“JORDAN!” yelled Digby Smyth owner of Sorcery Sounds Radio. “Get in here, now.”

Lee Jordan sighed. He hated working for Smyth, but since the recession, advertising budgets had been slashed forcing him to close down his own radio station. A wizard has to eat, he told himself. Besides, although Smyth was a prat, he paid Lee a decent wage valuing his experience and popularity with the listeners. He strolled into his boss’ office.

“You need to see me?”

Smyth looked up from a copy of the Daily Prophet and showed Lee the headline.

Triwizard Tournament Returns!
In a bolt from the blue today, the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt will announce the return of the Triwizard Tournament. After months of discussion between the Heads of Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons it has been decided that the venue for the tournament will be Beauxbatons. Our ‘Inside Knowledge’ columnist, Lavender Brown, will be bringing you step-by-step- coverage of the tournament as it unfolds. (... continued on pages 3,5 and 9.)

“Why didn’t we have this story, Jordan?” demanded Smyth as he slammed his fist on the desk. “How come the bloody Prophet scooped us again?”

Lee sighed again. “It’s Lavender Brown, Digby. She has a source at the Ministry.”

“Source, don’t give me that! I thought you were friendly with the great Harry Potter. Don’t tell me you can’t get stories like this.”

Lee glowered. He hated using his friends the way Lavender appeared to use hers but then, he mused, Lavender had the killer instinct whereas he just wanted to entertain.

Smyth leant across his desk. “You, Jordan, will get your arse out to France. I want to know who the champions are, what the tasks are, and all the inside gossip before the Prophet �“ or you’re out!”

“Sure thing, boss,” replied Lee. “I’ll go home and pack now.”

“Don’t bother! Just get out to Beauxbatons and get me that scoop!”

***

Lavender Brown read through her articles on pages three, five and nine of the Daily Prophet and smiled. She knew some of her colleagues were convinced she was sleeping with someone pretty high up at the Ministry to get her information, (the last rumour concerned Kingsley Shacklebolt and a Kneazle) but then she’d had a reputation since Hogwarts and it didn’t bother her any more �“ not really. She was no longer a gauche, lovelorn girl of seventeen but a sophisticated witch of the world. At thirty-six years old, Lavender had made her way in the world of journalism, not by backstabbing, but by being bloody good at her job. It had been a stroke of genius recruiting the Ministry receptionist. With him on board, and the Prophet supplementing his wages, she managed to get wonderful scoops like this. She put down the paper and wandered up to her bedroom. She had her packing to sort out and a Floo connection to catch before nightfall, if she wanted to be at Beauxbatons before the delegations from Hogwarts and Durmstrang arrived.

***

“And now, live from Beauxbatons Ecole de Magic, Sorcery Sounds Radio brings you a special report from our very own Lee Jordan.” The announcer’s voice blared out into Lee’s earpiece. He held the Magiphone before him and spoke clearly, knowing his voice would be entering hundreds of wizarding homes across Great Britain.

“I’m here in the Banqueting Hall of Beauxbatons awaiting the arrival of the Hogwarts students. As you know the Durmstrang ship arrived a few hours earlier. Their Headmaster, Vladimir Medev, has brought along twenty of his finest students. But controversy has already reared its ugly head because they are all male. Is this a fair competition if it is only open to one half of the magical population? Or is it simply that a wizard has a far better chance of winning the Triwizard Tournament than a witch? I hear your owls have already been winging their way to the Sorcery Sounds’ studio with differing views. The question we are asking is this: will Hogwarts do the same? I don’t think we’ll have to wait very long for an answer, for... yes ... I can see something approaching through the sky. My word! It’s magnificent! Hogwarts is sending its team via flying train. It’s the Hogwarts Express in the air!”

Lee whooped with joy. It had been years since he’d seen the train and looked on it with such fond memories. Remember the tarantula, Fred? he thought gleefully. Lee often spoke to Fred. He still missed him, but did not feel that aching sadness anymore, rather he felt joy when he remembered all the fun they’d shared.

“The train has landed and stepping out of the first carriage I see... oh ... now that is a surprise. Headmistress McGonagall does not appear to be with the delegation ... instead it’s Deputy Headmistress Septima Vector who is leading the students out.” He stopped as an owl suddenly flew overhead and dropped a missive in his hand. “I’ve just been informed that Professor McGonagall is unwell, so will not be attending the opening ceremony. That must be upsetting for her but I’m sure Professor Vector will fill her shoes adequately. And I can tell you, listeners, that unlike Durmstrang, the Hogwarts team is mixed. There are ten wizards and ten witches all hoping for the chance to compete for Hogwarts. They are now entering the hall to a rapturous reception from the sporting Beauxbatons staff and students, and �“ on that heartening note �“ I shall hand you back to our London studio.”

Lee gazed at the students and had a sudden longing to be with them �“ not to compete �“ but to be urging one of them on to victory. He looked across to Lavender who was scribbling notes down in a notebook with a purple-feathered quill. She saw him and nodded so he walked over to her.

“Brings it all back, doesn’t it?” he said. “The Tournament and Hogwarts, I mean.”

Lavender smiled at him. “Yeah, exciting times, weren’t they? I can still remember Harry getting that egg from the dragon as clear as if it were yesterday. It was great to be a Gryffindor that night.”

Lee grinned at her. “I wonder what the tasks will be this time. Any ideas?” he asked casually.

Lavender narrowed her eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Jordan,” she muttered and then relented. “Olympe Maxime is still in charge and she’s keeping things close to her very ample chest. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

They walked across to the top table. Madame Maxime had been anxious to court good publicity for the Tournament which was being held in her final year as headmistress. She gestured for them to sit down with the other journalists.

“Is there anything you can tell us about the first task, Madame Maxime?” asked Lavender quickly.

“Eet is a secret, Mademoiselle Brown,” replied Madame Maxime, squinting through her pince-nez at the name badge that had magically appeared on Lavender’s robe. “But, eet is something I know the ‘Ogwarts contingent will approve of.”

Lee could see Lavender writing this all down. He picked up his own quill and hastily scrawled a note on his shirt cuff to use later when he did his next live piece. Lavender smirked at him.

“Are there any changes to the rules from the last time the Tournament was held, Madame?” he asked.

“Ah, Monsieur Jordan, I ‘ave ‘eard you on the radio when I ‘ave visited a friend in Britain,” she said with enthusiasm. “We ‘ave kept the same rules. Only students who are of age will be able to compete. We ‘ave also increased the judges. There will be the ‘Eads of the three schools, naturellement, but we also 'ave a representative from each countries’ sports departments in their Ministries.”

“Bet you five Galleons her friend is Hagrid,” Lee whispered. Lavender giggled; she’d forgotten how amusing Lee could be.

“Who is it likely to be from our Ministry?” whispered Lavender. “Bagman must be past it by now.”

“Oh, good Godric!” exclaimed Lee as he caught sight of someone walking into the hall. “It’s Oliver Wood!”

Lavender’s head whipped around. All at once she felt herself catapulted back to her third year at Hogwarts when she had the most monumental crush on the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. She tried to concentrate on a question from a French journalist who was asking when the champions would be selected.

“In keeping with tradition, the champions from each school will be selected at the Halloween Feast,” the Beauxbatons Headmistress replied.

“That’s tomorrow,” whispered Lee. He made a mental note to interview some of the Hogwarts students.

***

“And so the scene has been set for another monumental Triwizard Tournament. Madame Maxime has already confirmed that the age limit of seventeen will remain and she promised that the first task will be of interest to those of us close to Hogwarts. What this means is any wizards’ guess,” reported Lee. He turned to the student standing next to him. “I have with me two young hopefuls from Hogwarts, Shirley Flint and Benedict Davis. First of all, to you, Shirley, why do you want to be the Hogwarts Champion?”

Lee admired the cool way Shirley leant into the Magiphone and replied, “I’m proud of three things, Lee. I’m a witch. I’m a Hogwarts student and I’m in Slytherin. I want to show that I have what it takes to be the best. Slytherin House has a lot of dark history to deal with and I’d like to make Hogwarts proud of us again.” She smiled at him and Lee smiled back, finding that he was warming to the girl.

“And you, Benedict. Do you have what it takes to be the Triwizard Champion?” Lee asked.

“Absolutely!” he replied. “You need brains as well as brawn to become the Champion and as a Ravenclaw and a Quidditch player, I think I’ve proved I have both.” He leered slightly at Shirley who moved away.

“Thank you,” said Lee quickly. “And now back to the studio where I believe there is news of Headmistress McGonagall’s illness.” He cut the broadcast link and turned to the students. “Were you disappointed that Professor McGonagall was unable to make the trip?”

“Not really,” brayed Davis. “Vector’s not nearly as strict as old McGonagall.”

Lee hid a grin as he watched Shirley move even further away from Davis.

***

The Halloween Feast was in full swing as Lee entered the Banqueting Hall. Beauxbatons celebrated Halloween in much the same way as Hogwarts. There were tables piled high with delicious food and French ghosts walked through them rattling chains (apart from a rather annoying mime ghost that Lee had an urge to punch very hard �“ although he knew his fist would go straight through the painted face.). He walked across to where Oliver was sitting with Lavender. She seemed to have reverted to a giggling schoolgirl. Lee had always admired her professionalism, but now she was behaving like a Quidditch groupie.

“Lee,” exclaimed Oliver with the air of someone desperate to escape. “Good to see you, again. How’s radio land?”

“Not bad,” replied Lee as he pulled a chair out from the table. “I’d rather be my own boss again, though.”

Oliver smiled sympathetically. “Yeah,” he said, sighing. “Sitting behind a desk all day, regulating Quidditch for the Ministry instead of playing has been hard too.”

“Why did you leave, then?” asked Lavender. “It’s not as if you were carrying a big injury. From what I know you were still playing exceptionally well. And you still look remarkably ... um ... fit.”

“Quit while you’re ahead, Miss Brown,” murmured Oliver. “That’s what I believe. I left when I was still at the top of my game.” He paused. “You can quote me on that if you want.”

“Oh,” Lavender replied, looking flustered. “This conversation isn’t for the paper. It’s strictly off the record.”

Oliver raised one eyebrow sardonically. “Yeah, right,” he murmured in undertone to Lee.

Lee grinned and then, out of the corner of his eye he saw Madame Maxime stand up. A hush descended on the room. Lee stood up quickly and began to talk into his Magiphone.

“This is Lee Jordan with up to the minute coverage of the Triwizard Tournament. You are listening to the voice of Madame Olympe Maxime, the Headmistress of Beauxbatons.”


“Madams, Monsieurs, Mademoiselles, wizards and witches of the Press,” called Madame Maxime. “The time has come for the Goblet of Fire to choose the three champions.”

“And so,” continued Lee, “as Madame Maxime extinguishes the lights from the Banqueting Hall, the blue-white flames from the Goblet seem to glow even brighter. It is deathly quiet here at Beauxbatons as the Goblet makes its decision. I can see the Hogwarts students gazing as one into the flames, all hoping, all praying �“ that they will be the one to bring glory to their school.”

Lee was not exaggerating. As he looked at them his attention was caught by a girl sitting opposite Shirley Flint. She seemed, if possible, to be staring more intensely than anyone else at the Goblet. There was a determination about her that made her stand out from all the other students in that hall. Lee wondered what would happen if her name were not called.

“A piece of parchment erupts from the flames and lands in Madame Maxime’s hands. Let us see who the first Champion is.”

“The champion for Beauxbatons,” declaimed Madame Maxime, “is Thierry Jeunefleur!”

They watched as a stocky, brown-haired boy stood up, received the applause from his fellow students, and was ushered into a side room by one of the Beauxbatons teachers.

“That’s unusual,” Lee heard Lavender say. “I thought the host schools’ champion would appear last, not first.”

Oliver shrugged. “We don’t really know as records weren’t kept for many of the early tournaments. We can, after all, only remember the last one.”

“The champion for Durmstrang will be Alexei Grindelwald!”

“What?” blurted out Lee, forgetting for a moment that he was reporting live. “That’s a shock. Alexei Grindelwald, the great- great grandson of the infamous Gellert Grindelwald, defeated by our own Albus Dumbledore, is the champion representing Durmstrang.”

Lee noticed the lack of cheering that greeted the Durmstrang student’s name. It seemed Alexei had more to live down than even the Slytherins. He sidled out of the room and through the door that Jeunefleur had taken.

Lee turned his attention back to the Goblet. It was spluttering and he saw the flames turn red again. The Goblet was taking its time. A low level murmuring suffused the hall. Lee watched as the Hogwarts students glanced nervously about them. All except the girl Lee had spotted earlier; her eyes were still fixed only on the flames. She was extraordinarily beautiful but looked far too frail to be a serious contender. Then, as she swept back her red-gold hair Lee was reminded of another girl. Frail, my arse, he thought. Jordan, you’re becoming soft in your old age.

“A small scrap of parchment bursts forth from the Goblet. It floats down, most delicately, into the hand of Madame Maxime. She is looking at the paper and she is nodding her approval. What name has she read?”

“The champion for ‘Ogwarts is Victoire Weasley!”