ONCE UPON A TIME.

05. menteur

     WHEN CEDRIC NEXT SEES AMATA, she's cussing out her friends and airing out her robes - Cedric has to disguise his laughter as a cough when they pass, but she notices anyway. She sticks out her tongue at him as she walks past and he responds by ducking his head to hide his smile.

     "Peeves got 'em real good, huh?" Zacharias Smith comments with a low whistle. "Real good." Cedric answers, his gaze following Amata as she makes her way down the Slytherin table. 

    After most of the students have settled, Professor McGonagall ushers in the first-years and plops the Sorting Hat on to a stool. The Sorting begins shortly; Cedric joins the cheers and applause for the new first year Hufflepuffs, his chest swelling at the sight of the wide-eyed eleven-year-olds being enveloped in the warmth of Hufflepuff.

    Once the Sorting is through, Headmaster Dumbledore rises to address the school. "Let's not make this any longer than it has to be," he booms with the usual manic twinkle in his eyes. "Tuck in!"

    At the Headmaster's last word, dinner appears on the table. From either side of Cedric, Maxine O'Flahtery and Anthony Rickett let out groans of delight; the Start-of-Term Feast had always been a sight to behold. Plate upon plate of dishes piled in front of them, and Cedric made it a point to take a little of everything. By the time dessert came around, he was poking at his chocolate éclairs to make space for the treacle tart.

     "Now, if I may!" Dumbledore calls out, silencing everyone. "It pains me to be the one to inform all of you that the annual Quidditch Cup will not be taking place this year . . . "

    The air around the hall rose to indignant shouts and disbelieving comments; the Hufflepuff Quidditch team were collective in their disbelief, all glancing among each other at the sudden announcement. "What does he mean, no Quidditch Cup? That's bullocks!" Zacharias sputters, spitting out a bit of the trifle he'd been chewing on. Maxine crinkles her face in disgust, flicking the edges of her pie at him and shushing him.

    Before Dumbledore can finish, the doors of the Great Hall slam open, and a gnarled, grumpy looking man with one large swiveling eye begins to limp up to the staff table. "Lovely of you to make it, Alastor," Dumbledore chirps. "Students, this is Alastor Moody, this year's new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

     "He looks more like the dark we ought to be defending ourselves against." Anthony whispers to those around him, which elicits a couple of giggles and another shushing from Maxine.

     Mad-Eye Moody sits among the professors, and Dumbledore clears his throat.

    "As I was saying . . . this year, we will be postponing the Quidditch Cup in favor of a more historical event. This year, Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament."

     "You're joking!" What sounded like one of the Weasley twins bellows from the Gryffindor table.

     "I can assure you, Mr. Weasley, that I am not joking. Although I did hear a particularly good joke . . ."

     As the Headmaster launches in to an explanation on the tournament, Cedric finds himself growing increasingly interested in the concept and the mechanics. To compete against best of the best of the largest European wizarding schools . . . and the prize wasn't too bad of an incentive, either. "The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire." Dumbledore concludes on the topic of the tournament before launching in to an explanation about the guest schools who will be staying at Hogwarts. 

     While the Headmaster discusses how preparations for the delegations from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and the Durmstrang Institute are being made, Cedric zones out and pays attention instead to what the rest of the students are murmuring among themselves. 

     "I wonder what I'd do with a thousand galleons . . . "
"We're giving up Quidditch for this death trap?"
"Finally, something Potter can't be part of!"

    Subconsciously, he looks to the Slytherins and finds that, two tables away, Amata is already looking at him. Her expression is both quizzical and challenging - she cocks her head to one side, asking the quiet question. Will you? 

     Raising his shoulder in a shrug, Cedric gives her the benefit of doubt. "Maybe," he mouths, and she rolls her eyes in disbelief before turning back to look at the Headmaster.

     Cedric is lying, of course.