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CHAPTER iii:
❛ THE MOODY BLUES ❜

MARGUERITE BLUMENTHAL LIKES TO THINK THAT THERE EXISTS NO LIVING CREATURE on the face of the planet so terrible that she could not find it in herself to love them. She has always had a fondness for unloved things — creatures like pigeons and snakes, spiders and rats — that people would rather trample underfoot than live and let live. Once, she wrote a strongly worded letter to the headmaster on behalf of the animals being used as test subjects for magical experimentation in their classes ... but that's a story for another time. The point is this: it is her life philosophy that all living things ( magical or otherwise ) are deserving of respect and decency.

That being said: she has no bloody clue what to make of the blast-ended skrewts.

"They're repulsive," Primrose drawls from her seat across the worn wooden table at the back of the library. Her textbooks had been discarded ages ago ( much to the disapproval of Violet ) in favor of a glossy copy of the newest edition of Witch Weekly, where a pretty pink-haired witch is winking at Marguerite from the cover. "I haven't seen something so disgusting since Aster tried to convince Mum and Dad to let him keep a giant dung beetle as a pet."

"Crapper," Aster says with a grin. "What a lad. He was a real one!"

"Right up until Whoolio ate him," Prim shoots back, referring to their family owl, who'd gotten so lazy and fat in his old age that he no longer was up to the task of sending letters and mostly just hung around the rafters of their mum's greenhouse watching for mice to eat.

As per their parents' instruction, the four Blumenthal siblings had congregated at the library for their bi-weekly family meeting. Being the eldest sibling on campus, Violet was the designated enforcer, whose job was to make sure everyone attended despite their grumbling protests. They'd taken to gathering in the most secluded corner of the library to get Primrose and Aster to quit complaining about the "damage" it might do to their respective "reputations" and agreed to meeting every other Sunday evening for mandatory "quality" sibling time.

"I don't know about the skrewts," Marguerite disagrees, thinking out loud. "I guess they're not so bad. Maybe we just don't understand them —"

Primrose rolls her eyes. "Maggie, I swear you'd make friends with a dementor if you could."

"Sure," she replies sweetly. "I've had lots of experience with soul-sucking monsters after spending fourteen years living with you."

Her sister lets out an offended huff and Aster snickers. "Oooo, good one, Mags!"

"Marguerite," Violet chastises, arching a disapproving brow at her. "Be nice."

Prim purses her lips. "Yes, thank you, Violet!"

"Primrose is far more troll than she is dementor," Violet finishes with a sly smile, sending Aster and Marguerite into a fit of giggles.

"Ugh!" Prim huffs. "And you wonder why I hate coming to these stupid meetings."

Violet makes a big show of yawning. "Please spare us the dramatics, Primrose," she drawls. "Even if we were perfect saints to you, you'd still manage to find something to complain about."

Prim scowls, the expression marring her dainty features, but before she can fling whatever witty retort she'd been saving up as ammo, Aster butts in. "Hey, what do you think about Moody?" He asks. "You know, aside from the fact that he locked our evil grandad up in wizard Alcatraz."

"Would you keep your voice down?" Violet shushes him, glaring fiercely. "Or would you like to inform the entire school of the fact that our grandfather is a murderous felon?"

Marguerite winces at the words murderous felon but Aster just rolls his eyes. "Like they don't already know," he says. "There's no secret that stays secret in this school."

"Well, I think Moody is a total creep," Prim interrupts, deciding to rejoin the conversation after finishing her sulking. "That magic eye alone is downright inappropriate! If he can see out the back of his head, imagine what else he can see —"

"Oh, sweet Jesus," Violet mutters, tossing her quill down onto the table in disgust. "Primrose —"

"What?" Prim demands defensively, sitting up straighter in her seat. "Am I wrong?" She turns to look at Marguerite. "Tell her I'm not wrong, Maggie!"

"I think you're mad that you got caught talking in his class because he can see out the back of his head," Marguerite begins. "Buuuuut I also feel like there could be something a little ... off about him."

The ferret incident with Malfoy had definitely been the first hint that there was a strangeness to their new professor. Marguerite had originally believed that it might have been a one-time exception, but then she'd gone to her first DADA lesson and she'd learned that everything is strange where Moody is involved. Their first class had included demonstrations of the Unforgiveable Curses on innocent spiders and the next lesson had Moody practicing the Imperius Curse on students in class, which had left Marguerite feeling a little queasy every time she thought about it. Yet the thing that unsettled her the most was the fact that Moody served as a constant reminder of the Blumenthal family's shadowed past — a history that Marguerite knew so little about, save for the fact that it made her father both angry and sad whenever the subject came up.

"Let's consider the facts, shall we?" Violet asks, listing them off on her fingers. "Last year, our DADA professor was a werewolf who was best friends with the mass murderer that broke onto campus."

Marguerite clears her throat, holding up a finger. "I don't appreciate the negative insinuation about werewolves," she interjects. "They're people, too, you know —"

"The year before that, our professor was a pathological liar and a narcissistic fraud who attempted to assault two students," Violet continues as if she hadn't been interrupted. "And the year before that, our professor was literally sharing a body with wizard Satan. So, no, I don't think it's that unreasonable for you to have your suspicions." She pauses and frowns. "God, this school really is fucked up."

"Well, I think you're all wrong," Aster announces, balancing his chair on two legs and leaning back precariously in his seat to tilt his head back towards the ceiling. "Moody's cool."

Marguerite rolls her eyes. "You're only saying that because the Weasley twins have been saying the same thing for the past two weeks."

"Am not!" He replies indignantly, letting his chair fall back into its proper position with an audible crash that earns their table a nasty glare from the librarian, Madam Pince.

"Zip it, male," Prim shushes him with a snap of her fingers. "The women are speaking. You don't get to talk."

"Great. Then can I please leave?" Aster begs. "I showed up for the bloody committee meeting."

"Committee?" Marguerite repeats, offended. "We are not a committee!"

"Yes, you can go," Violet interrupts as she rubs her temples. "But you have to go straight back to your common room. If I find out you've been up to any mischief with those twin terrors —"

He's gone before she can finish the sentence in its entirety.

"Little shit," Violet mutters under her breath.

"Well, if he's out, then so am I," Prim decides, rising from her seat and collecting her things in her bag. "I've got ... Actually, I honestly don't have anything. I just don't want to be here anymore. Give Mumsy and Dad my best in your report!"

Marguerite rolls her eyes as she watches her sister leave and then it's just her and Violet sat together in silence. The table they'd chosen to sit at seems a lot bigger with the other two gone and Marguerite feels a sudden surge of homesickness, wishing that she was sat at their kitchen table back home with their mum and dad and all their siblings around it instead. It's quiet now that Prim and Aster have left, save for the sound of Violet scratching away with her quill, finishing off a written status report for their parents. When she finishes her writing and sets her quill aside to let the ink dry, Marguerite decides to break the silence.

"Vi," she says quietly. "Do you ever wonder about our family. Like Dad's side of the family."

Their Mum's side of the family — though still very estranged — was a lot less intriguing. Before she was Dahlia Blumenthal, Dahlia Barnet had been the rebellious daughter of a pair of rich American socialites who'd wanted her to marry some stuffy businessman. She ran off to Europe and opened a flower stand instead and Marguerite's grandparents had never forgiven her for that. So, aside from the occasional letter or phone call from across the pond, the Barnets were perfect strangers — but Marguerite still knew something about them, which was more than she could say about her father's family.

Violet looks up sharply. "Dad has made it very clear that it's not something he wants to discuss with us and I respect that."

Marguerite huffs a quiet sigh and decides to table that discussion for later, saving it for the next time she saw Basil. Violet was too much of a stickler for rules to tug at that thread, but her older brother might be more obliging — Basil was never able to resist a good mystery, after all. And besides: there was a chance he might actually know something juicy, considering his job in the Auror Department at the Ministry.

"Are you going to sign up for the tournament?" Marguerite asks, changing the subject and nervously chewing on her bottom lip. There'd been more and more talk around the school about the impending competition as the weeks went by and the date of the tournament grew nearer and nearer.

Her older sister hesitates before firmly shaking her head. "I ... no, Maggie. I'm not."

Marguerite frowns. She'd thought she would feel relieved to hear her sister say no, but instead she gets the impression that there's more Violet wants to say. "Did you want to?"

"... No?"

She raises a skeptical brow. "Really?"

"Ugh," her sister groans, rubbing her temples again. "I mean yes, of course I wanted to! The recognition a person would earn across the global wizarding community from winning something like that; the validation they'd achieve by proving that every hour spent studying and practicing was worth it, no matter how many people laughed at them for it ... it's every overachiever's dream. Eternal glory, loads of prize money — who wouldn't want that?"

Marguerite considers that for a moment. If anyone from Hogwarts were to enter the tournament and come out on top, it'd be Violet. Her sister was one of the brightest witches of their age — all their professors said so. She'd been made Head Girl for a reason, after all, and her exam scores always came back perfect. Violet could win if she put her mind to it. She could have eternal glory and everlasting bragging rights in a heartbeat if she really wanted them ...

"... But?" Marguerite prods.

Violet stares at her. "But nothing, Mags. I've got enough on my plate as it is. I'm Head Girl —" Marguerite rolls her eyes and her sister shoots her a dirty look "— my NEWTs are coming up at the end of the year and I've had to look out for all of you since Basil graduated."

At that, Marguerite feels a twinge of guilt and her nose wrinkles. "Sorry for making you feel like our nanny."

Violet just smiles and pinches Marguerite's cheeks. "You're my munchkins," she says. "It's my job to look out for you." Her face scrunches up. "Merlin knows who's going to do it once I graduate because it sure as hell won't be Prim."

"Oh no," Marguerite groans. "That means it'll fall to me and Poppy will be here next year, too."

"You'll manage," Violet replies. "And besides: out of everyone, Poppy likes you best. She'll go easy on you."

Marguerite shakes her head. "Nah, Basil is her favorite. Then Daisy. Then me. Maybe."

Her sister gives her an odd look. "You really believe that, don't you, Maggie?"

"Believe what?" She asks, brow furrowing.

"Nothing," Violet sighs. "Just ... nothing." Her sister wraps an arm around her in a surprising display of affection and pulls her in for a hug. "I love you, Mags."

"I love you, too?" Marguerite says unsurely before shrugging and resting her head on Violet's shoulder. She was never one to refuse a good hug; especially at school, where her supply was sorely lacking without her mum and dad around.

Marguerite frowns at that thought, realizing that Violet's absence next year would mean her hug supply taking another hit. She'd have better luck trying to cuddle a skrewt than willingly getting one from Primrose or Aster or Poppy.

"I don't want you to graduate, Vi," she complains. "I hate that Basil's not here anymore and I hate that by the time Daisy gets here, I'll be gone, too. I wish we could all be kids again."

Violet rests her chin atop her head. "That's part of growing up, Mags. Had to happen someday."

"Well, then I hate growing up," Marguerite says childishly.

Her sister just laughs. "I know, Maggie," Violet says. "I know."

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

AS FAR AS NEW SCHOOL YEARS GO, MARGUERITE HAS DEFINITELY HAD WORSE. Don't get her wrong — Hogwarts is still as warty as ever — but at least there's no dementors roaming around campus this year. That had been downright depressing ( no matter how much chocolate their former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor handed out ) and Marguerite had spent most of her third year feeling shiverish and uncheerful. Her parents had visited a lot, attending every Hogsmeade weekend that they could — but even then Marguerite had still been sad. And then her grades started slipping which made her even more sad ... All in all, her third year had been a big mess that she couldn't wait to be done with.

Fourth year has a whole new vibe to it.

Marguerite isn't sure how to describe it — the closest she can get is a powder keg on the brink of explosion — but even that seems inadequate. With the impending arrival of the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang and the anticipation for the Triwizard Tournament, there's a nervous energy that seems to thrum throughout the walls of the school. Students are more restless than ever and even the professors seem to have let the pressure get to their heads, taking extreme to the next level. ( Which, if you ask Marguerite, is a little unfair. Like, what's the big rush? O.W.L. exams aren't supposed to happen till next year. )

It's all so busy, busy, busy that time seems to fly before Marguerite finds herself staring down the barrel of October 30th — the date of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang's arrival. The grounds of Hogwarts are redecorated in a show of school pride, decking the halls with colored silk banners representing each of the four Houses and their mascots.

"Eugh," Susan complains at breakfast, pushing the porridge in her bowl around with a spoon. "It looks like a rainbow threw up all over the school."

"I like it," Marguerite says stubbornly. "It's pretty."

"Do you think Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be impressed?" Susan asks.

"Doubtful," Ernie Macmillan says, butting into the conversation from a few seats down. "Beauxbatons is one of the finest wizarding schools in the world and Durmstrang has got loads of money pouring into it these days."

Marguerite's brow furrows. "Why's that?"

"Because of Krum, of course," Zacharias Smith scoffs.

"Krum," Marguerite repeats, face scrunching up as she tries to remember where she's heard that name before. "Wait, you mean the Quidditch player? Viktor Krum? He goes to Durmstrang?"

"No, the famous chess player — of course I mean the Quidditch player!"

Marguerite scowls, not appreciating the sarcasm. She opens her mouth to respond, but someone else beats her to it. "That's literally what she just said," a familiar voice interjects from somewhere over her shoulder.

Turning to catch a glimpse of the person who'd spoken, Marguerite's eyes grow wide when she sees Micah Vance standing just behind her with Cedric Diggory at his side; the two of them looking unfairly handsome in their matching uniforms and Hufflepuff colors — as golden and boyish as ever.

She swallows thickly and offers Micah a grin before turning back to Zacharias with a smug expression on her face. "Exactly. Thank you, Micah."

"I'd expect nothing less from the daughter of a member of the Department of Magical Games and Sports," he replies cheerfully. "And a former Quidditch player."

"How'd you know that?" Marguerite asks, surprised that he'd known anything about her dad. As far as the hierarchy at the Ministry went, Tristan Blumenthal was certainly not a household name and his Quidditch playing days had been terribly short-lived ... which meant that Micah must have asked someone about it — and maybe even asked them about her?

"My brother Ambrose is an Auror," Micah explains. "He's good friends with your brother, Basil. Talks about him and your family a lot, actually."

"Oh," Marguerite says. That explanation wasn't nearly as exciting as any of the ones she'd conjured up inside her head, but it made more sense. There was nothing so interesting about her that someone like Micah Vance would go around asking questions on her behalf. "Well, I hope he's only had good things to say. We Blumenthals have a reputation to uphold, you know."

Micah's smile is blinding and it makes her stomach do weird flippy things. "The best."

"Hey Cedric!" Ernie says, changing the topic of conversation. "You planning to enter the tournament?"

The older boy ducks his head, half-sheepish and bashful as he grins. "Thinking about it," Cedric admits. "But only if I know you lot will be rooting for me."

"Oh, of course," Ernie replies, nodding his head rather ... well, earnestly. "We'll get the whole school on board."

"Then I just might have to toss my hat in the ring," he says, offering their little bunch a two-fingered salute in parting.

"See you around, Blumenthal," Micah adds with a wink before following Cedric out of the Great Hall. 

Marguerite watches him go, blinking once, twice, three times before shaking her head and offering his back a flimsy wave. Beneath the table, Susan gently kicks her in the shin and Hannah nudges her with an elbow, giggling quietly into their hands.

"Stop," Marguerite hisses, returning the favor to each of them. "Stop that!"

"Not a single Hobbit reference," Susan says, mockingly wiping her face dry of fake tears. "I'm so proud."

"See, Maggie?" Hannah agrees, clutching her hands to her chest. "There may be hope for you yet!"

"Bugger off," Marguerite grumbles, unable to keep the smile off her face for the rest of the day.

Eventually, after what felt like the longest day of classes ever, evening rolls around and all the students are permitted to leave their lessons early in order to prepare for the arrival of their guests. Marguerite returns to her dorm with Susan and Hannah in tow, bundling up in gloves and scarves and cloaks to fight off the encroaching chill before meeting Professor Sprout, who would be escorting their house outside the castle walls.

The entire school gathers near the edge of the school grounds at the junction between the Forbidden Forest and the Black Lake, shivering from both cold and anticipation while waiting for Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to show. To keep busy, Marguerite searches the crowd of faces for her siblings, catching a glimpse of Violet performing her duty as Head Girl by chasing down rowdy first years who'd broken out of formation.

"Nearly six," someone nearby says. "How d'you reckon they're coming? The train?"

"I doubt it."

"A portkey? Or they could Apparate — maybe you're allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from."

"You can't Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds, how often do I have to tell you?"

Marguerite turns and catches a glimpse of the Gryffindor troublemaking trio: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger bickering amongst themselves a few paces away from where she is standing with Susan, Hannah, and the rest of the fourth year Hufflepuffs.

"How do you think they'll get here?" Marguerite asks Hannah, her curiosity piqued.

Her friend shrugs. "Who knows? Maybe they'll fall from the sky."

Seconds later, as if spoken into existence by Hannah's declaration, something does fall from the sky; large and fast-moving as it hurtles towards them. Part of Marguerite is impressed, wondering if perhaps there was more to Divination than she'd ever given the subject credit for. The rest of her is absolutely entranced, watching as the mysterious flying object grows closer and closer to them. Upon landing, she realizes that the object in question is an enormous sky-blue carriage carrying the Beauxbatons delegation, drawn by magnificent winged horses. It steals her breath away, looking like something out of a Muggle film about fairytales and princesses brought to life.

"Wow," she breathes, watching Dumbledore step forward to greet their new arrivals, including the headmistress of Beauxbatons; an incredibly tall woman by the name of Madame Maxine who spoke with a pleasantly husky voice and a thick French accent.

The Beauxbatons students dutifully trail after their headmistress, dressed in delicate looking robes that matched the pale blue color of their carriage. Marguerite understood now what Ernie had meant about Beauxbatons being considered a finer school compared to Hogwarts. None of the Beauxbatons students looked particularly impressed by the ancient castle or its students as they made their way indoors to escape the cold.

"They seem like a fun bunch," Susan scoffs under her breath.

"Maybe they're just tired from traveling," Marguerite suggests. "And cold — did you see their robes? Someone should have warned them about the weather."

"Don't think they'll be much competition in the tournament if they can't handle a bit of a chill," Ernie interjects, joining the conversation without invitation. "We might have this competition in the bag if Durmstrang doesn't impress."

"I wouldn't count them out yet," Hannah says mildly, pointing towards the Black Lake.

While they'd been busy talking, the lake's surface had begun to ripple and slosh, stirring up something of a whirlpool at the heart of the gleaming body of water. A series of whispers and shouts escape the lips of the Hogwarts student body as something rises out of the lake's depths, breaking through the water's surface.

"Oh, that is so cool," Marguerite says, watching as a ship glides up from the water and sail across the lake. "Guys, it looks just like the Black Ships of —"

"Please tell me that's not a Lord of the Rings reference," Susan mutters.

"And what if it is?" Marguerite demands. "It's relevant for the situation!"

"Look at them," Hannah interrupts, sounding thoroughly impressed as the Durmstrang students began to make their way out of the vessel.

They looked nothing like the delicate delegation from Beauxbatons — no, Durmstrang had come prepared; dressed in fur cloaks to guard against the brisk autumn air. More than that was their stature. Most of their students seemed bigger and stockier than even the most muscular Hogwarts student.

"Still think we've got this one in the bag?" Hannah teases Ernie, nudging him in the side.

"Hogwarts can take 'em," Ernie replies, his confidence only slightly wavering. "Right, lads?"

"Yeah ... no, I don't think so," Susan says with a shake of her head. "Look who they brought with them."

Marguerite squints, watching as Durmstrang's headmaster — a man called Karkaroff — shepherded one student in particular out of the cold and into the warmth of the castle.

Zacharias straightens up. "Is that Viktor Krum?"

"No," Marguerite says, unable to resist the chance to return his earlier jab. "It's Victor Von Doom — of course it's Viktor Krum."

"Hilarious," Zacharias replies flatly, sounding entirely unamused.

With the arrival of their guests, the professors begin steering all the students back inside the castle walls for the welcoming feast that had been prepared. Marguerite sticks with the other Hufflepuffs, listening to their commentary on the recent turn of events and what the new additions to their school could mean for the tournament.

"It was fun while it lasted, wasn't it?" Justin says from somewhere over her shoulder.

"What was fun?" Marguerite asks, turning to walk backwards so she can look at him while he talks.

He shrugs, shoulders slumping in defeat. "Thinking our school had a chance at winning."

She purses her lips at his defeatism. "Now what kind of attitude is that —" Marguerite disagrees, readying herself to launch into a pep talk that would've made her father so proud ... except then she feels the weight of someone behind her as she stumbles into them, nearly knocking the other person into the ground.

"Sorry!" She apologizes hastily, blinking when she realizes that the person she'd run into was none other than her former Herbology partner. "Oh, hey Harry," Marguerite says, surprised, before apologizing again. "Sorry about that."

"'S alright," Harry Potter replies, offering her an awkward smile and a half-wave before hurrying to catch up with his friends.

Marguerite watches him to before shrugging and turning back to Justin. "Anyways," she begins, resuming her speech. "As I was saying: who says Hogwarts doesn't stand a chance at winning? You never know what might happen, especially where this school is concerned ..."

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

a/n: oh my god this update is so bad and it's been so long since i've posted anything for this fic and i am SO so sorry 😭 thank you to all my new readers and to the people who have left sweet comments on this fic since i last updated. i will try very, very hard to update this book more frequently, but i sort of fell out of the hp fandom for a while and getting back into the groove has been tricky. i've missed you all so much!!! hope u all enjoyed this even though it's mostly just a filler-ish mess 🤥