To me, an escaped wizard convict is no different than a Muggle one. They are both supposedly crazy, have supposedly murdered in cold blood, and are supposedly out to murder again. Who knows? Maybe a ruthless convict is really an innocent victim who wants to escape unjust imprisonment. But everybody seems so sure about Sirius Black that I can’t help but think they’re right.
Posters of him are all over the place, offering a 10,000-galleon reward to anyone who manages to catch him. He allegedly killed thirteen people with one blow, in front of plenty of eye witnesses. I suppose there’s no way out of something like that. How can he possibly have been framed?
Nonetheless, his capture would be of no difference to me whatsoever. So I shove Sirius Black out of my mind, indifferently picking up a Charms essay to work on.
Draco is practically jumping up and down with happiness. The hippogriff that belongs to Professor Hagrid had hurt him at the start of the semester. Of course, being Draco, he couldn’t let that go and admit he had made a stupid mistake by insulting the beast. His father was called in, and somehow a decision was made that the poor creature would have to be executed.
Draco is being very arrogant about it, in my opinion. He’s mocking Professor Hagrid whenever he gets the chance. I don’t care. Although sometimes inklings of sympathy within me reach out to the huge man, I must admit a small, microscopic part of me occasionally enjoys the teasing and the laughter at his expense. I’m afraid Draco might have rubbed off on me.
Speaking of Draco, last night he was seething. Apparently Hermione Granger, or as Draco had said “that filthy Mudblood,” had slapped him across the face. He’s been muttering and cursing under his breath ever since. Quite amusing, actually.
It’s scandalous. Sirius Black had been captured, locked up in the North Tower, and a while later he disappeared. It’s a complete mystery to everyone as to how he managed to escape, since the door only opens from the outside. Not only that, but Buckbeak, Hagrid’s hippogriff, also managed to escape. Draco keeps complaining about that, too. Honestly, sometimes it’s too tiring to listen to him bad-mouth everyone. It gets tedious after a while.
For some reason, Professor Snape’s mood is at an all-time low. He’s been treating Potter, Granger, and Weasley with as much foulness as he can muster. It’s obvious to everyone that his hatred for Potter has definitely escalated in the last few weeks. I wonder what happened to cause that elevation, though.
My fourth year at Hogwarts starts rationally enough, and I do not expect anything to make this year any different from its counterparts. However, I am shocked when Professor Dumbledore announces that an event known as “the Triwizard Tournament” is going to take place at Hogwarts this year. After Dumbledore is done explaining what this Tournament is, he mentions that the two other schools that are going to compete will arrive sometime in October. I have half a mind to compete. It’s not hard to imagine: standing there with the winning trophy in my hands, basking in glory… it’s not a terrible option to consider. However, this thought is unpleasantly driven out of my mind by Dumbledore’s next words: “Only students who are of age “ that is to say, seventeen years or older “ are eligible to compete.”
Many protesting voices rise, and Dumbledore raises his as well, assuring that this is only for safety of the younger students. I stare at him in disgust. Nobody here is that young “ most of us can fend for ourselves. It should be our choice whether we enter or not, our responsibility to know our own limits.
The other two schools, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic from France and Durmstrang Institute from somewhere in the far North, have arrived. The students from Beauxbatons appear dainty and underfed. The latter look quite the opposite, with husky figures and strong voices. Draco is sucking up to Viktor Krum, a Durmstrang Quidditch player who is apparently very famous.
As soon as the judge, who will choose only one champion from each school, is recognized, the entrees begin. This judge happens to be a small chalice that devours added parchments in blue fire. To ensure that no one underage inserts their name, Dumbledore has added an Age Line around the Goblet.
The night of the judging, everyone is apprehensive. The air is saturated with the unease and anxiety of hopeful volunteers and supporters of those volunteers. Dumbledore seats himself in front of the Goblet and grabs the piece of parchment that the Goblet ‘spits’ out.
“Fleur Delacour,” he reads carefully. A girl from Beauxbatons stands up and struts to the door beside the staff table, for that is where the school Champions are to go when they are chosen “ to receive their first task, perhaps? A second name is emanated from the strange blue chalice.
Again, Dumbledore reads the name cautiously, as if afraid to mispronounce a single letter. “Viktor Krum.”
The boy Draco has been sucking up to is modest about his choosing. He calmly follows Fleur’s path to the door. The Hogwarts Champion is Cedric Diggory. The Hufflepuff table explodes with cheers. The Slytherins’ heads droop like wilted flowers. Someone from our House had entered, but I did not care, nor did I cheer for anyone. If I couldn’t enter, I really couldn’t be happy for anyone else that could.
Just as we turn away from Dumbledore, the Goblet unearths another piece of parchment. I squint my eyes in puzzlement, along with most everyone else. With a sense of impending dread and doom, Dumbledore reads out the lettering on the parchment. “Harry Potter.” It seems that whenever Harry Potter is in the vicinity, amazing things occur with no rational motive.
The Great Hall is dead silent. There is no cheering or booing. Just nothing, merely the emptiness that is always present after shock. Harry Potter is told to walk through the door the other Champions have walked through as well. After Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape disappear after him, the Hall erupts into stunned whispers and protesting yells.
Harry Potter, whether against or by his will, I do not know, is Hogwarts Champion along with Cedric Diggory. The other schools are, of course, furious about this unfair situation, but I assume there is nothing they can do about it. Strangely, the other Houses are also furious at Potter, especially Hufflepuff. You would think they would at least be happy that our school has a higher chance of winning.
The months pass, and the Champions pass the first task with flying colors. Stealing an egg from a dragon “ certainly not the equivalent of stealing candy from a baby.
A while after the first task, news spreads about a “Yule Ball.” So this is what use our dress robes will be put to. I had been slightly perturbed when the school had requested dress robes along with the school uniform.
I wonder if I should ask someone, or wait until someone asks me. I don’t want to wait too long. I’m not arrogant; I know I am not the prettiest, nor the most popular girl in our school, so my chances of getting asked are not high. However, there is no one in particular I would like to ask.
I am in luck, though. A boy in my year, Theodore Nott, confidently asks me. I have never had any run-ins with Theodore, nor have I ever spoken to him on more than one occasion, but I don’t refuse the offer. What good would it do?
On the night of the dance, I am in my dress robes of dark purple. I have left my wavy hair untied and let it flow to my waist. I have held back a strand with a lavender barrette.
Theodore is dressed in navy blue, and his long hair is brushed back and tied neatly with a matching ribbon. He looks undeniably handsome.
The Ball is, however, uneventful. Theodore and I dance a number of times. His chatter is intriguing, and I find myself more inclined to speak to him then ever to Draco. Theodore is quite charismatic “ his company isn’t unpleasant.
Theodore bids me goodnight with a light kiss “ very succinct “ and a hesitant smile. I smile back briefly, and head up to my dormitory.
The end of the third task is chaotic. Harry Potter has just popped out of the maze that is the third task, clutching Cedric Diggory’s dead body in his arms. Dumbledore approaches him and pries Cedric out of his hands. Then Professor Moody, a weirdo if I ever saw one, takes him away from the tumultuous atmosphere.
The next day, Dumbledore makes a speech about the return of Voldemort. As soon as he says the name, people gasp. I look up sharply as this happens. “Voldemort…” I whisper to myself. Draco hears me.
“The darkest, most evil wizard who ever lived, Charlotte,” Draco says condescendingly.
“I know who he is, Draco,” I reply scathingly. “I’m not that ignorant.” He shrugs indifferently and turns away.
In fact, Voldemort had been occupying my mind for quite some time… I am not yet sure what my brain is thinking of in regards to him, though. Or rather, I can’t bring myself to admit towards what path my thoughts are straying.