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Chapter Thirteen

"Draco! Have you seen my wand? Draco!" Goyle's voice echoes down the hall. There's a pause before my door creeps open, and his head pops into frame tentatively. I glare at him. "Have you, uh, seen my wand?"

"Goyle, this is the fourth time this week."

"I know."

"I could tape your wand to your forehead and a monkey would still keep better track of it than you." Goyle waits silently as I roll my eyes, sighing. "Is it still resting on the mantelpiece in the common room?" Goyle's eyes widen, and he darts out of the room.

"Thank you, Draco! I found it!" He calls out several moments later.

"Every damn day," I mutter under my breath as I pull on my robe. "I deal with their lunacy every damn day." I finish combing my hair and have barely rounded the corner out into the hall when I come face to face with Crabbe. "Oh, bloody hell. What do you want?"

"Oh, um, I was just wondering if when we went to the second tournament event later if we were going to go together."

"No, I'm going to go there completely alone for no reason in the slightest."

"Oh, okay." Crabbe glances down at the floor looking deeply disappointed. I roll my eyes.

"Oh, Draco, there you are." Goyle stumbles up, a big idiotic grin spread across his face. "When are we walking over to the tournament."

"Hopefully as late as physically possible." Crabbe glances back up, his wide glassy eyes swivel first toward Goyle, then toward me, riddled with confusion.

"Okay, so if it starts in an hour, and it takes us ten minutes to walk to the edge of Hogwarts, but then we have to go to the lake... Crabbe, how long does it take us to walk to the lake?" Crabbe's eyes knit together so furiously I can't help but wonder whether or not he's having some sort of aneurysm.

"Let's just go now," I mutter flatly, rolling my eyes in annoyance. I can't believe I have to go to this stupid thing. "Why bloody not?"

The rickety stadium seating they set up adjacent to the lake is on the brink of collapse. It's not even seating. Its just rows of people jammed together standing uncomfortably under a cold gray sky. Loud, chipper spectators climb past one another over the cold metallic surface as it creaks beneath them. You'd think we could magically create some sort of remotely adequate viewing platform, but apparently that is just too much for the amazingly talented Wizards that run this university to handle.

"Where's Pansy?" Goyle leans in far too close to yell into my ear.

"Why the bloody hell would I know?" I glare at him, and he retreats.

This entire event is hardly even organized. Each "champion" is lined up along the dock, but so is everyone and their bloody mother. They've lined them up beneath the spectators, so it isn't like we can even see them right now anyway. An annoying child is squished next to me holding a pair of mini binoculars. Dumbledore's voice blares suddenly from the loudspeakers overhead.

"Welcome to the second task. Last night something was stolen from each of our champions. A treasure of sorts. These four treasures, one for each champion, now lie on the bottom of the black lake. In order to win each champion need only find their treasure and return to the surface. Simple enough. Except for this, they will have one hour to do so and one hour only. After that they'll be on their own. You may begin at the start of the cannon."

The cannons fire almost immediately, seeming to catch Dumbledore and everyone else completely by surprise. Potter flops spastically into the water, and I squint, trying to catch a glimpse of him beneath the surface. It looked more like he was pushed than jumped. I can't hear anything of substance over the strange roar of the crowd, but there seems to be some sort of collective strange panic happening beneath us. Everything falls deadly still, and I admittedly become vaguely curious as to what is happening. Almost immediately, Potter shoots out of the water, flipping through the air with strange fins and webbed toes. Everyone around me starts screaming out of their minds. Dear God.