Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
————————————
Aurora Areli
Harry — I can't say everything I would like to in a letter, it's too risky in case the owl is intercepted — we need to talk, face to face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o'clock in the morning on the 22nd November? I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself, and while you're around Dumbledore and Moody I don't think anyone will be able to hurt you. However, someone seems to be having a good try. Entering you in that Tournament would have been very risky, especially right under Dumbledore's nose. Be on the watch, Harry. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about the 22nd November as quickly as you can. Sirius
I gave the letter that Harry had shown me back to him, and pulled my blanket tighter around myself. We had all known for a while now that someone had entered Harry into the Tournament to try and hurt him, but seeing Sirius confirm our fears made it seem all the more terrifying.
"Rory?" Harry's voice broke me out of my thoughts.
I looked up at him at once. "Yes?"
"I was just wondering if maybe you would wait for Sirius with me?" Harry looked very anxious. "I mean, you don't have to, or anything, I was just — I'm —"
I couldn't help but smile. "Hey, calm down. I'll wait for him with you."
"You will?" Harry said, surprised.
"Of course."
The prospect of talking face-to-face with Sirius seemed to brighten Harry's mood slightly over the next few weeks. Very slightly. When he wasn't keeping me from cursing Pansy Parkinson, glaring at Ron, or sulking whenever Cedric was around, Harry seemed very nervous and fearful about the first task, which was approaching quickly.
Harry did write back to Sirius, saying that both of us would be beside the common room fire at the time Sirius had suggested, and he, Hermione and I spent a long time going over plans for forcing any stragglers out of the common room on the night in question. If the worst came to worst, we were going to drop a bag of Dungbombs, but we hoped we wouldn't have to resort to that — Filch would skin us alive.
In the meantime, that awful Rita Skeeter woman had published a piece about the Triwizard Tournament, which turned out to be more of a colourful biography of Harry than anything. Much of the front page had been given over to a picture of Harry; the article — that continued on pages two, six and seven — had been all about him, and the names of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions had been misspelled and squashed onto the last line of the article. Cedric had barely been mentioned at all.
The article had appeared ten days ago, and really hadn't helped Harry's case at all. In fact, Rita Skeeter's writing was so terrible and dramatic that I felt sick with second-hand embarrassment every time I thought about it.
