Chapter 14
After I was released, rather reluctantly on the nurse's end, from the hospital wing, it soon became clear that I had miraculously become the favourite Champion amongst the students of all three schools. Just as quickly, I realised that being the favourite did not mean that I was the favourite to win. In fact, I'd heard from Lyra that there was a hefty bet in the betting pool placed by someone who fancied I'd die in the next task. Honestly, the sheer size of the sum made me worry that they would take it upon themselves to make sure it happened.
No, I certainly was not the favourite to win. People simply thought I was the most amusing, kind of like a mouse about to unwittingly walk into the claws of a cat that everyone else knew was there. I'd been voted most likely competitor to die a grisly death.
Lucky me.
Nikolas, naturally, was already considered the obvious winner of the Tournament, which I was fairly sure his ego did not need.
The whole experience was extremely bizarre, especially because people, people I had never spoken to in my entire life, started being nice. Like, suspiciously nice. As in, she's-about-to-drop-dead, have-the-casket-ready type of nice. I almost preferred neutral indifference.
Support came from some rather unexpected people, however, as I found out the first morning I was permitted to return to classes (not that I particularly wanted to). Cass and Lyra were walking Damon and I to our shared Defense Against the Dark Arts class when something inexplicable happened. Usually people moved to the side to let us through whenever we strolled through the corridors in such a large group. I'd always attributed it to Lyra's intimidating attitude, how willing to duel Damon constantly was, or simply how well people like Cass, so it came as a shock when a petite platinum-haired girl planted herself in front of us with her hands poised on her hips.
We slowed, trying to move around her in single file, but each step I took in any direction she mirrored, that placid expression ever present on her face.
"Er..." I began awkwardly, shifting from side to side. "Can I help you?"
She tossed a sheet of shiny, golden hair over her shoulder, before saying formally, "Hello, cousin."
Cousin? My blood chilled as I looked closer, speechless, to identify all the girl's identifying Malfoy characteristics. I had been distantly aware that a Malfoy attended Hogwarts with us, but only barely. The extent of my knowledge only came from the one time at the beginning of my third year when a teacher called her to be sorted. What was her name again? Lucile? Lucinda? Lucina! That was it.
Either unaware or ambivalent of my distraction, she continued unperturbed. "Father said I should poison your pumpkin juice, but I don't think I will. You might be a mugglebred Ravenclaw, but you're still a Malfoy and I expect you to win."
Lucina reached over and forced a small vial of some thick, dark liquid into my hand.
"Wait-" I started, coming to my senses too late. She turned around and was already pushing her way back through the crowd.
Cassius, Lyra, Damon, and I shared an alarmed look.
I looked back down at the vial uncertainly. "You don't think that this is..."
Damon peered over my shoulder, grimacing. "Yup, I really do."
"Her father actually gave her poison to put in your pumpkin juice?" Lyra gave the vial a disgusted look. "Good thing your cousin isn't nearly as mental as her dear old dad. Do you want me to send him a message?"
She rolled up her sleeves suggestively, pointedly eyeing her wand. I forced a strained laugh, but shook my head.
"Let's not make him want me dead more, shall we?"
Looking gravely disappointed, Lyra backed down, sighing sadly. "Fine, but if you ever change your mind..."
"You'll be the first person I notify."
Cassius, who had remained silent through the whole exchange, pointed out, "You probably shouldn't walk into class with a deadly poison."
"Er... that's true, but," I looked around, "I can't just leave it somewhere for some random person to find. What choice do I have?"
"I don't have Charms until noon. I can get rid of it, if you want," he offered, shrugging,
I thought about it and decided that was my best option. I held the poison out for him and he placed it gingerly in one of his pockets.
"You the best."
"That's what you keep telling me." He turned around to head to leave, looking much more paranoid about running into people now that he was harboring some unknown poison. Cass waved over his shoulder, calling, "See you in Charms! I'll make sure our... er... little problem is gone by then."
Damon hollered some incoherent, though dramatically heartfelt, goodbye at Cassius's receding figure and I could see his back shaking with laughter.
"You did a good job." At the new voice, I turned to see Abiel with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "With the first task, I mean. All things considered."
I tilted my head, considering whether be civil or not. Sighing, I chose the mature option. We had been good friends once, after all.
"Thank you. It certainly wasn't ideal."
To my surprise, he shook his head.
"The whole competition was a set up. You don't have to be in Ravenclaw or a genius to know that your task was far more dangerous than the others."
We filed into the classroom, Damon standing impressively silent (for someone like him) by my side, eyeing Abiel with a layer of distrust.
"How do you reckon?" I asked, pulling out a chair to sit. "I mean, we all had to face the same thing, right?"
Abiel conceded my point with the sharp incline of his head, but argued, "For one, the cockatrice should have been immediately detained after you completed the task, before its tail grazed you. Then there's the fact that the other champions were told in the arena that they could forfeit the match at any time if they felt like their life was threatened unnecessarily, but not you. The minister never said it to you."
"That's actually true," Damon inputted thoughtfully. "I hadn't even noticed."
"I just assumed I tuned out any announcements while I was having my panic attack at seeing a bloody cockatrice as my opponent," I mused. "I'll be the first to admit that the Malfoys want me gone, but that argument still seems a little thin, though."
"When Aragon asked the Minister why he hadn't made the announcement, all the Minister did was look at Malfoy and say he must have forgotten," Abiel pressed skeptically. He leaned in closer and dropped his voice so it wouldn't carry past us three. "And I'm not alone in thinking this way, either. There's a reason Professor Aragon stayed with you all night while you slept in the hospital wing, and not just because he was worried about the cockatrice's magic having a delayed reaction and killing you while you slept. I mean, the nurse could have stayed with you to prevent that. Maybe she's not as specialized as the professor, but it's still her job." He shook his head gravely. "He worried that someone might try to sneak in there in your sleep, especially since the minister and Septimus Malfoy elected to spend the night at the castle because they were "worried about their champion's safety?""
Okay, maybe that was a bit suspicious.
"I know you just completed a task, but don't let it go to your head, Miss Lovett." The aged Professor Gore interrupted, staring down at me sternly from over his long, pointed nose. Not a flattering angle. "Set aside your conversations for after class. You, too, Mr. Weasley."
Abiel turned bright red, clashing horribly with his hair, and reoriented himself so he was facing forward.
The lesson itself went along slowly, each minute lasting about five times as long, though at no fault of the professor. After my two week long study binge for the task, this sluggish, albeit reasonable pace was almost painful. I felt like I could have learned ten times this much with Altair brooding darkly over my shoulder or hurling spells at my face. It's amazing what a mild dose of fear could do for your work ethic.
As I was disassociatively staring at the back of Damon's bag, the tip of the latest Prophet poking out of it, it struck me that I had never actually read what that reporter put into the prophet myself. I'd got the gist of it, based off of other people's reactions, but I still didn't know.
"Psst. Damon! Toss me the prophet."
He looked back in alarmed confusion, until I pointed at his bag. Understanding dawned across his face and he subtly tossed it underneath the desks into my hands.
I didn't even get to the section of the Prophet with my interview. No, I was caught at the headline.
REVOLUTIONARIES TO BEHEAD FRENCH KING LOUIS XVI, QUEEN
And just like that, everything clicked into place.