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CHAPTER ii:
❛ HUBBA HUBBA ❜

     MARGUERITE BLUMENTHAL BELIEVES IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. Or, at least, she sort of does. Her dad always says that he fell in love with her mum the moment he first saw her. That all it took was one look and he knew he was a goner. That from that moment onwards, there was no one else and no other future for him — and there never would be — because somehow he just knew. And sometimes, Marguerite thinks she can relate to that feeling. The first time she held her little sister Daisy, she loved her. The first time she tried Coco Pops, she loved them. The first time she listened to Joni Mitchell, she loved that. And the first time she saw Micah Vance, Marguerite loved him.

     Sort of.

     Okay, maybe love is a strong word. But Micah Vance is, perhaps, the most beautiful boy she's ever seen. She's known him since her first year at Hogwarts, when the two of them were sorted into the same house, and she's had a crush on him ever since. Micah Vance is all golden — golden hair, golden eyes, golden tie around his neck — and even though Robert Frost once said that nothing gold can stay, Marguerite thinks that Micah Vance might be the exception to that rule. He's just so handsome, especially when he smiles — and he's almost always smiling. She once overheard someone say that the Vance family has Veela blood in their veins and Marguerite wouldn't doubt it for a second; not when Micah walks around looking like an actual Greek god.

     "Maggie, you're drooling," a voice hisses in her ear and Marguerite sits up straighter, wiping at her face to make sure that she is not, in fact, actually drooling all over the Hufflepuff table in the great hall.

      She shoots a glare over her shoulder at Susan Bones — one of her fellow Hufflepuffs — who is stifling a laugh behind her hand to keep from interrupting the welcome back speech that their headmaster is giving. If it were anyone else, Marguerite would be offended, but it's just Suze, who enjoys taking the piss out of anyone she can without doing any real harm.

     "But can you blame her?" Hannah Abbott, another Hufflepuff from Marguerite's year, sighs and rests her chin on her hand. "I mean, just look at them. Hubba hubba."

     The them in question is Micah Vance and Cedric Diggory. Despite the fact that Cedric is two grades above the rest of them, he and Micah have been the best of friends for as long as anyone can remember, creating one of the most iconic duos in Hogwarts history. And it's not just because they're both good-looking — even though they are — but they're also nice too and how rare is that? Cedric always has a smile for anyone who needs it. He stops to give directions to first years who are lost in the halls. And Micah is always willing to help people with their homework or to run down to the kitchens for a late-night snack if anyone says they're hungry. So yeah, basically real-life Disney princes.

     Marguerite returns her focus to the headmaster, who is still droning on about the start of term announcements. She's nearly half-asleep when he actually says something of interest — though it isn't necessarily a good thing, because it nearly incites a riot from the school jock population.

      "It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year," Professor Dumbledore discloses. Marguerite isn't a quidditch player, but even she is sad to hear it. She prefers Muggle sports more, but Quidditch is fun — it reminds her of her dad — and she likes the rivalry part of it, too. ( At least, until people start getting mean; then it's no fun at all. ) "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy — but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts —"

Before he can finish that announcement, thunder crashes from the storm raging outside and the doors of the great hall fly open with a bang. Marguerite jumps at the loud noise, watching as a lone, cloaked figure limps into the room and makes his way up to the teachers' table. When he finally reaches the front and pauses to shake hands with their headmaster, Marguerite gets her first real look at the stranger and bites back a gasp. His face is scarred and disfigured, but it's his eyes that are truly unsettling — one dark and beady and the other electric blue, bulging from its socket as it swivels around the room to scrutinize the students seated around the hall. When it passes over her, Marguerite resists the urge to shudder; feeling very much like a hobbit beneath the gaze of the Eye of Sauron. ( Nerdy, she knows, but she just finished reading Tolkien's masterpiece and wow. That man ran so other high-fantasy writers could trip and fall. )

As the stranger takes his seat, Professor Dumbledore resumes his speech. "May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" He asks brightly. "Professor Moody."

A few people make sounds of recognition, but otherwise the hall remains deadly quiet — save only for the sound of the Headmaster and Professor Hagrid applauding. Marguerite thinks she might remember the name Moody from somewhere, but she can't be sure. It feels like it's something she should know, though. Maybe something to do with ...

"... Moody's a legend," Ernie Macmillan is explaining to Justin Finch-Fletchley in a low whisper. And of course Ernie would know because he knows everything. "Half of Azkaban's cells are full because of him."

Oh. That. Marguerite doesn't know much about her paternal grandfather — like she said, her father never talks about him or the rest of his family — but she's pretty sure that the guy who sent Orestes Blumenthal to Azkaban was an Auror named Moody. She glances around the room, catching Violet's eye at the Ravenclaw table, and from the look on her face, she knows her eldest sister is thinking the same thing.

Dumbledore clears his throat, drawing the room's attention back to him. "As I was saying," he continues with a cheery smile, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" Someone yells from the Gryffindor table and the room bursts into laughter.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore says with a chuckle. "Though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar ..." Professor McGonagall clears her throat, sparing them the anecdote. "Er — but maybe this is not the time ... no ... Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament ... well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely."

And this — this must be the surprise Marguerite's dad had been hinting at all summer.

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities — until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

Her eyes widen with alarm. "I'm sorry," Marguerite hisses, jabbing an elbow into the back of the person in front of her — a boy in her year named Zacharias Smith. "Did he say death toll?"

Zacharias just shrugs.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continues blithely, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt." So that's how her dad knew so much about it. "We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger."

Marguerite wants to be reassured by that. She wants to think that hey, my dad is a fairly smart guy, so this has gotta be safe but ... death toll? Even as a kid, Marguerite was something of a Nervous Nellie. She's always been the type to sweat the big stuff ( climate change, the dwindling bee population, world hunger ) and the small stuff ( stepping on cracks, monsters beneath her bed, the fringe she's still trying to grow out after she cut her hair herself when she was stressed about exams ) — and this tournament definitely sounds like something worth sweating over. She presses her fingers to her temple, wishing for the umpteenth time that she had been born a squib who could attend a normal school with normal kids and normal teachers — teachers that don't collaborate with the government to host international competitions for their students that have literal death tolls attached to them.

"God, I hate this school," Marguerite mutters under her breath.

"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

( And can Marguerite just point out that — after having a DADA professor with Wizard Satan living rent-free in the back of his turban, a gigantic killer snake that petrified four students and a cat and a ghost, and a mass-murderer who broke onto campus in the past three years — this kind of sounds like it might be the most shit idea ever? )

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age — that is to say, seventeen years or older — will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them," Professor Dumbledore warns. "I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts' champion. I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen."

      A few seats down from her, Marguerite sneaks a glance at Micah Vance and Cedric Diggory. The pair are whispering amongst themselves excitedly and she wonders if it means that Cedric is going to enter, since he'll be old enough by the time the tourney rolls around. Marguerite's not sure why anyone would want to enter. Like okay, if she was talented and charming and good at everything, she might enter too ( eternal glory does sound pretty tempting and it would definitely give her something to tout over her siblings ) but also ... death toll. Yeah, no thanks. She can respect it, maybe, but it's not for her.

       "Nooo not Cedric," Suze whispers mournfully. "He's too pretty for this bullshit."

       Marguerite shoots her a look. "Oh, now who's drooling?"

      "Still you. Don't turn around now, but Micah Vance is looking at you."

       Her head whips around so fast that she nearly breaks her neck, but when Marguerite finds Micah again, his head is turned the complete opposite direction. Behind her, Susan cackles and Marguerite jabs her in the ribs with an elbow — which only makes her laugh harder.

       "The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected," Dumbledore finishes, his speech finally drawing to a close. "And now, it is late, and I know how important it is for you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning."

       Marguerite groans at that — as does a majority of the rest of the student population — as they clear out of the great hall.

      "Bedtime! Chop chop!"

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

THE FIRST DAY OF CLASSES IS ALWAYS SORT OF A DRAG. Marguerite nearly sleeps through Herbology, but Hannah shakes her awake before heading to breakfast, leaving Marguerite to scramble around the dorm room in a tizzy — much to the amusement of Susan, who laughs as she watches Marguerite nearly trip over her boots while wrangling her black and yellow tie around her neck. But Susan also waits for Marguerite to finish getting ready, which gives her someone to walk with to the greenhouses for their first class of the day. The two girls make it in the nick of time, just before Professor Sprout starts her lecture, and Hannah slips them both pieces of toast that she smuggled from the breakfast table.

"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout announces, presenting the class with a hideous slug-like plant covered in boils. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus —"

      "The what?" Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor, interrupts. His expression is appropriately disgusted.

      "Pus, Finnigan, pus," Professor Sprout repeats, "and it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves; it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, bubotuber pus."

      Around the room, people begin pairing up to pop their bubotubers together. Hannah and Susan take one together, leaving Marguerite as the unfortunate third wheel out of the Hufflepuff girls. She looks around the room for a partner, eyes widening when she sees Micah Vance standing alone. Balling her hands into fists, Marguerite approaches the golden boy and taps his shoulder before she can lose her nerve. In her mind, she can almost hear her dad cheering her on, like atta girl, Maggie; sometimes you gotta be the one to make the first move —

"Hey, Micah," Marguerite says quickly. "I was wondering if —"

"You need a partner?" He asks, offering her a friendly smile.

She nods, beaming. "Yeah, I do. Would you —"

"Great! Harry does too," he interrupts, grabbing onto the back of the robes of a Gryffindor boy and yanking him over. "There! Problem solved."

      Harry Potter. Everyone in the wizarding world knows his name. The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, Wizard Jesus Reborn — one does not simply exist in the magical world without knowing who Harry freaking Potter is; not when he's the one who defeated You-Know-Who as a baby. When Marguerite was a kid, Harry Potter always seemed like something of a fable — a story told to magical children by their parents as they tucked them into bed at night. But then she came to Hogwarts and saw him take a seat on the stool for the Sorting Ceremony during her first year and she realized that he was just a kid, same as her and everyone else. A skinny, scrawny kid with wire-rim glasses, a scar on his forehead, and a knack for getting into trouble.

Marguerite has never been friends with Harry Potter. Not because there's something wrong with him, but they don't really run in the same social circles and no offense to Harry, but trouble seems to follow wherever he goes and she doesn't want a part in any of that; her anxiety would go off the charts. But Micah Vance? He's friends with Harry Potter ( then again — he's friends with everyone, really ) and Micah likes to make sure that other people are taken care of before he takes care of himself, which is why Marguerite is now partners with Harry instead of him.

She blinks a few times in surprise. "Oh," Marguerite says, struggling to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "Hey, Harry. Have a good summer?"

Harry shrugs, ruffling his already untidy hair. "Er ... yeah, pretty good, I guess," he mutters. "You?"

"Same," Marguerite says, looking down at their pus filled bubotuber. "Would you like to do the honors or should I?"

He scrunches his nose. "By all means, take the lead."

Popping the bubotubers is ( understandably ) disgusting, if not weirdly satisfying — sort of like popping pimples. Marguerite does most of the dirty work, but Harry helps and they say very little to each other save for the eughs that escape them. Marguerite pretends not to notice how Harry keeps looking at his friends, Ron and Hermione, as if he'd rather be anywhere else and in return he pretends not to notice her watching Micah Vance, who even manages to make squeezing pus out of bubotubers look cute. Eventually, Professor Sprout comes around to collect the pus and bottle it up for Madam Pomfrey, who is planning to use it to brew an acne remedy for students after Eloise Midgen resorted to trying to magically remove her pimples and cursed her nose off.

"Silly girl," Professor Sprout chuckles, shaking her head. "But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end."

     As soon as the bell rings for the end of class, Marguerite strips off her gloves and parts ways with her Herbology partner to rejoin her friends for Transfiguration. On the way to class, she runs into Aster in the hallways, who pretends not to see her until Marguerite chases him down to make a big show of ruffling his hair and pinching his cheeks in front of his friends since he'd tried to ignore her. Professor McGonagall's class seems to drag on forever once she gets there — especially after her stomach starts growling halfway through the lecture despite the piece of toast Hannah had given her for breakfast — and by the time she makes it to dinner, Marguerite is absolutely ravenous. She's looking forward to a nice, quiet meal after such a long day ... but then, of course, that doesn't happen at all.

"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!" Someone yells in the dinner line, disturbing the peace. Marguerite turns around and spots Draco Malfoy at the center of it all, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet towards Harry Potter and his best friend, Ron. "Your dad's in the paper, Weasley — listen to this!"

      "Oh, here they go again," Susan mutters, annoyed.

       Marguerite can't help but agree with the sentiment. There were few things at Hogwarts that were more exhausting than the incessant Gryffindor v. Slytherin feud that seemed to dominate the entire school. Marguerite isn't particularly fond of any of Primrose's Slytherin friends, but even she knows better than to fall prey to the stupid inter-house stereotype bullshit; something her mum and dad swore they would not tolerate once Marguerite and her siblings started getting sorted into separate houses. Yet the Gryffindors and the Slytherins seemed incapable of setting aside their differences for the sake of peace — especially Malfoy and Potter, who had one of the worst rivalries on campus.

      As Malfoy begins reading the newspaper article disparaging Ron Weasley's father, Marguerite inches forward in the dinner line and takes advantage of the distraction to slip ahead of everyone else in the queue. She makes it into the hall with ease, but finds that she can't even enjoy her meal in peace once she sits down because Draco Malfoy is still running his mouth and spreading his bad vibes everywhere.

      "There's a picture, Weasley!" He says, waving the paper around for everyone to see. "A picture of your parents outside their house — if you can call it a house!"

      That touches a nerve with Marguerite and she sets her forkful of mashed potatoes down. Her family isn't all that different from the Weasleys — not really — and her mum and dad struggled to make ends meet for a while before her dad got his job at the Ministry; not to mention that he was called a blood-traitor, too, for marrying a Muggle. It could just as easily be her family Malfoy was mocking instead of Ron's.

"Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?" Malfoy continues.

"Get stuffed, Malfoy," Harry Potter snaps, coming to his friend's defense. "C'mon, Ron ..."

      But Malfoy won't let it go. "Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" He sneers. "So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?"

      Weasley tries to launch himself at Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione, hold him back. Despite her mostly-pacifistic tendencies, Marguerite can't help but think good for him. She might consider hitting someone, too, if they'd said something like that about her mum.

      "You know your mother, Malfoy?" Harry taunts. "That expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"

       Laughter erupts around the great hall and Marguerite bites her lip to keep from joining them as Malfoy's face goes red. "Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."

      "Keep your fat mouth shut, then," he replies, turning away.

       The atmosphere shifts when Draco reaches for his wand, pulling it from his robes and casting a curse at Harry while his back is turned, setting off a loud BANG! that makes Marguerite jump. Harry fumbles for his own wand, but before he can retaliate, someone else joins the fight.

      "OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!" Professor Moody shouts, limping towards the scene with his wand drawn. 

       Marguerite's mouth drops open when she realizes that Malfoy is no longer standing there. Instead, a small, twitching white ferret stands in his place. The great hall is absolutely silent as Moody approaches Harry Potter and mutters a few questions. However, when Malfoy's friends try to pick him up in his ferret-form, Moody begins scolding them, too. Ferret-Malfoy attempts to scurry away, but Moody stops him with his wand and begins bouncing him up and down in the air.

      "I don't think so!" He roars. People around the hall begin to laugh and Marguerite covers her mouth with her hand to disguise her laughter. It's not funny. She shouldn't be laughing — especially because it's technically animal cruelty — but also ... Draco Malfoy sort of had it coming. "I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned. Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do ..."

      "Professor Moody!" Someone interjects and Marguerite quickly turns back to her food when she sees Professor McGonagall approaching, scolding the other man for practicing Transfiguration as a punishment. McGonagall snaps her wand and Draco is returned to human form, wincing as he stands. His face is bright red as people try to hide their smirking expressions.

     When McGonagall finishes her reprimand, Moody marches Malfoy down to the dungeons to meet with Snape. The great hall resumes it's normal level of volume as people begin to gossip about what had just happened. Marguerite catches Micah Vance's eye from across the Hufflepuff table and she tentatively smiles at him. He doesn't look away — just smiles back, dimples and all — and it makes her heart skip a beat.

       "So, that's our new Defense teacher," she jokes. "I wonder what the penalty will be for turning in late homework."

      Micah shakes his head, still grinning. "Don't care: that was the single greatest thing I've ever seen in my life."

       Both of them start laughing then, but the smile dies on Marguerite's face when a girl with pale blonde hair marches over to Micah's side. Marcella Vance — Micah's twin sister — frowns at the both of them before glowering at Marguerite. The Slytherin girl was one of Primrose's many adoring fans who, coincidentally, seemed to absolutely loathe Marguerite for no apparent reason — which was weird, really, because people usually don't hate her. At best, they don't think anything of her at all, and she couldn't remember ever doing something to have incited Marcella Vance's ire despite her reputation as the resident queen of mean.

"What are you laughing at?" Marcella demands and Marguerite's mouth snaps shut.

"A joke?" She replies hesitantly, but Marcella's scowl just deepens.

       Micah shoots his sister a look. "Ella," he chides quickly and it makes Marguerite's stomach flutter because wow — the bar was literally the floor, but Micah Vance was sticking up for her to his twin sister. "Be nice."

"Oh, of course," Marcella snaps. "Defend Satan over your own sister!"

And okay — Satan? Marguerite is pretty sure that she never did anything to deserve a nickname like that. Was dressing like a farmer really such a crime in the eyes of others? What sort of stories had Primrose been telling her friends, anyways?

Micah winces. "Marcella —"

"Forget it, Micah!" She huffs, turning on her heel and storming off. "Have fun with the actual devil."

Micah sighs before pushing back from his seat. "I should go after her," he says, looking guilty. "Sorry."

"Oh," Marguerite says, waving him off. "You don't need to apologize. It's not your fault — I'm used to Prim's friends not liking me. As far as they're concerned, I'm the Sméagol to her Frodo."

For some reason, that makes Micah look even guiltier ( although, it might just be his way of looking totally weirded out by Marguerite going full hobbit-nerd on him ) and he turns away without another word, chasing after his twin. Seconds later, Hannah and Susan take their seats on either side of Marguerite, having finally made their way in the dinner line.

"What did you say?" Susan asks accusingly, watching as Micah Vance books it away in the opposite direction.

"Nothing!" Marguerite insists before she cringes. "I mean, I might have made a Lord of the Rings reference, but —"

Both of her friends groan. "Maggie!"

"What?" She says defensively. "It was one joke!"

"Love, you're never going to get a boyfriend," Suze says plainly. "Not unless we find you a real life Frodo."

"Yeah, right," Marguerite mutters, stabbing at the steamed carrots on her plate just as Harry Potter and his friends pass their table. "Guys like that don't exist."

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

a/n: did i imply that harry potter is a hobbit in this chapter? i sure did, i sure did!!!!!!!