𝙎𝙊𝙐𝙇 𝘽𝙊𝙉𝘿 || 𝙏.𝙈.𝙍

chapter 13

Now that I'm back to writing this book, I've realized that I don't really like how I started it. However, I'm just going to keep it how it is and see if I can make it work.

"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!" He sat down, and Grace saw Karkaroff lean forward at once and engage him in conversation. The plates in front of them were filled with food, as usual. The house elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a great variety of dishes in front of them.

Grace looked towards where Draco was engaging in a conversation with Krum. She felt a burning gaze and looked towards the Gryffindor table to find that Ronald Weasley was looking at Draco with envy and distaste.

At that moment, a voice said, "Excuse me, are you wanting the bouillabaisse?" It was the girl from Beauxbatons. She had finally removed her muffler. A long sheet of silvery-blonde hair fell almost to her waist. She had large, deep blue eyes and very white, even teeth. Grace looked at her and smiled,

"We've met before."

The girl smiled at her and gasped, "Oh! It is you; I remember seeing you in France."

Grace welcomed the girl to sit with them. "My name is Fleur Delacour! It's very nice to meet you all."

They all engaged in a conversation with Fleur, discussing various topics and debating about the differences between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons.

Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A pleasant sort of tension seemed to fill the hall now. "The moment has come," said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket —"

"The what?" Lorenzo muttered. Grace chuckled. While in the beginning of their friendship a few people had thought that they might like each other, it became clear after a while that they were more like siblings. Besides, Grace had seen Astoria looking at Lorenzo with a fond look.

"— 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" — there was a smattering of polite applause — "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater or simply because he looked so much more likable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced.

"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."

At the mention of the word "champions," the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said,

"The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch." Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the hall, now 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." At this last word, the hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.

"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore went on calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the tournament tasks, and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times on 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. Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the hall.

Grace groaned eternally. What is this old coot planning this time? She knew that the goblet of fire had been brought back by the ministry, as she had been told by Lucius, but she still had no doubt that Dumbledore would be able to turn this around in a way that brought her to the spotlight.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly on 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.

"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," said Dumbledore, "I will be drawing an age line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line."

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

Grace sighed and walked towards the dorms with her friends, bidding goodbye to their guests. As she walked into the common room, instead of going into her dorm, she went towards Tom's private rooms. She walked in and sat on the couch, ignoring the way he raised his eyebrow due to the fact that she entered the room without knocking.

"I fucking hate that old coot," she muttered. "I mean, seriously, who the fuck does he think he is? I'm so tired of his schemes; I just want to live in peace."

"Language," Tom said in a warm tone. "Don't worry, little one; even if he does manage to somehow make this competition about you, I will make sure that no harm comes to you. I will keep you safe; that is my promise to you."

She walked up to his desk as he stood up and pulled her into a hug. "I'm so tired." She yawned into his chest as she wrapped her arms around him and snuggled her face into his chest. Tom chuckled and patted her head, running his fingers through her hair,

"When are you not tired, little one?"

Grace looked up at him with a pout and said, "That's mean."

Tom chuckled and kissed her head. Grace pulled away from him and walked towards his closet, pulling out one of the hoodies he had bought this summer.

"Don't steal my clothes, little one." Tom said in a mock angry tone.

Grace just showed him her tongue and walked out, leaving behind a chuckling Tom, who was amused by the antics of his little soulmate.

Grace walked into her dorms and changed into sweatpants and the hoodie she had just stolen from Tom's closet. She hummed in contentment as she laid in bed, feeling comforted by the scent of Tom's hoodie.