From a Cradle to a Grave

Chapter 11

Hope's Pov

"Humans. People who are born without magic," Professor Aurora Vaughan begins.

For Muggle Studies, I sit next to Hermione again, since she's the only one I know in this class.

"Yes, I suppose you could call them pitiful, fragile little creatures," she continues. Her voice is light and dreamy, as if she's been smoking something illegal for the past three hours.

"But they also know how to adapt. They know how to survive. They know how to carry on their legacy," she smiles.

"Kings and queens may rise and fall, but their names will forever be a part of history. An example?" she says. A wry grin creeps its way onto her blood red lips.

"Have any of you ever heard of the de Martel family?" she asks.

Hermione's hand shoots up into the air, as usual.

"They were among the first settlers of Southern Europe. As civilization grew from simple tribes to advanced kingdoms, they sought power and became the rulers of Southern France during the 11th century. Though none of them actually became royalty, their power was vast, and most say that the de Martels had more influence over the people than even the king and queen themselves," she recites.

How does she find time to remember all this?

"Absolutely perfect," Professor Vaughan tells Hermione.

Hermione beams at these words.

"Whether it's the world of the humans, or the world of magic, there's always a one constant factor that never seems to be felled. Power is everlasting, if you play your cards right," she says.

She gives me a pointed look, as if I'm supposed to know what the bloody hell that's supposed to mean.

Soon, class ends, by which time, I've gathered enough evidence to support this theory:

Aurora Vaughan is completely out of her mind.

*****

The weeks pass by, and October finally arrives. The Great Hall is filled with excited chatter as all the students pile into their seats to await the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students.

The witches and wizards of the Beauxbatons Academy come, first. They fly in from the sky, riding carriages that are pulled by winged horses. People gasp and marvel at the sight.

A few minutes later, the surface of the Black Lake trembles. A giant ship emerged from its waters, and students clad in fur coats jump off onto shore.

"My father was originally planning on sending me to Durmstrang," Draco says to our little friend group, with a nod to the ship.

"Nobody cares, Malfoy," I tell him, causing Blaise and Daphne to let out a series of snorts.

"Good evening ladies, gentlemen, ghosts, and most particularly, guests," Dumbledore begins. "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. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

The empty plates in front of us magically fill with food. The Beauxbatons students, who look and talk as if everything here is beneath them, reluctantly make their way over to the Ravenclaw table. The Durmstrang students, on the other hand, march towards us Slytherins.

"Is that Viktor Krum?" Pansy squeals like a pig.

I glance up, and see that she's correct. The famous Quidditch player is apparently still a student at the Durmstrang Institute.

"Idiots," I scoff, when I see that Pansy, Daphne, Draco, and Blaise all have their eyes glued on Krum.

"The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector- The Goblet of Fire. 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. Aspiring champions have twenty four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, 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," Dumbledore says, once all the plates have been cleared.

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet."

"Do you know who's entering?" I whisper to Draco.

"Warrington told his friends that he'd enter, but no one can tell if he's joking or not," Draco replies, nodding to the Slytherin Chaser.

"What about you?" I ask. "If you were of age, would you enter?"

"Risk my physical and mental health for a sack of gold? Not bloody likely," Draco scoffs. "If I wanted one thousand galleons, I'd just ask my father for it."

I roll my eyes at this response, though I do agree with him about the first part. Whoever is chosen by the goblet will have to go through a lot of challenges, which are sure to be dangerous and difficult.

"Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all," Dumbledore finishes.