She was a misfit, he was a git.
Matilda Diggory enters her fifth year of school, ready to remain as under the radar as possible, only there's a catch. She's somehow managed to catch the eye of a particularly annoying redhead, who seems hell-bent on...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
After the students were dismissed from the Hall, Matilda was ready to slip away unnoticed, her appetite a distant memory. She just wanted to climb the stairs to her dormitory and organise her books for the next day—something grounding, something normal.
But her friends had other ideas.
"They can't do that!" George barked, standing beside Fred and the Golden Trio. All five remained in the Great Hall, staring up at the staff table with a kind of collective defiance. "We'll be seventeen in April. Why shouldn't we get a shot?"
"They're not stopping me from entering," Fred added, arms crossed, jaw set. His eyes were fixed on Dumbledore, face tight with determination. "The champions get to do stuff no one else is allowed to even dream about. And the prize money—a thousand Galleons!"
"It's a Death Certificate," Matilda said flatly.
No one acknowledged her.
"A thousand Galleons..." Ron repeated in a breathy murmur, like he could already feel the coins between his fingers.
Hermione rolled her eyes and tugged on his sleeve. "Come on," she said, already heading for the doors. "We'll be the last ones here if you don't move."
Matilda followed the group into the Entrance Hall, her footsteps quiet behind theirs. Fred and George were still mid-debate, tossing around increasingly elaborate ideas for how they might bypass whatever enchantment Dumbledore had in place. She didn't bother trying to interrupt again. When the twins had their minds made up, logic didn't stand a chance.
"Who's the impartial judge, anyway?" Harry asked, glancing at Fred.
"No clue," Fred answered. "But it's them we've got to fool. A few drops of Aging Potion might do the trick, George..."
"Dumbledore'll still know you're underage," Ron said with a frown. "Won't he just stop you himself?"
Fred gave a wicked grin. "He doesn't choose the champion, though, does he? Whoever this judge is, once they've got the names, he'll pick the best. Doesn't matter how old you are. Dumbledore's just being careful."
"Could be the judge isn't even a person," Matilda offered. Her voice was calm but carried a sharpness that cut through their chatter. "Would make it easier to trick. And—why did you all just assume it's a man?"
Fred looked sheepish, scratching the back of his neck. "Fair point," he muttered, but didn't say more.
"People have died," Hermione added, frustration and concern bubbling under her words. "No prize is worth that."
They turned into a side corridor, hidden behind a thick tapestry, and started ascending a narrow staircase. As they climbed, Neville quietly joined them, his shoulders slightly hunched, as if trying not to take up too much space. He gave Matilda a small, shy smile. She returned it.
