Love at First Sight (Harry Potter)

The Four Champions

|ALEXANDRIA WEASLEY'S P.O.V|

It was difficult to believe that the Great Hall had been filled with cheering, laughter and joy only moments before. Now, not a trace of that excitement existed here. Now, the tension was so heavy that it was more dangerous than treacherous waters.

There was no applause. A buzzing of angered, confused chatter was catching within the the Hall. It sounded like a swarm of ruthless bees. With my jaw ajar and my eyes wide, I looked around slowly: some students were standing up to get a better look at Harry behind me, others had such fiery expressions on their faces that they might as well have been spitting flames. Up at the top table, Professor McGonagall got to her feet hurriedly and swept past Ludo Bagman and Professor Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Professor Dumbledore, who bent his ear toward her, frowning slightly. Bagman had his brows knit, Crouch his mouth clamped shut, and Karakaroff wore a steely smile but he was fuming.

I turned to the Gryffindor table in front of me. With how I sat, one leg over the side of the bench, I had the perfect view of them all staring at us. I quickly shut my mouth, swallowing deeply, and then brought my leg back over to sit properly on the bench as I too looked to Harry.

I had to lean so forward over the table that my chest was pressed uncomfortably into the shiny golden plate in front of me. My hands gripped onto the tablecloth for support as I craned my neck to see around Hermione and Ron. Harry had the most emotionless, empty expression on his face. His emerald eyes were dull and dark. He had been glancing between Ron and Hermione, but now his eyes moved to me as well.

"I didn't put my name in," Harry said blankly. His shoulders were slumped, skin pale as snow. "You know I didn't."

Ron and Hermione stared simply back at him. I could not see their faces, only the back of Hermione's bushy head and Ron's red hair, however, it was clear that their lack of vocal and bodily expression was not good.

"Harry," I began, my voice hushed to a whisper. Still, it seemed to echo. Our table was by far the most silent out of them all. "Harry, it will be alright —"

I stretched myself even further, my arm now clattering atop Hermione's and Ron's plates and forks. My elbow knocked into Hermione's empty goblet accidentally and sent it teetering over, where it landed against another with a clash of gold. I reached out toward Harry gently, my hand now just inches from being in front of him. Still, he took one glance at whatever expression was on Ron's face beside him — who my hand was closest to — and seemed to be heavily debating closing the distance between us. I was frowning now, deeply.

At the staff table, Professor Dumbledore was nodding to Professor McGonagall. We heard him clear his throat and so I straightened my back slightly, my arm pulling away a bit, as I looked over my shoulder to him.

"Harry Potter!" he called again. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"

"Go on," Hermione whispered, leaning over Ron to give Harry a slight push.

Harry got uneasily to his feet. He was so surprised and so clumsy that he trod on the hem of his robes, which sent him stumbling forward slightly. I reached out and grabbed a hold of his forearm to steady him. My grip, however, had been so fierce and so tight that I now believe it was simply to feel that he was still there.

Harry's hand slipped over the back of mine. His was incredibly warm and a little clammy, which showed his unease clearly. Our eyes met and for the first time since his name had been called, I saw a sliver of emotion: it was not joy to having been called, it was not pride, and it was not fear. It was of reassurance to me. It was to help me.