Chosen (Again)
Almost two months after their arrival, Richard, Cecil, and Eliza, found themselves yet again in a carriage, now with the addition of a fourth-year Gryffindor. This time, however, no chatter filled the chilly silence between them. Each was left alone with his, or her, own thoughts about the upcoming tournament. The inside of the carriage remained comfortably warm, but from the swirling snow outside, Richard knew he did right by bringing his winter coat.
Soon, a small stone castle surrounded by majestic peaks came into view. Lights flickered in the windows, and miniscule figures were moving about on the outside with candles. The carriages landed smoothly in the snow, and the four Hogwarts students emerged into the frosty night.
Headmistress Derwent was already outside, whispering to a dark, harsh-looking man in blood-red robes who was rubbing his moustache. The students of Durmstrang who greeted them also wore severe expressions on their faces, though some looked on with curious eyes. They wore matching furs and maroon robes, each emblazoned with the Durmstrang crest. There was a group to the side, however, that sported the blue silky robes and the Beauxbatons emblem and crowded around a haughty-looking woman.
The mustached man smiled widely, revealing several missing teeth. “Welcome, Hogwarts, to Durmstrang Institute.” His words were thick with an accent. “I am Headmaster Mirko. Please, please. Come in for our feast.” On cue, the students in red robes turned and headed indoors, leading the pack of black-robed and blue-robed students to the feasting hall.
The hall was simple, only decorated with banners of a thundercloud emitting a lone thunderbolt, the Durmstrang crest. Several round tables, each with four chairs, were arranged underneath a rather plain ceiling (any ceiling was plain in comparison to the ceiling of the Great Hall). At the end of the hall, much like that at Hogwarts, a rectangular table had been set up, and the professors of Durmstrang were already seated. The Durmstrang students were already standing next to the chairs they had already chosen.
“We are a small school,” Headmaster Mirko explained, “and see no reason to divide our meager numbers into Houses or Quadrangles.” He nodded to the Hogwarts students and Beauxbatons students respectively. “Please seat yourself at any table, though we encourage you to embrace the spirit of unity and sit with another school. Professor Derwent, Lady Larogue, please join me at the head table.”
Richard’s schoolmates hesitated before heading toward the closest cluster of tables. Richard found himself at a table again with his friends and the Gryffindor boy whose name he recalled was Peter Murrell. Richard looked around as he waited for the feast to start. The students clad in blue took up four tables as well and were looking quite put out by the lack of splendor of their surroundings as well as the cold. He found that gossip had, for the first time, proven true; the students of Beauxbatonss were remarkably pretty. Most had decorated themselves with pale powder and lavish hats. The Durmstrang students, on the other hand, seemed indifferent to their guests and chatted amongst themselves. Richard had first attributed their sour looks to the bitter weather outside, but while his own mood became warm again, those of his hosts did not seem to change.
After the delicious, and relatively exotic, meal, the Durmstrang students drifted off, leaving the Beauxbatonss and Hogwarts students perplexed and uncomfortable. Finally, a burly young man approached Richard and his schoolmates.
“Hello,” he spoke slowly, as if unsure of his words. “I am Mihail Veneva. I am to take two of yous to the room.”
The Hogwarts students looked at each other, uncertain of what to do. “Blimey,” Cecil muttered. “I’ll go. No use standing out here when we’re all dead on our feet.” Richard murmured his agreement and said a quick bye to Eliza.
Mihail led Cecil and Richard up the stairs and through the long, dark corridors. In the dim light, Richard squinted to get a better look at his new Durmstrang companion. Though Mihail was as tall as him, Richard felt dwarfed when standing behind the thicker boy. Mihail’s face was marred by several faint scar lines, as if he’d been in many skirmishes, a fact accented by his crooked nose. Otherwise, his features were angular and strong, and he would’ve been quite the ladies’ man if it weren’t for his dull, grey eyes that stared blankly ahead.
Mihail stopped in front of an unmarked door to their right and opened it without knocking. Wordlessly, he cast a spell, and an oil lamp on a dresser lit up the small room. Richard could see four beds “ cots, really “ arranged along the walls, two on each side. One bed in the far corner was already inhabited; Richard could make out the faint outline of a body lay huddling beneath the covers. A small dresser sat between each bed, and a trunk for other personal possessions lay at the foot of each bed. The insignificant window in the middle of the back wall allowed Richard a glimpse of the snowstorm outside. Nothing decorated the shabby room that reminded him of a hospital room.
Without an introduction, Mihail walked to the bed next to his roommate and began taking off his shoes. Cecil tripped over to the nearest bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillow. Silently, Richard moved their bags, which had been lying next to the door, to the beds. The excitement for what lay ahead of him began to wear off, and Richard soon found himself dragging his feet as he walked back and forth with the luggage.
Fighting off his own sleepiness, Richard stopped by Cecil, who was now snoring quite loudly, to take off his friend’s boots and to throw a quilt over his body. He was used to taking care of Cecil much like he took care of his own brothers and sisters back home, but he still felt self-conscious as he felt his strange Durmstrang roommate’s scrutinizing gaze on his every move. Finally, he trudged over to his own bed and fell asleep, dreaming of dark snow and unsmiling strangers.
The next morning, Richard found himself at breakfast with Glover Hipworth, a seventh year Hufflepuff. He had awoken alone with only the sleeping Cecil in the room; by the looks of the neatly made beds, his other two roommates had already left. Cecil had refused to budge from his bed when Richard called to him, and he had no idea where Eliza was.
While Richard made small talk with Hipworth, Eliza stormed into the quiet hall, her blonde hair a wild mess. She stalked over to Richard’s table and gloomily sat down, breaking the silence of the dining hall with the scraping of her chair.
Hipworth, who was not as used to such public portrayal of emotion, looked uneasily at the slouching Eliza, but Richard, who put up with Eliza’s passionate and often childish tendencies, asked without looking up, “What’s the matter with you?”
Eliza huffed. “If they think for a moment that I would stand such treatment while biting my tongue, they’re dead wrong,” she proclaimed, drawing several disapproving glares from the Beauxbatons girls. She furiously glowered back. “One of them had decided to remark on the lack of shine my hair had, and “ “
Just then, the doors opened once more, and a graceful brunette donning the light blue Beauxbatons robes glided in. Richard, who had always tried to act as gentlemanly as possible, could not help staring at the beauty whose honey scent wafted over to their table. At once, Eliza’s face became ever more menacing as the girl danced by.
As if feeling the burning of Eliza’s stare, the girl looked down and, upon seeing animosity in Eliza’s face, flashed a perfect, white smile with raised eyebrows. Then her clear blue eyes flickered to Richard, and her broad grin widened. She continued to a table occupied by her classmates but not before she winked at Richard over her shoulder.
The gasp elicited from Eliza at such as promiscuous act fell on deaf ears. Glover was grinning stupidly at the Beauxbatons girl’s back, and Richard, too, was similarly staring, shocked.
“Why, the nerve of such a girl,” Eliza was saying shrilly when a sleepy Cecil sat down. “Did you see what she did?”
Cecil winced. “It’s too early in the morning, Eliza.”
Seeing no support from her schoolmates, Eliza stood up irately and stormed out the room.
“Where’s she going?” Cecil helped himself to Richard’s pancakes. “She’s going to miss the presentation of the Goblet.”
Indeed, at the end of breakfast, the three heads of each school walked in followed by two harassed-looking wizards carrying a jewel-encrusted chest. “Attention please,” Headmaster Mirko announced unnecessarily, for the room was already silent. “Those of you who are interested in participating in the tournament, please place your names and school here in the Goblet of Fire.” He tapped his wand on the lid of the wooden chest and withdrew a plain wooden cup carefully.
Richard and Cecil gasped as blue flames licked the edges of the otherwise unimportant goblet. Cries of “Sacrebleu!” echoed from the Beauxbatons tables. Even the Durmstrang students stared curiously at the Goblet of Fire.
“You will have until tomorrow morning to submit your parchment. The Goblet will choose the Champions impartially tomorrow during supper. Until then, you may enter the dining hall at any time to put in your parchment.”
As the five adults disappeared from the hall to an unseen room, there was a mad scramble for parchment and quills. Some of the Beauxbatons girls were trying to write on scraps of parchment with a feather from their elaborate hats and syrup.
“Blast, I don’t have any parchment or ink with me,” Cecil swore after he managed to find a quill in his robe pockets.
“No worries, mate,” Richard replied calmly. “The goblet will still be here during lunch.” As he took a sip of tea, thoughts were swirling violently in his mind.
Now that he was here, he was not as confident as he had been in Hogwarts. If he put his name in, there was a chance, a slim one, that he’d be chosen to be Hogwarts’ Champion. If he was Champion, he’d be obligated to participate in the tournament and compete against not only Durmstrang and Beauxbatons but other darker and more dangerous creatures and obstacles. He had heard the stories, his mother made sure he had when he told her of his decision. Could he honestly risk his life, and possibly the well-being of his own family, for a thousand Galleons?
Then he remembered the grime and filth of the place he called home. As much as his mother cleaned it, with five young children, it was hard to keep anything away from dirt. His entire family relied on his income over the summer, a few Galleons a week for looking after Whizzhard Books, and while he was away at school, his mother worked odd jobs for Muggles. In front of her younger children, Mum had strongly maintained a positive façade, but with Richard, she sometimes slipped and showed the damaged and tired soul she was.
A thousand Galleons could sustain them for a lifetime.
During lunch, Richard approached the goblet with his parchment. Even though a voice in his mind nagged at him to stop, he walked forward, head held high, and placed the slip in the blue flames. Immediately, the fire consumed the parchment without so much as residue to remind Richard of what he’d just done.
“Gaunt and Taylor changed their minds,” Cecil whispered to Richard the next day at dinner. “That Gryffindor bloke was also just pacing in front of the goblet. And I haven’t seen Eliza at all after class.”
“She’d put in her name,” Richard replied absentmindedly. He’d seen her come out of the dining hall with her head high as she marched right in front of her Beauxbatons roommate. He kept a steady eye on the goblet whose flames danced at the front of the room teasingly.
“Headmistress is looking rather pale, isn’t she?” Cecil nodded toward Professor Derwent who did indeed look several shades whiter than she had a few weeks ago. She was looking at each of the Hogwarts students with worry etched in her features. “The tasks must be horrible this year,” Cecil commented, blanching as well.
With a noisy arrival most had now associated with her, Eliza bustled into the room, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Where’ve you been?” Cecil asked as he watched Eliza catch her breath.
“Shh, they’re about to start.” Richard hesitated before looking away from the mischievous glint in Eliza’s eyes.
“The goblet,” Headmaster Mirko announced, not bothering to keep the excitement from his voice, “is about to announce the Champions. Would the three named individuals come up to the front of the hall please?”
The torches were blown out suddenly, whether by wind or on purpose for a more dramatic effect, Richard did not know. For whatever reason, the hall was plunged into total darkness, emphasizing the beauty and light the goblet emitted.
The flames turned brighter and brighter. Richard found himself shielding his eyes from the vivid light until it suddenly turned a bright red. Sparks flew in all directions when suddenly, a burst of flame shot up into the air, carrying a charred piece of parchment. Headmaster Mirko caught the parchment and read in a deep voice, “The Durmstrang Champion is…Mihail Veneva!”
The thunderous roar of approval erupted from the front tables. Richard applauded politely watched as his roommate sauntered to the front of the room, accepting congratulations proudly. He stood with his feet apart and faced the dining hall with a satisfied grin on his face.
The now blue flames flickered as if eager to spout the next name. The cheers died down, and once again, the fire turned red. A tongue of flames propelled a second slip out. “The Beauxbatons Champion is… Sylvie Bontecou!”
Richard was surprised when Eliza stood up and clapped so vehemently as her Beauxbatons roommate tripped gracefully to the front of the room. That familiar rogueish smile widened, and Richard knew Eliza had done something to the poor Beauxbatons champion. But before he could ponder this any more, the cacophony of the dining hall died again as the flames turned that ominous red.
Richard had prepared himself as best he could for this moment, repeatedly assuring himself that chosen or not, it was good news all the same.
“The Hogwarts Champion is…Richard Cudney!”
He hardly heard the shouts of surprise around him, and he certainly didn’t know he’d stood up. Suddenly, even the agonizingly bright light of the Goblet of Fire dimmed as Richard slumped to the floor.
End notes: This chapter follows as closely to canon as my knowledge of the Harry Potter universe as of July 2, 2007 allows. Any information revealed to be false by Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows will not be changed.
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