Holly Potter and the Tri-Wizard Tournament 3

Hamish

Hamish sat down with a flop on the bench. Beside him his father shook his head, tutting under his breath.

“When did Holly say she would get here?” He asked him.

“Just in time probably, knowing the Weasleys.” Hamish replied.

“I see, and-”

“There they are dad, stop fussing.” He interrupted. “Guys, over here!”

The group of red headed individuals made their way over to the beat of Mrs Weasley’s mother hen antics. Fred gave her a gentle nudged, and she began fussing at Hamish’s father instead, much to their relief.

“Come on, let’s find ourselves a compartment.” Hermione said, taking charge.

They jogged to the carriage, hauling trunks, cages and Holly and Hamish’s brooms. Once they had been stowed away by the station hands, the quartet trooped along the passage until they found an empty compartment.

“At least we’re not sharing it with anyone this year.” Ron remarked wryly as he removed the gum now stuck to the seat of his jeans.

“Who was that?” Hamish asked.

“Professor Lupin.” Hermione answered almost immediately.

“Really?! That sounds great, must be why you guys seemed familiar last year.”

“Well, sort of,” Holly started. “he slept most of the way, only actually woke up when the Dementors got on the train.” She shivered at the memory.

“Oh, never mind I suppose.” Hamish sounded somewhat deflated.

As the train sped past the rolling scenery of England, talk turned to the events of the previous week.

“Yeah, dad says the Ministry’s really worried.” Ron said.

“Well that goes without saying t be honest, massive security break, Death Eaters attacking the camp.” Hamish commented.

“You know,” Holly began, wanting to change the subject before they started talking about the stranger and the Dark Mark. “I’ve been having dreams lately.”

“As have I, in fact, most people have dreams in case you were wondering Holly.” Hamish said, smiling in mock intellectual snobbery.

“No, I mean one of my dreams; Hermione’ll explain better what I mean.”

Hamish glanced quizzically at Hermione, his eyebrow raised questioningly.

“Basically, Holly has these dreams, but, not like ordinary dreams where you forget about them after a while,” Hermione obliged. “these dreams are very vivid, so Holly can pretty much describe every bit to us. I have no idea what causes them, obviously something to do with Voldemort.”

“Her scar?” Hamish replied simply.

“That’s it, well probably; I’ve been thinking the same thing, because in first year it hurt every time he was angry of something.” Hermione’s response came out in a rush. “You know Holly, you ought to tell Sirius about them, and the world cup.”

“Sirius Bl-!” Hamish almost yelled.

“Ssshh you idiot,” Ron cut across him. “Sirius is Holly’s godfather, he’s innocent as well, don’t worry. But Hermione, it’s Padfoot remember?”

“Sorry Ron, I forgot.” Hermione admonished.

)(

The rest of the journey continued peacefully, and the quartet had changed by the time the Hogwarts Express arrived in Hogsmeade. Sadly the weather decided to throw a mixture of rain and sheep piss on them. Glancing mournfully at the first years in their boats, Hamish clambered into the waiting carriage next to Ron.

After the new students had been housed-so to speak-Professor Dumbledore got his feet and walked quickly to his pulpit, something always surprised Hamish, given it was the start of a school year, which meant work, which meant tears for him.

“A very good welcome to you all, I hope you are all feeling good and have had a most agreeable summer off, and of course welcome to our new faces.” He began. “Now this year is going to be rather special. And in case you hadn’t noticed, this year Hogwarts will not only be your home, but home to some very important guests as well.

“You see Hogwarts has been chosen” Filch burst into the hall at a run. “to host a legendary event, the Tri-Wizard Tournament!” Filch stopped, bent double as he gasped for breath. “Could one of you Hufflepuffs help Mr Filch on his way, it appears something is amiss.” Justin Finch-Fletchley got out of his seat but Filch waved at him to sit down in annoyance. He staggered up to Dumbledore and whispered quick in his ear before doubling over once more before Professor Sprout helped him off to the side. “It appears all is going as planned, and without further ado, let me introduce the lovely ladies and gentle gentlemen of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and their headmistress, Madame Maxime!”
The doors to the Great Hall opened, and, in two lines, stepped the foreign students, butterflies fluttered out of their robes.

“Bloody hell!” Ron gasped beside him.

At their head strode an impossibly tall woman. As the column reached the front, the girls breathed a sigh, scattering the butterflies around the hall.

“And now, the proud sons and daughters of Durmstrang!”

This time the doors opened suddenly; smacking Filch, who had been shuffling out, in the face, knocking him on his back. The students from Durmstrang marched in, banging their staffs against the floor, causing sparks. They wore a red tunic, emblazoned with the school’s crest on their chest.

“Oh my god,” Ron stammered quietly. “It’s him, it’s Krum!” Hamish turned his head to the back of the column. And indeed, at the back, in fur-lined trench coat, strode Vicktor Krum, the best seeker in the world; at least, according to Ron.

Behind marched their headmaster, Karkaroff he thought his father had called him once. He walked up the steps to Dumbledore’s pulpit and gave him a firm embrace.

“And now, the reason for all this, Mr Filch if you-ah, I see, well, Professor Hagrid, perhaps you could, yes thank you.” Dumbledore glowed with excitement. A large box was brought over next to Dumbledore. He drew his palm along its side. “The Goblet of Fire, any who wish to put their names forward from the tournament must put their names in its flames by the end of this month. But, there are a few, restrictions we must add, especially in the light of recent events, to tell us more, we have Mr Crouch, here from the Department of International Magical Cooperation.”

A short, balding man stepped forward.

“Thank you Professor Dumbledore.” He smiled thinly, clasping his hands behind his back. “Before any of you place your names in the goblet, the Ministry has agreed that only those above the age of 17 may be allowe-”

His voice was drowned out by the sudden verbal backlash to this statement. Hamish ducked his head as Fred and George shouted over him.

“Rubbish, that’s rubbish!”

“SILENCE!” Dumbledore’s voice quickly dissipated the noise. “Now, the reason for this decision is very simple. Those competing will be out through three, extremely dangerous tasks. They are not for the faint of heart, so even if you are 17, I recommend you think it through, for, if chosen, you stand alone.”

Holly gulped and Ron paled visibly at that. Hamish thought that might have something to do with the fact that Hermione wouldn’t be able to help as readily as in the past.

“With that in mind, do try and enjoy the magnificent feast before you.” Dumbledore finished on a lighter note.

Hamish turned back to table to be greeted by the sight of the usual start of term feast. It seemed this year could be interesting. As he ate he failed to notice the rugged-looking professor limping to shake Dumbledore’s hand before sitting down at the staff table.

Holly saw him however, and had the unnerving feeling he was watching her with his glass eye as he talked to Hagrid.