by extension, to his family. Cedric clearly had come much later.
When he arrived at the lower ground of the common room, he found a whole mess; it was a freaking disaster that would have Helga Hufflepuff screaming in her tomb. There were bottles of Butterbeer, plates, goblets, silverware, and candy bags, lying all around, some empty, and some not so much.
He made sure to leave a note for his fellow Hufflepuffs to clean their mess, and left another note for the house elves to not do so for them; that would teach them to party more consciously. Then, with his Invisibility Cloak tightly wrapped around him, he made his way to the owlery.
He shouldn’t have been surprised when he found Caelum and Harry, looking trashed — probably from the Gryffindors also celebrating —, trying to convince an owl to deliver their letters.
“Isn’t it too early to argue with the owls?” he asked, taking off his cloak.
Caelum and Harry squealed and jumped, turning to look at him, wands drawn.
“A bit jumpy, aren’t we? I hope it wasn’t due to some partying,” he said, raising a brow at them.
A blur of drowsy words came out of their mouths. “What are you talking about?” “We would never!” “What is it to you?” “You’re not my mom,” (followed, very quickly, by Caelum's “Please don’t tell my mom.”)
“Well spot, Caelum, I ain’t your mama. But I’m your cousin, and Aunt María kind of trusts me to make sure you keep your head stuck to your shoulders, you see.”
Caelum sighed. “I know, Nico, I know. Would you mind getting these flying chickens to cooperate?” he sent the owls a nasty look.
Hedwig didn’t even dignify him — or Harry, for that matter — with a look, and Nyx — Caelum’s black owl — went back to sleep.
“Brownie!” Nicolás called out. In a second, a brown blur of feathers flew into him, climbing on his shoulders and nuzzling against his head. “Hey there, girly, I hope you’re up for a bit of a stretch, huh?”
Brownie chirped loudly and happily; the other sleeping owls didn't look very content with that.
Nicol´sa sighed dramatically, “No, Hedwig and Nyx don’t feel like going back home for a while,” Nicolás told Brownie conspiratorially. And it worked, a second later, both, Hedwig and Nyx were up, chirping angrily to get their owners’ letters.
They quickly tied their letters and sent the owls home. Now it was only a matter of waiting for a response.
“You think they’ll take it badly?” asked Harry nervously.
“Oh, that’s an understatement, Little One,” said Nicolás. Harry looked at him scared. “Not for you, of course. Yet again, Dumbledore has failed to provide a safe year for you, and it’s only just begun.”
Caelum stretched. “Well, folks, I don’t know about you, but I could eat a Graphorn,” said Caelum. (“Don’t joke with stuff like that, Caelum, it's gross,” Nicolás chastised him.) “Let’s go down for breakfast.”
And so, they made their way into the Great Hall with the little early-rising students to eat breakfast.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
To have three excited owls arriving at their house was not necessarily something new, especially if you consider that one of them is the Minister for Magic of a country, two others are heads of Ministry Departments, and they have three children studying at Hogwarts.
Still, to have Brownie, Nyx, and Hedwig storming into their house — before five in the morning, mind you —, caused an alarm. Quickly, they all strode downstairs to see what was causing the birdly uproar; the owls clearly knew something was urgent.
The owls were arguing over the living room, with Brownie chastising Nyx for hooting too loudly, while Hedwig couldn't be less bothered, finishing a mouse she had found God knows where.
Everyone arrived in their pajamas, and their wands at hand.
"Too early for owl post, don't you think?" asked Pedro out loud.
Brownie faced him, hooting and gesturing the letter attached to her leg. So Nicolás considered the matter urgent, huh?
"Let us see it, dear," he told the owl, taking out Nicolás' letter. He passed it to Carolina, who read it out loud.
Dear Mom (and family),
You guys are very well aware that last night the selection of the champions for the Triwizard Tournament took place, yes? Well, after the champion of each school was selected, the bloody Goblet of Fire spat another name for a fourth champion. It was Harry.
I can't fathom how I still get surprised that this kind of stuff keeps happening under Dumbledore's roof and nose. I had really hoped for one peaceful year — and I know Harry did as well —, but apparently, such a thing is a rarity in Hogwarts.
Moody seems to think that whoever did it, did it with the intention of hurting Harry while at it. It may seem like a stretch but to be honest, it kind of makes sense, doesn't it? Though I need to get this off my chest, there's something wrong with Moody.
I can't really explain it because I didn't know him before he came to Hogwarts, but he doesn't strike me as the kind of man you and Aunt María admired in your younger years, but I'll leave the judgment of that to you.
If I keep writing I’ll start to ramble in circles, so I’ll leave it at that. I don’t know what to do, guidance would be most appreciated right now.
With love,
Nicolás Cardona-Lupin
P.S. Cedric was selected as Hogwarts’ champion, so that’s that.
“Dear Lord, this boy can’t catch a break, can he?” said Angela with a sigh. Everyone around her sighed as well.
“Huh, doesn’t sound very excited for his boyfriend, does he?” asked Sirius, eying Nicolás’ letter.
"He's pissed," Remus and Carolina recognized out loud at the same time.
"Pissed about what?" asked Sirius. "Sounds exciting, doesn't it?" he asked excitedly.
“Padfoot, the last tournament was held in 1792, when a Cockatrice went on a rampage and injured the headmasters of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang,” said Remus.
“Not to mention the ten students it killed,” added Carolina, still looking at Nicolás’ letter in her hand.
“What did you just say?” said Remus, no doubt about to summon Nicolás’ copy of Hogwarts: A History.
“Dear Bathilda Bagshot must have thought it nice to exclude that, but you can find the details in Beauxbâtons: Un Livre de Souvenirs, where it’s described, in no economy of details, how a student died after his neck was crashed by the Cockatrice’s tail, and another that was so burnt that —”
“I think that’s enough detail, Mi Vida,” said Remus with a chuckle. “Look at poor Padfoot,” he added; Sirius’ excitement had died out, and his mouth was now open in horror. “Thank you for the information, it sounds fascinating.” He was always happy to learn something new and looked at her in adoration.
“We all know Nicolás. That pretty much summarizes why he isn’t over-excited about Cedric being chosen as Hogwarts’ champion,” said María.
“María, Harry was also chosen!” Sirius exclaimed. Carolina could detect a hint of excitement underneath his very well-justified fear on his godson’s name. He then opened Harry’s letter and read it out loud.
Dear Uncle Sirius (and family),
I don’t even know where to begin. I swear I didn’t put my name on the Goblet, nor did I ask any older student to do so for me.
Now everyone at school will think that I’m desperate for attention, but I ain’t! Everyone at Gryffindor wants to know how I did it, but I didn’t! And nobody believes me! I think you, above all else, know what it feels like to have nobody believe your word.
Ron was also acting weird last night, and now he doesn’t even want to talk to me! He's acting like a total prat, like this is all my fault. How do you get inside a git’s head to tell them the truth when they don’t want to hear or believe it?
Hermione, Caelum, and Nicolás are the only ones who believe I didn’t do it. I just, I don’t know what to do. Word from you guys would be of much help, to be honest.
With love,
Harry J. Potter
“Oh, he sounds scared,” said Angela, bringing her hand to her chest, worry written all over her face.
“Of course he is,” said Pedro. “Imagine Voldemort having a personal vendetta against you,” he shook his head. “That man — can he even be called that? — that... weirdo, or whatever — seriously, who’s that obsessed with a teenage boy at such old age?”
He still remembered Nicolás’ memories. Nicolás had left a bottled memory on his office desk after leaving for Hogwarts. Using his Pensive, he was able to see at leisure Harry’s nightmare — that Nicolás had seen using his Legilimency —, and to say it was creepy, fell short. To listen to Voldemort so adamant about killing Harry… and that woman that was helping him…
Funny. The woman Nicolás had described was a woman with vitiligo, but upon closer inspection, the woman had melasma; which can be considered the opposite to vitiligo. Instead of patches of skin losing their pigment, there are patches of skin with over-production of melanin, making it appear darker than the rest of the skin. And Pedro, even if he was no mediwizard, would bet anything that the dark pigment in the woman's skin was due to a corruption of sorts — she was working with Voldemort, so it fitted.
"Please read Caelum's letter," he prompted his daughter. María read it out loud.
Dear Mom (and whom I'm about to concern),
I write to tell you the good news (if you consider them good, that is), and Harry — yes, our Harry — has been chosen as Hogwarts' second champion! Yes, second champion, because the first one was Cedric — that's really cool, isn't it? (don't tell Nicolás I said that) — but oh well.
Harry told me Moody said that someone had put him in the tournament to probably kill him — you know, the usual —, so that's not as cool.
Anyway, Nicolás ran after Harry and, according to Harry, he argued with everyone there! That's also pretty cool, methinks. Apparently, Harry is now forced to be in the tournament, now it doesn't matter that his underage, that he doesn't have the necessary knowledge for it, or that he didn't even submit himself.
Anyway, I'm drifting away. The point is, we'll need you guys to come with the heavy artillery.
With love,
Caelum
P.S. Don't mention, under any circumstance, Cedric, okay? Nicolás seemed very sensitive about the topic last night when he was chosen.
“You all heard my son!” said Sirius. “Let’s bring the heavy artillery!”
María looked at her husband like he had just grown a second head but thought better than to question. “It’s too early for me to deal with this,” she sighed, taking a sip from her coffee.
“Tomorrow I’ll be having heavy words with Dumbledore,” said Pedro (“Heavy artillery!” exclaimed Sirius). “I need you to stay on top of things respecting to Harry,” he told Carolina.
“What about me?” asked Sirius. “He’s also my godson.”
“You’re as prone to diplomacy as a cow is to doing ballet,” said a voice from behind them. Regulus.
There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was slightly disheveled; how he managed to keep that aristocratic air to himself even then was a mystery to Carolina — she shouldn't even be surprised, the five scars on his face from Inferus claws didn't manage to take away his aristocratic air either.
“Your boys and that Moody are right, you know. Whoever decided to place Harry in that tournament only has one goal, and that is to deliver him to the Dark Lord. Dead or alive we don’t know, but we can’t let our guards down.”
“And who do you think did it?” asked Angela.
Regulus stopped to think for a moment, scratching the back of Brownie’s head. “I have… my theories, but no solid proof of it…”
“You wouldn’t think it was Barty, would you?” asked Carolina.
“He was at the World Cup and summoned the Dark Mark, Carolina. If he is himself and by himself, I don’t think he has the necessary means to get inside Hogwarts… but I haven’t found him, so I can’t say he is himself at the moment.”
⋆｡°✩°｡⋆
Author's note
yeah, I don't remember promising things would get easier, did I? i would apologize for what will happen in future chapters, but I'm not really sorry...
anyway! small translation of the French dialogue (let me clarify I don't speak French and used a translator, so I don't take any blame if its grammatically incorrect):
Vous n'avez pas de capes?: You don't have any capes?
Non, nous ne le faisons pas. Je ne pensais pas que quiconque à Poudlard parlerait français ! Je m'appelle Laurent: No, we don't. I didn't think anyone at Hogwarts would speak French! My name is Laurent
Voici Charlotte et Claire: This is Charlotte and Claire
Je m'appelle Nicolas. Donne moi une seconde:
Nous ne nous attendions pas à un beau chevalier en armure brillante: We weren't expecting a handsome knight in shining armor
C'est un belle-parleur, hein?: He's a smooth talker, huh?
Profitez du festin. Et bienvenue à Poudlard!: Enjoy the feast. And welcome to Hogwarts!
anyway, that's all for today!! thank you for being here and I hope you liked it!!
- 𝐣. 𝐟. 𝐜. 🐼💜