As a result, the only person who wasn’t studying more than ever before was Ivy, who was extremely disciplined with her O.W.L.s studying, but seemed to have dropped the exhaustive studying that had consumed all of her time before. Because of this (and a few other reasons, which may have started with a ‘T’ and ended with an ‘ed’), she was much happier and livelier than before.
Speaking of Ted, that night was a full moon, and he was feeling rather nervous. This had absolutely nothing to do with transformation and absolutely everything to do with facing Arden. She’d had a nasty stomach virus the previous month and spent her transformation in a closed-off section of the hospital wing, but Ted now had no way to avoid her.
He felt horribly guilty just remembering the anguish in the girl’s voice as she had fled, sobbing, down the hallway at the Yule Ball, and because of him. It just didn’t seem right. He was Ted Lupin, the one who always made everyone feel better, the nice one. How could he have made a girl cry?
But how could he have pleased both Arden and Ivy? He knew that both of them liked him, as strange as the idea seemed to him. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be Tyrone Thomas. No matter what he chose to do, someone would be upset… but although he couldn’t have possibly taken both girls to the ball, he still felt horrible.
He didn’t feel any better when he entered the Shrieking Shack and saw Arden, slumped over on one of the beds with her hair falling in her face. She didn’t look up or acknowledge his presence when he entered.
“Arden,” he said softly, swallowing a cold, bitter lump in his throat not unlike radish sorbet. “Look at me.”
“Why?” came the response, and even in Arden’s soft, French-accented voice, she managed to pack pain and resentment into that one word.
“Because I want to talk to you,” he said. She still didn’t turn toward him, so he sat down next to her. He’d expected her to move away from him, but she didn’t. “Listen, I feel really awful about letting you have a bad time at the ball. You didn’t deserve that.”
“You say that now, but I know that although you try to be kind to me, you know I am just a monster,” Arden told him in a hard, brittle voice.
Ted’s jaw dropped, and he got to his feet. “How can you say that?” he exclaimed, his voice hushed with scandalized shock. He brushed back his bangs to reveal his mangled and mutilated right temple. “Why would I think you’re a monster? Seriously, Arden, I think I know better than anyone else at this school that being a werewolf does not make you a monster.”
Arden still didn’t say anything, but he looked her in the eye and said, “I’m sorry you didn’t have a good time. But, I mean, we still could’ve“just because I brought a date doesn’t mean that I can’t talk to my other friends. ‘Cause you’re a great friend, and I don’t want to lose a friend to something like this. I really miss talking to you.”
Arden looked slightly less upset, but her eyes were still dark and sad. “I know it is selfish of me to think it but… I wished you would…that you would… that I could be in Ivy’s place.”
“Oh, no,” Ted said softly. “I, erm, really don’t know what to say. I…I can’t pretend I like you in any way other than as friends. But the thing is, well… I don’t think you like me as much as you think you do. Wow, that made no sense, but what I’m saying is, I’m the only person you know. I’m your only friend. And believe me, if you get to know the kids at your school, you’ll find someone you like a lot more than a goofy, scarecrow-type bloke like me. I promise.”
The French girl’s eyes were wide as she listened to the warm cadence of Ted’s voice. And then, she did something quite unexpected. She gave him a quick, light hug. “I know it’s not your fault,” she stated. “I should not have been angry with you. Perhaps… you can help me to know more people? Someday?”
Ted grinned. “I know at least four people who would love to meet you,” he said. “They all want to know who this mysterious Arden I keep going on about is.” He turned his head. “I know you’re still not too thrilled with me. I wasn’t expecting you to forgive me this quickly“but it’s cool to be friends again. If you“”
But he broke off in mid-sentence as he felt the moonlight flood his body and twist it until it was no longer the one that he usually presented to the world. It was a body that he was coming to, very gradually, accept and feel accustomed to when he saw it reflected back in the mirror. The face of the wolf Ted didn’t seem any different or more surprising to him now than the face of the boy Ted, just like how Ted and Theo were different nicknames for the same person. He looked over at the smaller, darker wolf beside him and let out a howl, his wolf’s vocal cords’ way of saying, “Feel all right?”
Arden the wolf howled back, but Ted knew instinctively that what she had said was, ‘Yes“I suppose.” He’d almost forgotten that somehow, on that first transformation with Arden, how he and she were able to communicate with each other, even in their wolfish forms.
“Hey, you can hear me, right? That’s proof that we’re really people, isn’t it? Unless we were, I don’t know, were-parrots or something.”
“How do we know that animals don’t talk in a way that people can’t understand?” came the reply, and Ted noticed that the French accent and awkward hesitance were gone when it was her thoughts speaking instead of her voice.
“Look in the mirror over there, then. Come on, tell me what you see.”
“A wolf,” was Arden’s flat statement. She didn’t look longer than she had to, clearly frightened by her own appearance.
“Look closer,” Ted prompted. “There, see your eyes? Just like always. Some writer person said“and you should know this, because you’re the poet here“that eyes are the windows to the soul. Do you believe me now?”
The darker wolf looked away. “You’ve never transformed without the Wolfsbane potion, but at home, nobody can brew it for me. That’s the worst thing… I can still see, feel, think, everything like always, but I can’t control myself. I’m not human when it happens.”
“But you just said it yourself“you’re there, just not in control. All the potion does is let you stay in charge,” said Ted. “Look at Marina, she’s one-eighth veela, and full veela turn into creepy bird things. But people like her! She’s happy!”
He climbed up to his bed, got in, and pulled up the covers with his wolf’s mouth. “I don’t like to see you sad. Listen, your teachers chose you to come here from France for a reason“you had a good chance of being picked for the Tournament. Just… think about what I said. I’m not always right, but I think I am about this.”
There was a silence. “Theo?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Arden. G’night.”
“Good night.”
And though nobody else would have understood their conversation if they had heard it, the two friends understood each other perfectly.
The second Triwizard Task was fast approaching, and Emma, assisted by her friends, was learning everything she could about her school. She explored every nook, cranny, secret passage, and alcove (which was often a good excuse for mischief), and tried to memorize as much of its history as possible. Jordan couldn’t help but feel that he really would have been a good Hogwarts champion“from what he’d heard, this was a more intellectual challenge“but he kept his mouth shut and assisted his cousin as much as he could.
He had a mind for facts like no other, neatly organized and filed away, and therefore, he was working with Emma much more than the others. Both of them being rather strong-willed people, they argued a great deal, both always convinced that they were the one who was right, and, as a result, became rather sick of each other.
“All right,” Jordan sighed with the air of a teacher attempting to knock some sense into a particularly dense pupil during one of their many study sessions. “What was Icarus Higgenbottom’s major contribution to the school?”
“Er… having the stupidest name of anyone ever?” Emma replied.
“That’s incorrect, of course,” Jordan said flatly. “Come on, use your brains for once. You read this not two days ago“how could you possibly forget it?”
“Because not everyone in the world can store data better than their own computer, Jordan, believe it or not!” snapped Emma. “So, what did old Icky Something-bottom contribute?”
Jordan fixed her with his sternest, steeliest gaze, making Emma very glad that he was not a teacher and could not assign detentions. “You’re being so immature,” he told her coolly. “I want you to win“we all do. At least try this. In any case, Icarus Higgenbottom was the very first Herbology teacher and head of Hufflepuff house after Helga Hufflepuff’s death. His identical twin brother, Daedalus, was a monk and came back to the school as the Fat Friar ghost after expiring when his monastery burned down.” He sounded like he was reading from a textbook, but he was actually reciting from memory.
Emma shook her head. “Listen, I appreciate all your hard work trying to knock this stuff into my brains, but I think I’d do better on my own. I’m not saying you’re not a good teacher or anything, but I think I’ll just confuse myself if I try as hard as you want me to,” she explained.
Jordan’s eyebrows shot up. This was unlike Emma“she was being rational for once, explaining how she felt like a sensible human being would, instead of attacking Jordan and all he stood for before storming off in a cloud of fury.
“All right,” he said. “I’m rather busy anyway. If you still want to work on something or you need help, I’m always available for tutoring, unless I’m training the Quidditch team. I’ll try my hardest to keep snarky comments like ‘I told you so’ and ‘Couldn’t handle it on your own, could you?’ to a bare minimum.”
Emma smiled. “I appreciate the offer,” she told him, traipsing out of the library.
She and Jordan had been friends since they were extremely small, and they usually had a good time flying or practicing spells, but they didn’t always mix well. Emma, with her volatile temper, brash personality, and passionate nature was like fire; cool, aloof Jordan, unpredictable, multifaceted, and hard-to-follow, was water. Water extinguished fire, but fire evaporated water. But today, despite their irritation with each other, they’d managed to get along fairly well. It was a nice change.
The next day just so happened to be Valentine’s Day, which was Haley and Jordan’s sixteenth birthday. Haley could hardly believe it“she, shrimpy little Haley Potter, was sweet sixteen (and never been kissed, she was quick to add with a contemptuous glance toward her sister). How could she possibly be sixteen, only a year away from adulthood, when she didn’t feel any different from the way she had in her first year?
But an even bigger surprise was what the twins received by mail on their birthday“handwritten birthday cards from none other than Tancred Apple.
“Dear Jordan,” Jordan read aloud incredulously. “A very happy sixteenth birthday to you! I express my condolences that you have to share it with your twin sister. Like you, I am the second child out of five, so I understand sibling rivalry! Good luck continuing your studies, and if I am elected Minister of Magic, it would be excellent to one day have an intelligent young man such as yourself serving under me. I know your father from work, and he’s an honourable and talented man. Yours sincerely, Tancred L. Apple, Department of Muggle Relations.”
Jordan put the letter down with an eyebrow arched, earning him a hearty whack from his twin. “That’s interesting,” he said in his flat voice. “How on earth does a busy man like Apple find the time to send cards to random people on their birthdays? It’s not as if it will earn him any more votes“we won’t be eligible to vote until we’re of age anyway.”
Ivy shrugged. “I don’t know, but I think it’s really nice. I haven’t had my birthday yet this year… I wonder if he sends cards to everyone or just to us because he knows our dad?”
“My birthday was about a month ago, and I got a card,” said a Slytherin prefect, as he walked past their table on his way to the door.
“I got a card, too,” chipped in a Ravenclaw first year. “And he can’t only give them out to people whose parents he knows, because my parents are both Muggles.”
All around them, people began to describe the cards they’d gotten for their birthdays. Apparently, Apple had started sending out cards in January, and many students had gotten one. “It’s nice of him, I suppose,” Jordan stated, “but I’m personally just a bit creeped out by how much he knew about me. I feel like I’ve been stalked.”
Haley laughed. “Jordan, you’re usually the one telling me to stop letting my imagination run away with me! Apple probably just asked Dad some questions about us. And Dad must have told him that I like pink, because this card is, and it’s really cute!”
Tancred Apple was definitely making his mark on the wizarding world. And by the time the second Triwizard task rolled around, his arrival was eagerly anticipated by much of Hogwarts’s student body.
The morning of the second challenge, he arrived rather dramatically by broom““I ran out of Floo powder,” he explained rather sheepishly“looking artfully tousle-haired yet impeccably dressed in one of his trademark pinstriped suits. His broom was not a new designer model like the Vortex 360 for which Jordan had been diligently saving his pocket money; no, it was an old Cleansweep, well-worn with bent twigs.
But while most students were watching Apple, Emma and her friends were busy preparing her for the Tournament. “Are you sure you know everything you’ll need to know about Hogwarts?” Jordan asked for possibly the squintillionth time. He looked tired“he’d obviously spent a lot of his time thinking up things his cousin might need for the second task, and was probably more nervous than the champion herself.
“I think so,” replied Emma with a forced cheeriness. “Jordan, don’t worry, or you’ll go psycho. When you get into something, you get obsessed. This is my challenge, and I’m going to kick some serious…”
At that moment, her mother walked by and gave her a hug, whispering, “Good luck today!”
“…backside,” Emma concluded, and Jordan smirked. He knew his cousin had picked up some vocabulary from her father of which her mother didn’t necessarily approve.
He cleared his throat. “So, do you remember Icarus Higgenbottom’s contribution to“”
“Yeah, she does,” Haley assured him. “Don’t make her nervous. We all know she’ll do an awesome-possum job.”
Jordan’s shoulders slumped forward in defeat. For once, his twin was right; Emma would do better alone. All he managed to say was to feebly snort, “Awesome-possum?”
“You should take Haley-ese as a second language,” remarked Ivy. “That’s fairly standard vocabulary for her.”
“Fourth language,” muttered Jordan. “I speak English, Latin, and Parseltongue.”
“What about tongues?” asked Tyrone brightly, gliding toward them. “Hey, Em, you’ve been so busy lately, I haven’t really gotten to talk to you since, like, December.” He squeezed her shoulder playfully. “Good luck, Champ.”
Emma whirled around as fast as a hurricane. “Leave me alone, you jerk,” she told him in a low, deadly voice. Didn’t Tyrone Thomas realize that he was no longer on good terms with him after the Yule Ball?
Tyrone looked genuinely perplexed. “Jerk? Since when have I been a jerk?”
“You’ve always been a jerk, Thomas, even before you nominated yourself for ‘most attractive’ in our second year,” Emma replied frostily.
“Yeah, but I thought I was a fun jerk,” Tyrone insisted in a slightly hurt voice. “I thought we were friends. And since when do you call me ‘Thomas’ anyway?”
But he never got his answer, because at that moment, two more people made their way down the hallway. They were Cadmus Skitesby and Evadne Schiffington, Ministry judges. Schiffington was wearing a dowdy Muggle skirt suit that did not flatter the young and pretty witch, and Skitesby was apparently completely unaware of how Muggle clothing was worn, because he wore red plaid Capri pants, a green checked blazer, and a purple baseball hat, worn sideways (although Jordan silently speculated that most people would draw the same conclusion about the thoroughly un-magical Giorgi). The two of them were deep in conversation.
““and he’s going to tell them then,” said Schiffington.
“Don’t worry about that now, it’s not for months, Evadne,” Skitesby sighed. “The second Triwizard Task is today. Let’s focus on that.”
“Yes, we’ll need--” Schiffington broke off when she noticed Emma and her friends. “Miss Weasley, there you are!” she exclaimed. “Come with us, the task’s about to start!”
Emma gulped and reluctantly followed the judges, her friends each wishing her luck. As she trailed away, Haley noted, “Uh-oh.”
“What?” chorused the others.
“She’s wearing pigtails,” Haley stated. “She only wears pigtails when she’s feeling really fierce. Every duel she’s been in, pigtails. When we fought Malfoy last year, pigtails. When she wasn’t speaking to me in first year, pigtails for a week. If she’s wearing pigtails today, then she’s a mad woman. The Tournament is hers to win.”
The friends grinned at one another. For once, it was a good thing to see Emma mad.
“The first Triwizard Task,” spoke McGonagall several minutes later, “was designed to test your physical and magical abilities, as well as your intellect. This challenge is designed to measure your mental abilities and logical reasoning.”
Emma couldn’t help but sneak a glance at Vladislav, well-renowned for his brain power. But the Durmstrang champion’s face remained blank, as always. Her eyes met Marina’s, and she looked away quickly, flipping a long pigtail over her shoulder with a haughty air.
“But to succeed in this challenge, you must have knowledge of the present and past of this school, as the second task will be a treasure hunt of sorts. The school’s portraits and ghosts have kindly volunteered to give clues that should ultimately lead you to your destination. Each of you will have a different path and destination. So what is your goal in this task? Each of you has a friend or family member who has been poisoned, and you must find the ingredients to and mix the antidote. The first to return with their friend or family member, fully cured, will receive the highest points.”
Emma gasped and scanned the crowds. Good, her mother was there, and so was her father, visiting to see her perform in the task. She saw Jordan“his messy hair was noticeable anywhere“and Ivy and Ted, sitting together near the front. But where was Haley? What if Emma couldn’t mix the antidote in time, and Haley died?
This was really reminding her of the second Triwizard Task in the 1994 tournament in which her uncle Harry had been a champion. Emma’s father had been held hostage under the lake“but that only required courage (and gillyweed). Emma was good at Potions, but not phenomenal, and she knew Vladislav was an excellent potion brewer. She was really beginning to feel worried.
“To begin the task, each champion will return to his or her school quarters“Emma Weasley to the Gryffindor Common Room, Marina Weasley to the Beauxbatons carriage, and Vladislav Poliakoff to the Durmstrang ship,” continued McGonagall. “Good luck, champions.”
Emma made her way to the Common Room in long, fluid strides“she knew she shouldn’t run, or she’d be out of breath by the time she made it to her destination. Before she could even say the password, though (‘serendipitous’), the Fat Lady blinked slowly, turned her face toward the Hogwarts champion, and recited,
“Champion chosen by the Goblet of Fire
Find the room that gives what you require.”
Emma blinked. “Say what?”
The Fat Lady rolled her eyes and repeated,
“Champion chosen by the Goblet of Fire
Find the room that gives what you require.”
“That’s a terrible poem,” remarked Emma.
The Fat Lady pouted. “Don’t go blaming me,” she whined.
“Whatever.” Emma picked up a small vial of something gelatinous and green that looked like it might be dragon bogeys from the floor and slipped it into her bag.
The ‘room that gives what you require’ was obviously the Room of Requirement, so she lengthened her stride and made her way briskly down the staircases until she reached the tapestry of a man being clubbed by trolls in tutus. It was lucky, she thought, that she had known about the Room of Requirement“she was certain that if any of the other champions had gotten that clue, they would have been thrown off.
Slightly heartened by this, she paced back and forth three times, thinking, I need the next clue for the Triwizard Task, over and over, until the heavy door wooden door to the Room of Requirement silently slipped into existence.
The second her hand touched the doorknob, though, she heard a loud “THBBBT!” overhead and looked up just in time for a slimy Knarl liver to land on her face from above. “EEEURRGH!” she exclaimed, brushing off the liver. Three more livers rained down upon her head. “What the…?”
An odd-looking little man materialized in the air, his bowlegs folded at the ankles and his hands overflowing with knarl livers.
“Peeves!” exclaimed Emma. “I’m trying to win a Triwizard Task here!”
Peeves pulled a pompous face. “Well, you may be interested to know, Miss Posh Champion Weasley, that I have been appointed to present you with a clue. And those livers are ingredients for the potion, you puddinghead.”
Emma was aghast. “What maniac would let you be part of the Triwizard Tournament?” she exclaimed.
“That wonderful Hairy Potty bloke,” Peeves sang, casually doing back flips in midair as he spoke. “Lovely man. Completely barmy. In any case, here’s your clue, mademoiselle.” His French accent sounded like an odd cross between Australian and New York-ese.
“A hidden chamber’s in this room
Thanks to its spirit, full of gloom.”
“That must be Myrtle’s bathroom,” remarked Emma. “These clues are really easy. I bet I have a fair chance of winning.”
“Don’t count your salamanders before the fire’s lit,” Peeves advised wisely.
“Right,” Emma replied. “Who writes these poems, anyway? They’re awful.”
The poltergeist shrugged and adjusted his loud orange-and-green bow tie. “Not me. My poems would be a bit different.” And he launched into a dramatic interpretation of a shockingly rude poem that he had apparently composed himself.
“Right, I’m going,” Emma called loudly, trying to drown out the naughty ballad.
Peeves broke off in the middle of the phrase ‘to disembowel with a trowel,’ and screeched, “Send Potty my love!”
“Uncle Harry is so dead,” muttered the champion as she placed the Knarl livers Peeves had thrown at her into her bag and sped off toward Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. She had talked to the ghostly girl very little, and was not eager to do it again. Her one and only encounter with Myrtle had been in her first year, and extremely depressing.
And from the look of things, Myrtle hadn’t improved any in temperament. She sat in midair in a mildly unsettling fashion and sobbed into her pudgy, transparent hands.
“Er, hello, do you have anything for me?” Emma prompted.
Myrtle broke into a fresh stream of sobs. “I should have known! I should have known that you would never come to visit me unless there was something that you wanted! I don’t count as a real person, do I, just because I’m dead, isn’t that right?”
“No, no“Myrtle“that’s not, at least, I didn’t mean to say that!” sputtered Emma. “I’m just really stressed out about the tournament.”
Myrtle sighed. “Well, all right… here’s your clue.” She recited in a hopeless, depressed-sounding wail,
“When Salazar left, threw a vase
Here, shattered against Godric’s face.”
“Whoever wrote these poems should be stoned to death,” Emma commented. “So, basically, I have to find the place where Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin got into a fight when Slytherin called it quits?”
Myrtle only appeared to have heard the first part of this comment. “DEATH? How dare you speak to me about death? People are so inconsiderate!” she howled.
“I… I was only kidding!” Emma explained uncomfortably.
Myrtle sighed and composed herself with a massive effort. “The Jabberknoll quills you’ll need for your potion are on the back of that toilet,” she informed her matter-of-factly. “I can’t pick them up, seeing as I’m dead.”
Emma headed quickly for the door before the ghostly girl could begin crying again, but before she left, Myrtle remarked, “It’s too bad that Tyrone Thomas wasn’t made Quidditch captain.”
Wondering why Myrtle was bringing this up, Emma remarked, “Well, Jordan’s doing a fantastic job, so I don’t see why anyone else should do it.”
Myrtle sighed again. “The Quidditch captains get to use the Prefects’ bathrooms,” she explained in a dreamy and rather repulsive manner. “And although Jordan’s decently fit, he’s nothing compared to Tyrone… and Ted Lupin, the prefect, was a bit of a disappointment as well. He’s certainly not very good-looking at all.”
“You do realize that these are my friends you’re talking about?” Emma interrupted loudly. As she fled the bathroom, wishing she could scrub her mind clean from all of the horrible images now crowding it, she thought how horrible it must be to be stuck in puberty for all eternity like Myrtle was. She gagged at the horrible image of Myrtle spying on Jordan bathing in the Prefects’ bathroom. And who was Myrtle to call Ted unattractive when she was no prize herself?
She arrived at the fifth-floor corridor, the spot where she remembered reading that Slytherin had beaned Gryffindor with a vase. She would have to thank Jordan for giving her that information… though she would leave out the part about Myrtle’s evaluation of his physique when she recounted the details of the tournament to him. On the floor was a pot of the powdered roots of a rosebush, and Emma emptied it into her bag. But where would she get her clue?
As if on cue, a portrait of an extremely ancient-looking man wearing a comical Peter Pan hat and green suspenders over his robes for no apparent reason cleared his throat with much phlegmatic hacking. “I have the clue, Miss… er…”
“My name is Emma Weasley,” Emma told the portrait.
His rheumy eyes lit up. “Ahh, my daughter’s name was Mavis, too!” he creaked. His voice was reminiscent of what an eel would sound like if eels could talk and this particular one had its tail stuck in a rusty hinge that hadn’t been oiled in awhile.
“I’m Emma,” corrected Emma. “Not Mavis. As a matter of fact, my dad“Ron Weasley“wanted to name me Mafalda, which is close, but…”
“You were named for your father, Mavis?” asked the portrait.
“No!” she snapped, then realized that the portrait may not read her the clue if she was impolite. “Could you please read me the clue? I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“All right,” agreed the portrait, then recited in his dry, croaking voice,
“,i>You’re halfway through, four clues remain
Seek out Higgenbottom’s domain.”
“HIGGENBOTTOM!” Emma shrieked. “I just have to go by the greenhouses! I can’t believe it! Jordan won’t believe they used that one!”
“Why is it so exciting that they wrote a clue about Mavis?” asked the portrait.
“Higgenbottom,” Emma corrected, her teeth gritted.
“That’s what I said“Mavis,” the portrait insisted.
The Hogwarts champion slapped herself in the forehead. “Look, I have to go,” she told the portrait. “I’ll see you later, Mr.… what’s your name?”
“Mavis,” the portrait told her.
Emma made a noise like a bison being trodden on.
The next several clues went by fairly smoothly, and she was certain she was going strong, if not winning. The final clue, the one before her destination, was the North Corridor near the astronomy tower.
A portrait of a young woman with mousy brown hair tucked up into a cap sat there demurely. Emma was positive she had never seen this picture before. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Mavis, would it?” she asked nervously.
The portrait laughed. “No, I’m Lady Gisella Marriam. And your last ingredient is that jar of goat bile below my frame.”
Emma gingerly picked up the jar of bile“her ingredients just seemed to be getting grosser and grosser. “What’s the clue?” she asked.
Lady Gisella cleared her throat and recited,
“Proceed upward to the North Tower
Brew your potion within the hour.
Take this bile of a goat
To make your victim’s antidote.”
Emma smiled. “North Tower?” she affirmed. “That’s right here! I’m almost done! I just have to mix the potion and give it to Haley, and I’m done!”
Lady Gisella nodded.
“Thanks, Lady G!” called the Hogwarts champion as she sped up the stairs to the North Tower. She had this task in the bag! Literally, she thought, patting her bag of ingredients.
She opened the door to the Astronomy classroom in the North Tower slowly, and saw a cauldron and stirring stick lying expectantly on the floor. But where was Haley? “Hello? Where are you?” she called.
A soft whimper came from behind a desk, and she walked around it, only to come face to face with someone she definitely did not expect to see.
“TYRONE?” she exclaimed, thunderstruck, then remembered that she was no longer calling him by his first name. “Thomas?” she asked again. “What are“” she trailed off when she got a closer look at him.
The handsome, well-built young man was curled up into a ball behind the desk, his dark eyes darting fearfully as he rocked slowly back and forth, and his strong chin was trembling.
“Did you close the door?” he asked in a voice quite unlike his usual deep, silky tones“this voice was nervous and abrupt with none of the casual smugness and confidence that Emma had come to associate with Tyrone. “You should close the door,” he repeated. “Germs could get in. But be careful…you might accidentally close your fingers in the hinges.” He twitched and shuddered at the thought of it.
“Are you all right?” Emma asked cautiously, stepping closer toward him. “You’re acting so weird.”
“Weird? You might say I’m weird now!” Tyrone told her in a shrill, wavering voice. “But you’ll see I’m right! And don’t wear your scarf like that; it could strangle you.”
The girl knelt down and felt his forehead without even thinking about it. It was what her mother did when Emma was ill, and it only seemed right given the circumstances. Tyrone’s smooth skin didn’t feel especially warm, but his brow was sweaty.
“Did you wash your hands?” Tyrone demanded. “If you had bacteria on your hands, it could seep through my pores and infect me!”
“Your pores are fine,” Emma assured him. “I’m not so sure about the rest of you. What can you remember doing before you came into the room?” She kept her voice steady, but she was a bit frightened to see the boy she’d known for almost five years acting like this“what if he was permanently unhinged? What if he stayed like this forever, locked up in some closed ward in St. Mungo’s, rocking back and forth and muttering about bacteria all alone for the rest of his life?
“I remember what happened,” Tyrone replied. “The Triwizard judges gave me a drink that looked like pumpkin juice, but it didn’t taste like it.” He gasped. “Oh, no! What if it had alcohol in it? I’m too young! I’d get in trouble if I drank alcohol! Oh no, oh no, oh no!”
Emma didn’t listen to the ‘oh no’s.’ She cradled her head in her hands. How could she be so stupid? Of course, Tyrone had been given a potion by the judges that made him act this way! It was part of the task! And she had made a fool out of herself by asking him questions and feeling his forehead when she should have been brewing the antidote!
“Tyrone, just sit still,” she ordered. “I’ll fix you something that’ll make you feel better.” She snuck a glance at him. “No alcohol,” she added.
She lit a fire under the cauldron and threw in all of the ingredients“dragon bogeys, Knarl livers, goat bile, powdered rosebush roots, Jabberknoll quills, and all. She almost smirked at the concept of Tyrone drinking this disgusting concoction as she stewed and stirred and blended. When she was finally finished with the potion, it looked quite a lot like pumpkin juice.
She scooped some of it into a cup. “Here, drink this. It’ll calm your nerves!”
“I’m not nervous!” Tyrone squawked, his face twitching. “And I’m not drinking anything that was mixed by someone who had their back to me!”
“Come on,” she urged in the sort of soothing voice that her mother always used to make her eat her broccoli. So this was what it was like to have a four-year-old. “Drink up.”
Tyrone shook his head violently, and Emma rolled her eyes. She sat down next to him on the floor and said, “Tyrone, you’re sick. You have the, er, rare Booga-Booga Fever. Your aunt, Madame Patil, she told me to give you this tonic because she was too busy helping a boy who got beaten up by the Whomping Willow.”
“Really?” asked Tyrone.
“Yeah,” replied Emma, and she tilted the cup up to his mouth. He tried to seal his lips shut but to no effect“the potion pouted into his mouth, and he swallowed involuntarily. “Good,” Emma said encouragingly. “Can you drink the rest?”
Tyrone hesitated. “Well… all right.” He picked up the cup and swallowed the potion.
Nothing happened.
Emma was worried“had all of her work been for nothing? Would she lose the task? Then, she remembered; the antidote to a paranoia potion took five minutes to take effect. But she didn’t want to wait five minutes to head back“another champion could beat her to the Great Hall, even if she finished first.
“Come on, let’s get to the Great Hall,” she suggested. “We should hurry if we don’t want to be late.”
“But what if I trip and fall down the stairs and break my neck and die?!” exclaimed Tyrone. “What if a Slytherin attacks me in the hall?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” Emma assured him. “I’ll make sure you don’t hurt yourself.” It would take her about fifteen minutes to reach the Great Hall from the North Tower, faster if she ran. Her potion would set in before they arrived back.
She grabbed Tyrone’s wrist and pulled him behind her by the hand. “Listen, just try to keep up with me, and I’ll make sure you’re safe. I’m holding your hand. Just do what I’m doing.” Although Tyrone was taller and stronger than her, she felt like she was leading a little child as she jogged briskly down the hallway, Tyrone trailing behind. Every now and then, he would stop dead in his tracks and get upset about something, like a “germ-infested” handkerchief on the ground or a dangerously rusty suit of armor, which was a slight hindrance.
After they’d descended another floor, Tyrone skidded to a stop for the umpteenth time. “What’s wrong?” asked Emma.
The boy blinked and rolled back his shoulders slowly. “Whoa,” he muttered. “That was really weird.”
“Are you okay?” prompted the girl.
“Yeah,” replied Tyrone. “But that potion I took before“the pumpkin juice-ish one, that was so strange. I’m sorry if I freaked you out too much.”
Emma shrugged. “I don’t mind. It wasn’t really you anyway, you know? It was the potion talking. But you’re back to normal“or at least, as normal as you’ll ever be“so that that means… it means… it means you don’t have any excuses for lagging behind! So come on!”
Tyrone flashed his typical wide, white-toothed grin. “I’ll race you!” he said, as he began to run, Emma close behind him.
They didn’t let go of each other’s hands until they reached the Great Hall.
Vladislav Poliakoff rounded the opposite corner at the same time as Emma and Tyrone, his father, Headmaster Poliakoff, behind him. “Hey,” Emma said in a laconic greeting to her fellow champion as they arrived in the Great Hall. “I guess we’re tied.”
Vladislav simply nodded, his angular face faraway and forbidding-looking. He wasn’t the friendliest of boys, Emma thought.
Everyone in the Great Hall broke into applause as they entered, and she could see Jordan and Ted in the stands exchanging an enthusiastic high-five“something that one didn’t often see Jordan doing.
But when she looked up at the judges’ table, she frowned. They didn’t looked as the other did“Mr. Potter and McGonagall looked upset and confused, Madame Maxime’s lips were pursed in thought, the Durmstrang aide who was sitting in for Poliakoff (as he was Vladislav’s subject for the second task) was speaking and gesticulating rapidly in what sounded like Russian, and Skitesby and Schiffington were exchanging glances.
She didn’t have time to ponder this, though, because just a few minutes later, Marina entered the room in a flurry with an unexpected person… Haley.
What is it with Haley lately? was Emma’s first thought. She’s my best friend, but the Durmstrang champion’s date to the ball and the Beauxbatons champion’s victim in the second task… why not just arrest her for international treason?
McGonagall stood up and addressed the assembled student body. “Well… now we have our three champions… although I must say, this is not exactly what we’d expected. Somehow, our Hogwarts and Beauxbatons champions seem to have taken the wrong paths, because Emma Weasley has claimed Marina Weasley’s subject, and Marina has claimed Emma’s subject. For that reason, our judges have decided that they should share a second-place tie for this task.”
Emma’s jaw dropped. How was that possible? She had followed all of the instructions she’d been given perfectly“there was no way she could have possibly made a mistake. Her eyes flickered over toward Tyrone, who looked just as confused as she did. He obviously hadn’t known who was supposed to have ‘saved’ him, or he would have said something… Emma snorted disdainfully. Really, didn’t Marina have any friends? Why would Tyrone, a pathetic fifth year, be the person she would save?
Emma’s shock turned to rage when she thought of the unfair scoring. She should have gotten a higher score than Marina“she had done her task and arrived back in the Great Hall several minutes before her cousin had. Shouldn’t that have counted for something?
“And Vladislav Poliakoff has been awarded full marks, coming in first for the task!” concluded McGonagall. The applause for the Durmstrang champion was not as strong as it should have been, and Emma wondered once more where everyone’s school spirit was. Who cared if Vladislav was a no-fun, unpopular, stuck-up and his classmates should have been supporting him all the way. What was wrong with people lately?
She was still seething with anger a few minutes later when she accidentally bumped into Marina on her way out of the Great Hall. Being in a foul mood, she couldn’t help but say, “How does it feel to lose this time around?”
Marina laughed dryly. “I’m tied with Vladislav for first in overall scores,” she informed her cousin coolly. “I’m not the one in last place.”
“Well, I can still win!” Emma exploded, and stormed“a verb that was virtually synonymous with Emma Weasley“into the corridor. She slid down the wall and onto the floor, where she sat.
She had sixty-two points, and Marina and Vladislav each had ninety… she did the calculations quickly in her head. If she got a perfect score in the third task and Marina and Vladislav each got less than thirty-one points, she would win the tournament. And she swore to herself, her eyes blazing fiercely, that she absolutely had to win the third task, that she would win, or she’d never be able to live with herself.
“Emma? You okay?” she heard a voice say. She looked up, dazed, to see Tyrone standing there in front of her. “You look really, I don’t know, murderous.”
She sighed. “Look, can you just leave me alone?”
Tyrone squatted down next to her in a manner reminiscent of the way Emma had knelt down next to Tyrone up in the North Tower during the second task. “Nope,” he replied. “Because you’re upset, and I want to help.”
“Why?” asked Emma flatly.
Tyrone put his hand on her shoulder in his usual lazy, casual manner. “’Cos when you’re upset, bad stuff tends to happen, and I want to keep people from getting killed by you in one of your moods.” He paused and ran his other hand through his curly, gelled hair. “And also because I figure that’s what friends are for. I’ve got your back, like you got mine earlier when I was acting like a loony.”
Emma wrenched his hand from her shoulder and threw it off like it was a dead fish; Tyrone’s eyebrows tilted upward, giving his deep hazel eyes the look of a sad puppy’s. “Look, there’s no need to get all buddy-buddy with me all of a sudden,” snarled Emma. “I thought I wasn’t speaking to you. Did you, like, not get that memo or something?”
Tyrone looked genuinely hurt. “I know you were mad at me or something… though I’m still not totally sure why… But I thought we were friends again“I mean, you were so cool during the task, all patient and nice and everything.”
“That had nothing to do with you,” spat Emma. “You’re so full of yourself. I was only doing all that to get points. I wanted a Hogwarts victory, to keep the good name of the school and all. I wouldn’t have done it any differently if I was rescuing Charybdis Nott“don’t think I cared about you or anything. Because I didn’t. And I don’t.”
Tyrone’s jaw dropped and small, nonsensical noises very much like “Mimblewimble,” managed to escape from his mouth. His handsome face had the tense look that came with trying desperately from giving away emotions. “I should have known it was too good to be true,” he muttered quietly, and walked away without any of his usual jaunty bounce in his step.
Emma’s stomach felt strange. “I think I’m coming down with something,” she mumbled.
The next morning, no one was really ready for first-period Potions class, as they’d been so focused on the tournament. But Professor Zabini showed no mercy. “Your essays,” he proclaimed, his eyes flashing, “on the properties of dragon scales in potion-making, were dismal to say the least.” He slammed a thick stack of essays on the desk in front of him for dramatic effect.
“I expected better of you… Miss Weasley, your poor grade is understandable, given your performance in the second Triwizard Task, but as for the rest of you, you could have worked much harder.” He shot a glance over toward Anatoly Capshaw. “And as for you, Capshaw, if you fail your Potions O.W.L., I will not be surprised… but I will be very displeased, so I’d advise you study much, much more.”
Jordan wetted his lips nervously with his tongue. He hadn’t worked as hard on this assignment as he could have“normally, homework always came first, but he’d been so busy working with his cousin for the Triwizard Tournament and preparing his Quidditch team for their match against Hufflepuff. But he had turned in an essay that was at least adequate, even if it didn’t quite meet his stringent personal standards.
Zabini glided around the classroom, dropping essays onto desks and leaving students moaning with discontent in his wake. Jordan couldn’t help but note that Tyrone, who had already been looking slightly defeated even before receiving his essay, had an outrageously bad grade, and Ted had gotten a ‘P.’ Jordan didn’t know what grade Emma had received, but he could guess, as she had already shredded her essay into confetti and sprinkled it all over her desk, and Ivy’s paper was discreetly lying face-down on her desk.
Jordan crossed his fingers beneath his desk (although he was a vehement non-believer when it came to superstition, being the cynical boy that he was) when Zabini stopped at his desk, pulled a parchment from the top of his stack, and set it onto Jordan’s desk with a flourish.
A red-inked “93%” winked up at him from the top of the paper. A ninety-three… he couldn’t believe it… he refused to believe it. His eyeballs froze, unseeing, and his mouth gaped open. A ninety-three was an E. A very high E, only one point away from an O, but an E nonetheless.
Jordan Potter never got E’s, never settled for merely Exceeding Expectations when he could be Outstanding. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a grade less than a hundred“he was top of his class, best at everything. An E… he felt demoted, like an unintelligent and untalented layman, no longer the shining genius that he was meant to be.
His thoughts were pierced by loud squeal, followed by an exclamation of, “MERLIN!” He turned to the right to see Haley, her eyes resembling round green marbles and her eyebrows so high that if they’d gone up any higher, they’d be in midair and no longer attached to her face.
“I can’t believe this!” squeaked Haley, brandishing her essay. “A ninety-four! A ninety-four by me! In Potions! My worst subject, and I got a ninety-four! That’s an O!”
Jordan almost fell out of his chair. Haley, his crazy, careless, clueless sister had gotten an O. He, the alleged smart one, had gotten an E. It was unthinkable. Haley had beat him in school“Haley. It didn’t happen. “I’m not special anymore,” he said to himself, mortified. “What’s happening to me?”
“Dear Lee, the last few days have been weird,” Haley wrote that night.
“More or less so than that day last year you told me about when the whole school watched a film of Jordan impersonating Mick Jagger in his underwear?” replied Lee.
“Well, not weird in the same way,” Haley elaborated after a contemplative pause. “I was part of the Triwizard Tournament. I had to drink a potion that made me act really weird and paranoid, and Marina had to brew me an antidote.”
“Marina?”
“Yep,” clarified Haley. “There was some mix-up. Emma was supposed to do it, but she saved Tyrone instead, even though Marina was supposed to. So they tied for second, and Emma’s in last place now. And she shouted at Tyrone or something I think, because he’s not trying to talk to her anymore, and she gets all mad if you even mention him.”
“I feel really bad for her,” Lee commented. “She’s so stressed out with the tournament, and I don’t think her problems with Tyrone are helping.”
“But I don’t know what her problems with Tyrone are!” Haley added. “I mean, they like each other, and everyone knows it! Why can’t they just go with that?”
“Well, I get the impression that Emma’s a difficult girl. She likes to think of herself as tough, and I think she thinks giving into Tyrone would be showing weakness“I know, it sounds crazy, but I think I’m right on this one. And besides, it’s like you said with Ivy and makeup. She’ll know when she’s ready for it,” Lee put in.
“So, like, she doesn’t think she’s ready to be his girlfriend, so she doesn’t know what to do?” There was a brief pause.
“Haley, you’re really cool, but I think you should just leave her alone on this one. I don’t think she wants her love life (or lack thereof) analyzed or anything like that.”
Lee was right, thought Haley. But what else was new? Lee was usually right. Haley changed the subject. “Hey, you know how you’ve been helping me study?”
“No, I don’t. I have amnesia something dreadful,” Lee replied sarcastically.
Haley ignored the diary. “Anyway, it’s really paid off. Because… I GOT A NINETY-FOUR ON MY POTIONS ESSAY! That’s an O! I’ve gotten two or three O’s on Divination and Care of Magical Creatures and stuff, but you don’t really need to do anything in those classes. I really can’t believe it!”
“Great job! I knew you could do it!” Lee congratulated.
Haley hesitated. “There’s just one thing,” she added. “I feel kind of bad… Jordan’s not happy. He got a ninety-three.”
Lee remained blank for a few awkward seconds, and then red-inked letters floated onto the surface. “Oh dear.”
“Harry,” moaned Ron, staggering into the Auror office. “I’m old!”
Harry looked up with a grin. “Happy fortieth birthday, mate,” he said warmly.
Ron took a seat with one of his ever-present mugs of coffee in hand. “I can’t believe it!” he stammered. “I’m forty! That’s ancient! Remember Snape? He DIED when he was forty, and he always seemed old to us. And my daughter! She’s sixteen! I could have sworn we were sixteen just yesterday. It all goes by so fast. And now, poof! I’m old!”
Harry considered this. It really was hard to believe that his best friend was now forty, almost twice the age of this own parents at the time of their death. But it was even harder to believe that Voldemort had been defeated so long ago. In fact… Haley and Jordan and were now sixteen, he reminded himself. They were only a year younger than he’d been when he’d finished off Voldemort on that one dark day that seemed horribly and deceptively fresh and recent…
“I think I’ve been old for a long time,” said Harry.