Ron Weasley, Deputy Head Auror and caffeine addict, stood in the doorway to Harry’s office with a fresh cup of coffee in hand. “What’s up?” he greeted his friend. He’d started his bad habit of constantly drinking coffee and tea to keep his energy up when he’d had to take over for Harry as the Head of the Auror Department the previous year, and now he was stuck with it.
Harry stretched. “I’m just relaxing. I figure I’m going to have a lot of work to do, judging the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts and working on their security, so I’m taking this chance to rest.”
“Good idea. Hey, I saw you talking to Percy earlier,” Ron mentioned. “What was that about?” He had every right to be curious, as Percy was the Minister of Magic and consequently, their boss.
Harry leaned back in his chair. “It was about the elections. Let me tell you, I’m glad that I didn’t accept when he offered to let me be Minister of Magic. The next election is in May, so he has to start campaigning for reelection already.”
“Who’s his opponent?” asked Ron, settling down in a chair, interested.
“Tancred Apple from the Department of Muggle Relations, believe it or not,” responded the Head Auror, raising an eyebrow, a mannerism that would have earned him a bonk on the head with a pillow, had Haley been around.
“Apple? Oh, gag me with a spoon!” groaned Ron, wrinkling his long, freckled nose.
Harry smirked, eying the spoon that Ron had used to stir sugar into his coffee. “Do you want me to take that literally?” he asked jokingly, pulling out his wand.
“Shut up,” snorted Ron. “But seriously, Pretty Boy Apple? He’s got about all the brains of this cactus!” He gestured toward a small potted cactus on Harry’s desk.
“Please, don’t be rude to the cactus,” sighed Harry. “Yeah, Apple would be a terrible Minister of Magic-- but there’s just one catch.”
“What’s that?”
“He’s newly single,” said Harry.
“Oh dear.” Ron sunk down into his seat.
The students were very busy trying to look as though they weren’t bored to death during the Sorting, almost as busy as they were with the task of trying to convince their stomachs not to growl too loudly. During the Sorting, Haley and Emma liked to play a game that involved inventing lives and personalities for the first years. Ivy and Ted liked to watch, amused, without contributing anything in case the first years overheard and didn’t find it quite as entertaining as they did. And Jordan liked to keep a disapproving look on his face and pretend he wasn’t listening.
“Amherst, Genevieve,” called Professor Granger-Weasley, and a girl with blonde hair and a turned-up nose sat on the stool.
“I bet she got a pedicure and a hairdo done at a fancy salon for the occasion. And I bet her family’s got buckets of money, and they buy her anything she wants, because they never have time for her, and they feel guilty about it. Oh, yeah-- and she probably puts caviar on everything instead of salt and pepper,” Emma whispered, as the hat bellowed “RAVENCLAW!”
Next, a sturdy-looking boy with very short hair, “Brodie, Maxwell,” sloped over to the stool. “I bet he’s got a zillion brothers, and they all play Quidditch a lot, because there are enough of them for two full teams. And he’s a beater, and he keeps hitting bludgers with his head, and he listens to heavy metal music, and he thinks that the Pythagorean Theorum is a pro wrestling move. And he probably picks his nose with his wand,” Haley giggled as the boy in question was sorted into Hufflepuff.
And so they continued until ‘Zelnis, Asta’ became a Slytherin and food appeared on the tables. With a sigh of relief, everyone began to eat ravenously and talk amongst themselves. Two small first years were having a rather interesting conversation, made even more interesting by the fact that they were sitting quite near Ted.
“I heard on the train that Professor Lupin’s a werewolf!” whispered one.
“No way! You’re making that up! The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, a dark creature? That’s some kind of joke!” exclaimed the other.
“”Nope, it’s true! And I heard that he’ll bite you if you don’t do your homework!”
Ivy and Ted exchanged glances. The image of kindly Professor Lupin biting students who hadn’t done their work was laughable. “You want to know something else about Professor Lupin?” put in Ted, leaning toward the first years. They nodded eagerly. “He’s my dad.”
They both gasped. One of them dropped his fork. “Sorry!” he squeaked.
Ted smiled warmly. “It’s okay. By the way, he is a werewolf, and I’m one, too. But we don’t bite people. I mean, seriously, which do you think tastes better, this awesome chocolate éclair, or some person?” He raised his eyebrows, paused dramatically, and took a big bite out of his éclair.
The first years were speechless.
Emma laughed. “Ted, if I were a first year, you’d have just scared me out of a year’s growth.” She took another look at the first years. “And they’re too small to risk that.”
Ted shrugged as he finished off his éclair, accidentally spraying Emma with crumbs as he spoke. “I wasn’t trying to scare them,” he said lightly. “Kind of the opposite, really.”
When the feast ended, Headmistress McGonagall stood up to make a speech. She was quite old-- about ninety, if Ivy’s calculations were correct-- but she didn’t seem it. Her steely grey hair had a thick streak of black in the front that swirled up into her tight bun, her jaw was strong, and her dark eyes were clear.
“Students, I have an extremely important announcement to make,” she proclaimed. “And I waited until after the feast to make it, because I didn’t want your hunger to distract you.” She looked at the crowd of students facing her expectantly. “This year, Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament,” he announced, then paused to allow the students to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ and chatter excitedly.
The five friends, however, weren’t quite as interested in this as everyone else, as Harry had ‘accidentally’ slipped the news to them a few months before. Still, they pretended to act just as surprised as everyone else, Haley going so far as to make an inhumanly loud noise best described as a ‘squee!’
“Now, I’m sure most of you are aware of the disastrous events that occurred at the last Triwizard Tournament, held twenty-five years ago-- and nobody knows what happened during the tournament any better than Mr. Harry Potter. So, as he’s now the head of the Auror department, he’s going to serve as one of our six judges and the Security Advisor for the tournament.”
More murmuring ensued here. Everyone (except for the first years) remembered Mr. Potter as their substitute Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher the previous year, and the way they saw it, his return to Hogwarts was definitely a welcome occurrence.
“Because of the lower level of danger in this tournament, the age requirement has been lowered to fifteen, which means that anyone fifteen or older may enter the tournament, although only one will be chosen to compete. Students representing Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving next week, so you have until then to decide whether you want to enter the tournament. And it is quite a decision to make-- the challenges in which each school’s champions participate will be very difficult and will require extremely hard work and dedication. As a champion, you will represent not only yourself, but the entire school as well.”
These words seemed to ring and reverberate in Jordan’s skull. He wanted the Triwizard cup, not just for the trophy, but for the honour. He wanted to prove that he had what it took to be victorious, to stride up to the front of the room as his name was announced in ringing tones-- “Jordan James Potter.” And he would do what his father hadn’t-- win fair and square, no professors or undercover Death Eaters or others ‘helping’ him.
The other Potter twin was also thinking of the Triwizard Tournament. It would be so much fun to be chosen the school champion… and even better, she would have an audience. She would have her chance to perform for the school, her moment in the spotlight. She knew she was good at the quick and spontaneous thinking that the tournament required”for once her short attention span actually helped her there.
Emma thought wistfully of herself holding the cup above her head. She would love to compete-- she was extremely competitive and brave, and the Triwizard Tournament would be her biggest challenge to overcome yet. She imagined the adrenaline rush she’d get from the hundreds, even thousands of people watching her as she smoked through the three tasks, leaving the other two champions in the dust.
Ivy, however, would have rather eaten a bowl of leeches than enter. She knew that even though there was only a slight possibility that she’d be chosen, she wouldn’t have been able to stand being the Hogwarts champion. She’d be petrified by fear, too nervous to think straight. She’d humiliate herself in front of all of Hogwarts. And besides, it wasn’t like she needed a thousand Galleons. And while Ted had to admit that many things about the Triwizard Tournament were very appealing, he just wasn’t competitive; he would probably politely allow his competitors to pass him by. And he was so uncoordinated, still unused to his long, thin limbs. But he knew he’d enjoy watching the tournament, however, and rooting for whoever the Hogwarts champion was.
McGonagall continued on with several more announcements, but no one really listened to her. They all had an advanced case of tournament on the brain.
After the feast, the friends sat in the Common Room relaxing, with the exception of Jordan, who had gone down to his Muggle Studies classroom. This was the only room in the school in which Muggle devices could operate, and he stored his laptop computer there. His teacher didn’t mind, so long as Jordan didn’t interrupt the other class periods.
In Gryffindor Tower, Ivy was poring over a book, Ted was drawing a cartoon strip that seemed to feature his father eating badly-behaved (and badly-drawn) students, and Emma was futilely trying to instruct Haley in the art of eyebrow-raising.
“I can’t do it!” exclaimed Haley, pacing up and down theatrically. “Why can’t I do it? How am I supposed to be dramatic and mysterious if I can’t raise one eyebrow?”
“I think you’ve got the ‘dramatic’ bit covered, actually,” pointed out Emma. Haley groaned and bopped her on the head with the cushion from the armchair in which she had been sitting.
Evidently, no one had removed the cushion for quite awhile, because the two girls were engulfed in a cloud of dust. As Haley reemerged, coughing, she noticed something. Where the cushion once was, lying on the frame of the chair, was a brown leather-bound book. “I thought that the chair felt kind of lumpy,” muttered Haley.
“Huh?” said Emma.
“Nothing,” replied Haley. She picked up the book and blew off some of the dust. “I’m going to go to bed a little early,” she announced, and made her way toward the girls’ dormitory as her friends bade her goodnight.
But he wasn’t planning on going to sleep just yet-- she had other things to do. Why would someone hide a book? She didn’t normally like to read, but she did like a good scandal.
She flipped the book over and saw, embossed in gold on the cover, the word ‘LEE.’ What kind of title was that, “Lee?” She opened it up to what should have been the title page, but all of the thick, creamy parchment inside was blank. “It’s not a book… it’s a diary…” she whispered to herself. Haley felt a curious urge to write upon the pages, which was odd, as she normally hated writing of any sort.
She dipped her favourite fluffy purple quill into her hot pink ink and wrote, “September 1, 2019. Hi, my name is Haley, I’m fifteen years old, AND I DON’T NEED A GOVERNESS, haha!” She sat back to survey the page, only to find that it was blank. “That’s weird,” she muttered to herself. “I know I wrote on that page.”
But as she scanned the page a second time, she saw something that startled her. Written in ruby-red ink, the words: “Hi, Haley.”
The diary wrote back! “Are you Lee?” wrote Haley, trembling with shock.
“You’ve got it,” replied the red ink.
Haley couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d heard horror stories-- true horror stories-- from her parents about a diary that talked back. And it hadn’t just been a diary. It had contained a fragment of the soul of Lord Voldemort.
“Are you a Horcrux?” she wrote cautiously.
“HALEY! Of course not! Now I’m insulted! Besides, aren’t Horcruxes a banned subject at Hogwarts? How come a fifteen-year-old like yourself knows about Horcruxes, anyway?” demanded Lee.
“My dad told me about them. He’s the Head Auror. How do YOU know about Horcruxes?”
“A boy in my class asked Professor Slughorn about them one time, and he got so mad at him for bringing them up. So then I had to find out. You’d be surprised what kind of information you can find out reading the graffiti on the cubicle walls in the bathroom. What can I say, I’m always getting into things I shouldn’t.”
“Was the boy in your class named Tom Riddle?”
“No, why?”
“Never mind. So, are you a Gryffindor?”
“Naturally! Where did you find this book, the Slytherin common room? Anyway, you’re the first person who’s ever written in this diary (other than me), so I’m guessing it hasn’t been moved. So, what’s up?”
“Well, there’s going to be a Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts. I want to enter, but it’s not like I’m going to get picked or anything.”
“Triwizard? No way! I wish I could see it-- tell me all about it when it happens. Why do you think you won’t get picked?”
“I have a genius twin brother who’s brilliant at pretty much everything. I also have a sister who’s creepily perfect-- not that she’s creepy, you know what I mean-- and a cousin who’s the bravest person and best hexer that I’ve ever met. And I have this friend, Ted, who’s just all-around amazing. Between them all, one of them’s bound to get picked.”
“Well, what are you good at?” asked Lee.
Haley thought about it. There was no need to be modest, as she was talking to a diary. “A lot of things that wouldn’t be much use in the Triwizard Tournament. I’m really good at pulling pranks, and I can sing and dance. Also, I’m getting an O in Divination, and I’m not stupid. I’m just not great at school.”
“Pranks, huh? That’s pretty cool”I’ve definitely known some great pranksters at Hogwarts. But listen, even if you don’t think you’ll be chosen, you should enter the tournament. Better to have tried and failed than not to have tried at all... Don’t tell me your mum’s never said that to you.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right. Except for this one time when I thought I was wrong. Anyway, do you know what a light bulb is?”
“Sure, my brother likes Muggle technology, and my Dad’s Muggle-raised.”
“Well, light bulbs were invented by some guy named Thomas Edison. And when someone asked him how he kept going even after he failed over two thousand times, he said, ‘I didn’t fail. I just learned two thousand ways not to make a light bulb.’”
Haley considered this statement… two thousand ways not to make a light bulb… she could apply that to everything in her life. “I didn’t fail Potions, Dad, I just learned two thousand ways not to write an essay!”
The doorknob on the dormitory door turned, and quickly, Haley stuffed Lee under the mattress. For some reason, she didn’t want anyone else to know about her diary, and she felt guilty about betraying her parent’s trust.
Ivy walked into the dormitory, lugging a huge stack of enormous books, and promptly collapsed onto her bed. “Sale at the library?” asked Haley with a sarcastic smile. Ivy rolled her eyes good-naturedly.
“Yeah, everything was half-price! No, seriously, I just have loads of studying to do.” She opened one of the thick books, pulled out a scroll of parchment and a quill, and began to take notes.
“Why are you doing homework?” Haley asked curiously. “We haven’t had any classes yet!”
Ivy shook her head. “It’s not for school.”
Haley picked her brain for a possible topic her sister could be studying. “Amortentia’s illegal at Hogwarts,” she said, grinning mischievously. “You’ll have to think of some other way to win Ted’s heart.”
Her sister blushed. “It’s nothing to do with that!” she exclaimed. “I’m just trying to get ahead in Transfiguration, that’s all.”
Haley leaned back on her bed. “Whatever you say.”
Meanwhile, the other Potter twin had just received an email from none other than Giorgi. A badly-punctuated email, at that.
To: sgtjpepper@magicwork.co.uk
From: rainbowbrite04@interweb.co.uk
Subj: Hi, Jordan!!
Message:
Helllloooo!! How was your first day of school? Are there a lot of Scottish people there? Do you have to wear a kilt for your uniform? If you did I’d laugh at you. Do they serve haggis for every meal? If they did, I’d vomit.
Sorry I’m so curious about your school, but I’ve never been to Scotland, and I have a bit of an obsession with it. My dad can never get a steady job. I lived in London until I was eight, then we moved to the U.S. and lived in New York City for four years, then we went to Germany for six months, then Australia for a year, then back to London for a few months, and, well, here I am in Godric’s Hollow! YAY!!!
Okay, so I was The New Kid when I came to school, but luckily, I made a bunch of friends. My maths teacher is EVIL though!!!!!! Like, pure evil. I came into first period, and he looked down his nose at me and made some snarky comment about my fashion sense.
Then, later, I got a question wrong”one question, and it was seriously hard”and I said in front of the whole class, “Miss Anderson, do you have any brains at all under that radioactive orange hair of yours?” I just wanted to wring his neck and scream, “WELL, LOOK WHO’S TALKING! YOU’RE NOT LOOKING SO HOT IN THAT HIDEOUS NECKTIE AND BAD COMB-OVER YOU’VE GOT!!!!!!”
Sorry again. I just HATE maths, in case you didn’t notice.
Did you see the football match on last night? It was SO CLOSE!!!!! Manchester United lost by like this much: _______ and that’s not very much at all, now is it?
Write back ASAP!!!!
Cheers,
Giorgi
P.S. Attached is a picture of you in a kilt.
P.P.S. I hope I won’t be ‘kilt’ by you for drawing that picture! Heheheheehe…
P.P.P.S. Sorry for all the P.S.-es!
Jordan shook his head. Giorgi was weird, no doubt about it. He typed up a reply:
To: rainbowbrite04@interweb.co.uk
From: sgtjpepper@magicworks.co.uk
Subj: Re:Hi, Jordan!
Message:
Hello to you, too. My first day of school was fine, if largely uneventful”we’re going to have a sort of contest with two other schools later this year. More on that later, but I know I’m going to enter.
Yes, here are some Scottish people here, Giorgi, no need to get all excited. Our Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, is Scottish herself. And, no, I don’t have to wear a kilt. I might add that I never have and never will. (Sorry to disappoint.)No, we don’t eat haggis, either.
Your maths teacher does sound atrocious; he reminds me of my chemistry teacher, Professor Zabini. He despises my friends and me because he didn’t like our parents when they were in school together, and last ear, he actually spilled a chemical on my lip, and it got horribly swollen.
I’m excellent at maths, and I could help you with your assignments if you want me to.
Actually, I didn’t see the football match. There aren’t any television sets at my school. I’ve been chosen the captain of my school’s football team, though. I really wanted to be a prefect, but instead, I’m team captain. Oh, well.
Write to you later,
Jordan.
He clicked the ‘send’ button. How many things would he have to fabricate in his emails to his Muggle pen friend? Already, he’d changed Zabini to the chemistry Professor, and Quidditch to football”what was next? There was one good thing about writing to a Muggle, though”she’d have never heard of Harry Potter. That meant that she didn’t have any expectations for Jordan, and he didn’t have to try to be anyone. To her, he was normal.
It was a new experience for Jordan. As much as he’d heard of normalcy, he’d never tried it himself before. Being normal was something he’d only dreamed about in the past.
“Harry Potter! It’s nice to meet you at last!” grinned the handsome young man who had just barged into Harry’s office. “I’m Tancred Apple, head of the Department of Muggle Relations.” He shook Harry’s hand firmly.
Apple was very young”he couldn’t be older than twenty-five”and he had wavy, shoulder-length hair that was a glossy shade of chestnut brown. Thousands of women would have killed to meet Apple, and thousands of men would have killed to be him. He was extraordinarily good-looking, with piercing eyes, a strong chin and jaw accentuated by decorative stubble, and a million-dollar smile. All in all, he looked like he belonged in a Hollywood film, playing some lovesick hero, not a Ministry employee.
Harry had always found it rather comical that most people, upon being introduced to him, would exclaim, “Harry Potter!” as though he needed to be reminded of his own name. Apparently, just plain ‘Harry’ or ‘Mr. Potter’ didn’t do him justice.
Apple sat down in a chair in Harry’s office, although you couldn’t just call it ‘sitting’ when it was Apple performing the action. You had to call it ‘lounging’ or something like that, and then you’d have to throw in adverbs like ‘suavely’ or ‘urbanely.’ Probably less than two percent of the human population were capable of evoking an air of dignity and informality, power and humility, and confidence and humbleness just by sitting in a chair, but Tancred Apple possessed this rare talent.
“So, I understand you know the Minister personally?” asked Apple, his voice accentuated by a slight Irish lilt.
Harry nodded. “Yes, I’ve known him since I was eleven. He’s my brother-in-law, too.”
Apple looked impressed. “Wow, so, I gather you’ll be voting for him in the May election?”
The Auror inclined his head. “Can’t say until the election, can I? I have to hear the speeches and the platforms first.” This was of, course, a complete lie”he knew he wouldn’t vote for Tancred Apple for Minister of Magic. The man had cottage cheese for brains. Harry wasn’t sure whether Apple had ever done anything since entering the Ministry besides smiling and signing autographs and kissing babies like some kind of political Gilderoy Lockhart.
Apple seemed to realize that he wouldn’t be able to convert this man despite Harry’s statement and changed tactics. “Well, Mr. Potter, since you’re the security advisor for the upcoming Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts, I wanted to ask you a favour. Could you figure out if I would be allowed to campaign at the school?”
“I really don’t know what to say about that,” Harry told him earnestly. “Naturally, only the sixth and seventh years will be eligible to vote in any case. But you’ll want to speak with Minerva McGonagall on that matter”it’s her responsibility.”
“All right, I’ll do that,” Apple let him know affirmatively, and displayed his movie-star grin again. “Thanks for your help.” And with that, he strode from the office. Harry noticed then that he wasn’t wearing robes like most people”he was dressed in a tailored pinstriped suit and a white shirt with several buttons undone, no tie, and what looked suspiciously like red Converse high-tops.
“What a pansy,” commented Ron as he walked past on his way back from the coffee machine.
“Must you always insult the plants?” tutted Harry.
“Well, his name is Apple,” Ron pointed out.
“True.”