CHAPTER FOUR:

Third Person P.O.V.:

"You dropped it?" repeated Mr. Diggory in disbelief. "Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?"

"Amos, think who you're talking to!" said Mr. Weasley, very angrily. "Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"

"Er - of course not," mumbled Mr. Diggory. "Sorry... got carried away..."

"I didn't drop it there, anyway," said Harry, jerking his thumb toward the trees beneath the skull. "I missed placed it right after we got into the wood."

"So," said Mr. Diggory, his eyes hardening as he turned to look at Winky again, cowering at his feet. "You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?"

"I is not doing magic with it, sir!" squealed Winky, tears streaming down the sides of her squashed and bulbous nose. "I is... I is... I is just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!"

"It wasn't her!" said Hermione. She looked very nervous, speaking up in front of all these Ministry wizards, yet determined all the same. "Winky's got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!" She looked around at Harry, Charlie and Ron, appealing for their support. "It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?"

"No," said Charlie, shaking his head immediately. "It definitely didn't sound like an elf."

"Yeah, it was a human voice," agreed Ron.

"Well, we'll soon see," growled Mr. Diggory, looking unimpressed. "There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed, elf, did you know that?"

Winky trembled and shook her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Mr. Diggory raised his own wand again and placed it tip to tip with Harry's.

"Prior Incantato!" roared Mr. Diggory.

Charlie heard Hermione gasp, horrified, as a gigantic serpent-tongued skull erupted from the point where the two wands met, but it was a mere shadow of the green skull high above them; it looked as though it were made of thick gray smoke: the ghost of a spell.

"Deletrius!" Mr. Diggory shouted, and the smoky skull vanished in a wisp of smoke.

Then, with a kind of savage triumph, Amos looked down upon Winky, who was still shaking convulsively.

"I is not doing it!" she squealed, her eyes rolling in terror. "I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands, I isn't knowing how!"

"You've been caught red-handed, elf!" Mr. Diggory roared. "Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!"

"Amos," said Mr. Weasley loudly, "think about it... precious few wizards know how to do that spell... Where would she have learned it?"

"Perhaps Amos is suggesting," Fenwick chimed in to stir the pot, cold anger in every syllable, "that Mr. Crouch routinely teaches his servants to conjure the Dark Mark?"

There was a deeply unpleasant silence. Amos Diggory looked horrified. "Minister, no... not Mr. Crouch... not at all... I would never -"

"You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing who are least likely to conjure that Mark!" barked Fenwick. "Harry Potter and one of our dear colleagues. I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story, Amos?"

"Of course - everyone knows -" muttered Mr. Diggory, looking highly discomforted.

"And I trust you remember the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practice them?" Mr. Crouch defended, his eyes bulging.

"Mr. Crouch, I - I never suggested you had anything to do with it!" Amos Diggory muttered again, now reddening behind his scrubby brown beard.

"If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!" shouted Mr. Crouch. "Where else would she have learned to conjure it?"

"She - she might've picked it up anywhere -"

"Precisely, Amos," said Mr. Weasley. "She might have picked it up anywhere...Winky?" he said kindly, turning to the elf, but she flinched as though he too was shouting at her. "Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?"

Winky was twisting the hem of her tea towel so violently that it was fraying beneath her fingers.

"I - I is finding it... finding it there, sir..." she whispered, "there... in the trees, sir.

"You see, Amos?" said Mr. Weasley. "Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they'd done it, leaving Harry's wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up."

"But then, she'd have been only a few feet away from the real culprit!" said Mr. Diggory impatiently. "Elf? Did you see anyone?"

Winky began to tremble worse than ever. Her giant eyes flickered from Mr. Diggory, to a furrowed brow Fenwick Hawthorne, and onto Mr. Crouch. Then she gulped and said, "I is seeing no one, sir... no one..."

"Amos," said Mr. Crouch curtly, "I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her. You may rest assured that she will be punished."

"M-m-master..." Winky stammered, looking up at Mr. Crouch, her eyes brimming with tears. "M-m-master, p-p-please..."

Mr. Crouch stared back, his face somehow sharpened, each line upon it more deeply etched. There was no pity in his gaze.

"Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible," he said slowly. "I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me. This means clothes."

"No!" shrieked Winky, prostrating herself at Mr. Crouch's feet. "No, master! Not clothes, not clothes!"

Charlie knew that the only way to turn a house-elf free was to present it with proper garments. It was pitiful to see the way Winky clutched at her tea towel as she sobbed over Mr. Crouch's feet.

"But she was frightened!" Hermione burst out angrily, glaring at Mr. Crouch.

Charlie argued, "Your elf is scared of heights, and those wizards in masks were levitating people! You can't blame her for wanting to get out of their way!"

Mr. Crouch took a step backward, freeing himself from contact with the elf, whom he was surveying as though she were something filthy and rotten that was contaminating his over-shined shoes.

"I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me," he said coldly, looking over at Charlie and Hermione. "I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and to her master's reputation."

"But -"

"That's enough, Charles." Fenwick scolded. "You are well out of your jurisdiction here. So, you and your friend" - his gaze shifted to Hermione briefly - "best stay out of matters you fail to understand."

The brown eyed boy was about to retaliate, but Winky was crying so hard that her sobs echoed around the clearing.

There was a very nasty silence, which was ended by Mr. Weasley, who said quietly, "Well, I think I'll take my lot back home, if nobody's got any objections. Amos, that wand's told us all it can - if Harry could have it back, please -"

Mr. Diggory handed Harry his wand and Harry pocketed it.

"Come on, you four," Mr. Weasley said quietly. But Hermione didn't seem to want to move; her eyes were still upon the sobbing elf.

Charlie sent one last glare in the direction of the Ministry officials before he turned around to face a tearful Hermione.

He stepped in front of her to break her gaze off of the weeping house-elf. Charlie spoke in a comforting tone as she focused on him, "Hermione, please."

With that, she let Charlie guide her away from the scene, but couldn't help herself from wheeping into his shoulder as they walked out of the clearing and through the trees.

"What's going to happen to Winky?" said Hermione, the moment they had left the clearing.

"I don't know," said Charlie softly, comforting her gently.

"The way they were treating her!" said Hermione furiously; her tone changing so suddenly that it genuinely scared the brown eyed boy. "Mr. Diggory, calling her 'elf' all the time... and Mr. Crouch! He knows she didn't do it and he's still going to sack her! He didn't care how frightened she'd been, or how upset she was - it was like she wasn't even human!"

"Well, she's not," said Ron as he caught the end of her and Charlie's conversation when the two had met up with him, Harry, and Mr. Weasley.

Hermione rounded on Ron.

"That doesn't mean she hasn't got feelings, Ronald. It's disgusting the way -"

"Hermione, I agree with you," said Mr. Weasley quickly, beckoning her on, "but now is not the time to discuss elf rights. I want to get back to the Portkey as fast as we can. What happened to the others?"

"We lost them in the dark," said Ron. "Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?"

"I'll explain everything when we get back home," said Mr. Weasley tensely.

However, when they reached the edge of the wood, their progress was impeded. A large crowd of frightened-looking witches and wizards was congregated there, and when they saw Mr. Weasley coming toward them, many of them surged forward.

"What's going on in there?"

"Who conjured it?"

"Arthur - it's not - Him?"

"Of course it's not Him," said Mr. Weasley impatiently. "We don't know who it was; it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get home."

He led Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione through the crowd and back to the Portkey. All was quiet now; there was no sign of the masked wizards, though several ruined tents were still smoking.

When they got there, Charlie was relieved to see the remaining Weasley's waiting patiently. Jack had immediately raised to his feet upon their arrival.

"Dad, what's going on?" he called through the dark.

"Did you get them, Dad?" said Bill sharply, joining his brother on his feet. "The person who conjured the Mark?"

"No," said Mr. Weasley. "We found Barry Crouch's elf holding Harry's wand, but we're none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark."

"What?" said Bill and Jack together.

"Harry's wand?" said Fred, standing up next to George.

"Mr. Crouch's elf?" said Percy, sounding thunderstruck from the ground next to Ginny.

With some assistance from Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Mr. Weasley explained what had happened in the woods.

"Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was?" said Ron impatiently. "It wasn't hurting anyone...Why's it such a big deal?"

"I told you, it's You-Know-Who's symbol, Ron," said Hermione, before anyone else could answer. "I read about it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts."

"And it hasn't been seen for thirteen years," said Mr. Weasley quietly. "Of course people panicked... it was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again."

"I don't get it," said Ron, frowning. "I mean... it's still only a shape in the sky..."

"Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed," said Mr. Weasley. "The terror it inspired... you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside..." Mr. Weasley winced. "Everyone's worst fear... the very worst..."

"The Death Eaters must've disappeared once they saw it," Charlie muttered.

"Death Eaters?" said Harry. "What are Death Eaters?"

"It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves - my grandfather told me about them once," explained Charlie. "I think we saw what's left of them tonight - the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway."

"But if they were the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?" said Ron. "They'd have been pleased to see it, wouldn't they?"

"Use your brains, Ron," said Charlie, rolling his eyes slightly. "If they were Death Eaters, they worked very hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they'd be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they'd ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives... I don't reckon he'd be over-pleased with them, do you?"

Ron shook his head slightly, and looked to the floor, slightly embarrassed - how he hated it when Charlie was always right.

"So... whoever conjured the Dark Mark..." said Hermione slowly, "were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?"

"Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione," said Mr. Weasley. "But I'll tell you this... it was only the Death Eaters who ever knew how to conjure it. I'd be very surprised if the person who did it hadn't been a Death Eater once, even if they're not now... Listen, it's very late, and if your mother hears what's happened before we return home she'll be worried sick, we best get going."

With that, they all grabbed hold of the old boot Portkey, and were back to The Burrow before the sun had really risen.

--------------

Within the next few weeks, the entire Wizarding World had been informed of the Quidditch World Cup's dark turn, thanks to Rita Skeeter's article in the Daily Prophet.

Nonetheless, The Weasley's, Hermione, Harry, and Charlie were more concerned with occupying themselves into getting their needed school supplies from Diagon Alley; the start of the term was approaching, and the Dark Mark wasn't going to distract them from that.

Before they even knew it, the children were boarding the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross Station once again, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sending them off as per usual. Charlie, Hermione, Harry, and Ron piled into a compartment by themselves, separating from Fred, George and Ginny.

Students were hanging out compartment doors, talking and laughing as usual, while an old woman was walking up and down the aisles with her iconic candy trolley.

She stopped when she reached the four Gryffindor's compartment, "Anything from the trolley, dears?"

Charlie, Harry, and Ron had leapt up, grabbing their money, while Hermione was too fixated on reading the latest Daily Prophet article that was in her hand.

"I'll have a packet of Droobles and a Licorice Wand -" said Ron, but he frowned as he dug in his pockets and pulled out nothing but air. "On second thought, just the Droobles..."

"S'alright," Charlie said as he pulled out some change, "I got it." - he pushed past Ron and addressed the old lady with a smile - "Can I get a Licorice Wand, a Chocolate Frog, and a Pumpkin Pastie, please?"

"Certainly, dear." The lady replied handing the boy his candy in exchange for him handing her some change.

"One Pumpkin Pastie, please!"

A girly voice from another compartment had said, causing both Charlie and Harry to look up; it was Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker.

"Hi Charlie! Hi Harry!" she said upon recognizing them, beaming at them with a bright smile.

"Hey," Charlie said simply.

But Harry was a stuttering mess, "H-h-hey."

Charlie laughed a little as he excused himself from the awkward interaction that his friend was clearly having with his crush. The brown eyed boy took his seat next to Hermione before handing Ron his Licorice Wand.

Then, he turned to Hermione and raised the Chocolate Frog in her direction, "Here - they're your favourite right?"

His voice was the only thing able to pull Hermione from her reading. She turned towards him, slightly aghast but smiled nonetheless, taking the chocolate from his hand, "Yes, thank you."

"No worries," Charlie said kindly as he took a bite of his Pumpkin Pastie. As he swallowed, he turned back to Hermione and pointed to the newspaper just as Harry had sat back down with a flustered face, "What's Rita Skeeter saying now?"

"They still don't know who conjured the Dark Mark," she explained, "it's horrible."

As Harry looked to the newspaper, the Daily Prophet's front page screaming; SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP STILL HAVE YET TO PROVIDE ANSWERS - which was written right above a moving image of the Dark Mark being conjured. Harry instantly caressed the scar on his forehead upon reading the page, reminiscing on the fear of the nightmare he had the night before the Quidditch World Cup.

"What's up, Harry?" said Charlie immediately upon noticing his friend tense at the article.

"There's something I haven't told you," Harry said softly, looking guilty towards his friends. "The morning right before the World Cup... I woke up with my scar hurting again."

Hermione gasped and started making suggestions at once, mentioning a number of reference books, and everybody from Albus Dumbledore to Madame Pomfrey. Charlie was trying to process the information in his head; he was attempting to work out if there was a connection that they were missing. All while Ron simply looked dumbstruck.

"But - he wasn't there, was he? You-Know-Who? I mean - last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?"

"I'm sure he wasn't there," said Harry. "But I was dreaming about him... him and Peter - you know, Wormtail. I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill... someone."

"It was only a dream," said Charlie bracingly, trying to overrule the obvious fear in the room. "Just a nightmare."

"Yeah, but was it, though?" said Harry, turning to look out of the window towards the tracks that were moving at a fast pace. "It's weird, isn't it...? My scar hurts, and then the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's mark's up in the sky again."

"Don't - say - his - name!" Ron hissed through gritted teeth.

"Oh, for goodness sakes, Ron," Charlie scolded, "Harry killed the bloke when he was a baby, I think he, of all people, has earned the right to call him by his name."

"And remember what Professor Trelawney said?" Harry went on, ignoring the arguing happening between his friends. "At the end of last year?"

Hermione's terrified look vanished as she let out a derisive snort, "Oh Harry, you aren't going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says?"

"You weren't there," defended Harry. "You and Charlie had stormed off by the time she said anything - you didn't hear her. This time was different. I told you, she went into a trance - a real one, and she said the Dark Lord would rise again... greater and more terrible than ever before... and he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him... and that night Wormtail escaped."

"We're reading way too much into this," Charlie sighed, "just... write to Sirius when we get to Hogwarts, tell him what's happened... he'll know what to do, I'm sure."

Hermione and Ron nodded in agreement to which Harry had no choice but to drop the topic for now. After that they didn't talk much as they changed into their school robes, and were getting ready to arrive at Hogwarts. The Express slowed down at last and finally stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station.

As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. The rain was now coming down so thick and fast that it was as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over their heads.

"Hey Hagrid!" Charlie yelled, seeing a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform.

"All righ', Char?" Hagrid bellowed back, waving. "See yeh at the feast if we don' drown!"

"Oooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather," said Hermione fervently, shivering as they inched slowly along the dark platform with the rest of the crowd.

Charlie had moved next to her, removed a layer of his robes, and held it over their heads to keep her from getting wet as they followed behind Ron and Harry. Being a little cheeky about the proximity, Hermione clung closer to Charlie's body, to which he didn't seem to mind - the amount of comfort she felt around him was undeniable, and little did she know, the boy felt the same.

A hundred horseless carriages stood waiting for them outside the station. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Charlie climbed gratefully into one of them, the door shut with a snap, and a few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track toward Hogwarts Castle.

---------------

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils.

Albus Dumbledore had smiled widely at his grandson as he entered the Hall with his friends. He had missed him greatly while he was away for majority of the summer vacation, but imagine his fear when he found out what had happened during the World Cup. Albus had immediately sent a letter to Arthur Weasley who had to insure the safety of his beloved grandson - he didn't know what he'd do if something happened to Charlie.

The brown eyed boy gladly reciprocated his grandfather's smile as he looked towards the staff table; there seemed to be rather more empty seats than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the entrance hall floor, but there was another empty chair too, and Charlie couldn't think who else was missing.

"Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Hermione, almost as if she had read the boy's mind. "Did they not find anyone to fill the position?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," Charlie said honestly as he, Hermione, Harry, and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor House table.

Not long after, the first-years entered the hall, and Professor McGonagall placed a dilapidated hat on a stool, which prompted the hat to sing a song. After it was finished, the Sorting began and the hat was placed on the head of each first-year, calling out the name of the appropriate house where he or she would live. Dennis Creevey, the younger brother of Colin Creevey, a third-year who idolizes Charlie, was the only one who caught the boy's attention, and he happened to be sorted into Gryffindor.

A short while after, Dumbledore signalled the start of the feast. Suddenly, the plates of every student in the Hall had magically filled with the most delicious looking food you could ever imagine. Charlie, Ron, and Harry instantly tucked in after practically being starved during the Sorting.

"My oh my," beamed Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, as he surveyed the table. "The house-elves have surely outdone themselves this evening!"

CLANG

Hermione had knocked over her golden goblet. Pumpkin juice spread steadily over the tablecloth, staining several feet of white linen orange, but Hermione paid no attention.

"There are house-elves here?" she said, staring, horror-struck, at Nearly Headless Nick. "Here at Hogwarts?"

"Certainly," said Nearly Headless Nick, looking surprised at her reaction. "The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred."

"I've never seen one!" said Hermione.

"Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?" said Nearly Headless Nick. "They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning... see to the fires and so on... I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?"

Hermione stared at him in disbelief.

"But they get paid?" she said. "They get holidays, don't they? And - and sick leave, and pensions, and everything?"

Sir Nicholas chuckled so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck - guess that was her answer.

Hermione immediately turned to Charlie, ready to scold the boy if necessary, "Did you know about this?!"

Charlie's eyes had widened slightly before he defended, "I knew that they helped out around the castle, that's all! I had no idea that they weren't being paid for doing so."

The girl nodded slightly before looking down at her hardly touched plate of food. She put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from her.

"Oh c'mon, 'Er-my-knee," said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. "Oops - sorry, 'Arry -" He swallowed. "You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself!"

"Slave labor," said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose. "That's what made this dinner. Slave labor."

And she refused to eat another bite.

The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings.

When the puddings had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices;

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has been extended this year to include Screaming Yo-Yo's, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

Dumbledore continued on despite the groans from all the Quidditch players in the room, including Charlie, "This is due to an event that will be starting shortly, 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 -"

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers' table.

"Who's that?" Harry asked the table.

"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed, "That's Mad-Eye Moody!"

"The Auror?" Hermione questioned in a soft whisper.

"He's an old friend of my grandfather's, I think." said Charlie, recognizing the man upon first glance.

"Wait, who is Mad-Eye Moody?" asked Harry, still utterly confused.

"He's retired, used to work at the Ministry," explained Charlie. "I met him once when my dad took me into work with him. He was an Auror, like 'Mione said, one of the best... a Dark wizard catcher," he added, seeing Harry's blank look. "Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though... the families of people he caught, mainly... and I heard he's been getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn't trust anyone anymore, sees dark wizards everywhere."

"Meaning, he's barking mad," Ron joked which earned a scolding look from Hermione.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore brightly into the inaudible chatter of the students before him. "Professor Moody."

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students chapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.

"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered to Charlie, who sat beside her. "What happened to his face?"

"Dunno," Charlie whispered back, watching Moody with fascination.

Moody had a peculiar set of eyes. One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye.

Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "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!" said Fred Weasley loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "For those of you who don't know, The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry. 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."

"Death toll?" Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. Her anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly to one another, and Charlie himself was far more interested in hearing about the tournament than in worrying about deaths that had happened hundreds of years ago.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "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. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.

"Our foreign delegations will be arriving within the next few days, and the selection of the three champions will take place shortly after. 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."

"I'm going for it!" Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches.

He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, Charlie could see people either gazing raptly at his grandfather, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more.

"Eager as I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said softly, "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 -" Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious - "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."

"THAT'S RUBBISH!" roared Fred.

George seemed to agree, "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!"

However, Dumbledore ignored them as he simply raised a hand to the Hall again, and spoke calmly, "Now, I beg that you please respect this decision as it is in the best interest of you, the students. Nonetheless, I would like to impose that each and every single one you, show our visitors of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons the utmost hospitality as they share the school year with us. This tournament is about magical cooperation -"

Albus had continued his speech to include a goodnight, but Charlie's mind had trailed off at the mention of the school names.

The Beauxbatons were coming to Hogwarts...

Meaning, Elaina was coming to Hogwarts...

Charlie gulped as he looked and noticed Hermione's sudden cross expression. The girl was seeping with anger at the thought of seeing that daft bimbo again -

The brown eyed boy had a wave of nervousness flush over him. He probably should've seen this one coming - this must've been what his father kept talking about - but the mere thought of ever seeing Elaina again had slipped his mind after he had fought so hard to patch up his relationship with the bushy haired girl.

Now, they were only destined for more issues -

Well... this year should be interesting.

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Author's Note:
*this chapter was not proof read*

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