The first few weeks of term were about the most enjoyable Neville had ever had at Hogwarts. Setting himself the challenge of making every lesson count, he found his studies had begun to improve, and he could approach every subject with a degree of confidence. Even in Potions he actually started to learn things.
Hermione had noticed the difference in him and was much impressed, although she did take it upon herself to encourage and help along his improvement by organising his study periods and generally making a nuisance of herself checking he was keeping up with his assignments. She meant well, and Neville appreciated the help, but it did get a bit annoying at times.
While Herbology and Muggle Studies remained his stand-out subjects, in other ones he was at least now keeping pace with the other students. Nowhere was the turnaround more evident than in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Moody had been as good as his word that he would watch out for Neville, and he regularly singled out Neville for special attention and help in practical lessons.
Hermione had been less than happy about this, and had pointed out to Neville that this was the second year running that a DADA teacher had engaged in favouritism, after Sirius’ treatment of Harry the previous year. Moody however had been scrupulously fair, and he could hardly be accused of going soft on Neville; “soft” was not a word that could be readily associated with Mad-Eye. He ran his lessons in a style that appeared a cross between a fitness instructor and an army drill sergeant. Everybody in the class was convinced he was brilliant, but totally crazy and probably dangerous.
Neville felt different however; he had seen a more human side to Moody. Yes, he was a cantankerous old man, but having been raised by Gran, Neville was quite used to people like that. But he also had a powerful sense of right and wrong, and a fierce loyalty to those he trusted. Neville looked up to him; indeed, he’d found himself copying some of Moody’s habits like his rules on wand safety or the way he’d always wait two seconds after opening a door before entering a room, in case a trap had been set for him.
Neville had managed to have one or two further short conversations with him and had learnt a few more things. Apparently he’d known Neville’s parents for six years, from the time they’d left Hogwarts and enrolled in Auror training until their deaths. Frank and Alice had married immediately after completing their training and becoming full Aurors, and they’d both fought alongside Moody at the very height of the war, until Alice had become pregnant. Moody credited both of them with saving his life on more than one occasion.
Moody had said nothing further regarding his warning to Neville about Professor Snape. Neville had not pressed the issue, since the cruel Potions master was the last person Neville could imagine trusting with anything. Still, he did wonder what had provoked such a vehement warning.
It was plain from the way the two men acted around each other that they shared a mutual dislike, from what Neville had observed. Of course it was nothing new for Snape to have a feud with a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor; to some degree he had disliked every single one during Neville’s time at Hogwarts. No doubt that was partly due to his own desire to hold the post, although he had a very personal grudge with Sirius. But Moody’s attitude seemed different. His problem with Snape seemed less personal, than that Snape somehow represented a serious danger. Was this just Moody’s rampant paranoia, or was there more to it?
Meanwhile, the new Marauders had been busy trying to make as big a name for themselves as their predecessors. Having abandoned their prior secrecy and inspired by what they learned from Sirius, they had seemingly launched on a mission to bring as much mayhem to Hogwarts as they could manage. Hardly a day seemed to go by without some prank or mischief happening and their popularity grew among the more rebellious of the Gryffindors.
Of course in that regard it helped that most of their targets were Slytherins. Draco Malfoy was a popular target; Harry and Ron especially had it in for him after he had nearly had Buckbeak killed the year before. Buckbeak may have survived and had joined Lupin in hiding, but Harry and Ron still felt they had not had their revenge. Malfoy and his cronies Crabbe and Goyle were now becoming regular visitors to the hospital wing with some curse or other.
Otherwise, everyone’s minds were much focussed on Halloween and the arrival of the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang for the start of the Triwizard Tournament. Hermione had been naturally doing some reading on the two schools, and had even considered starting teaching herself French so she properly greet those from Beauxbatons. “Durmstrang draws its intake from several Eastern European countries,” she said, “so I think that’s beyond me. It’s a shame Hogwarts doesn’t teach foreign languages. Beauxbatons sounds a beautiful place. Durmstrang is very interesting. It’s nearly as old as Hogwarts and has something of a sinister reputation for being prepared to actually teach the Dark Arts, although that has lessened a little under its latest headmaster.”
September passed, and October ticked by, and the anticipation was growing within the walls of Hogwarts. But it was not until the Monday of the final week of October that notices went up in the common rooms informing the students that the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang groups would be arriving that Friday, the thirtieth, and that there would be a special welcoming feast in the Great Hall on that evening to officially open the Triwizard Tournament. Excitement grew to fever pitch, and few paid much attention in their studies that week.
On the bright and cool afternoon of the thirtieth of October, a small dot could be seen in the cloudless sky high above Hogwarts. To those who could see from castle’s windows, the dot appeared to grow larger and larger, and sink lower in the sky. Slowly, it revealed itself to be a gigantic carriage, ornate, shimmering blue and the size of a house. It was being drawn by a dozen winged white horses the size of elephants. Everyone rushed to the windows to get a closer look as the extraordinary sight circled twice above Hogwarts before gently coming to rest on the wide lawn in front of the castle’s main entrance.
Those whose windows face south however got an even more impressive sight later in the day. From there they could see the lake, and out from under the water a ship arose. It too was huge, and appeared ancient and spectral, like the carcass of some great sea creature rising from the depths. But light flickered from its portholes, indicating the life within and giving the ship an eerie beauty in the twilight.
Thus, respectively, did the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang parties arrive at Hogwarts. In the evening the Great Hall was packed, and extra space was made on the House benches for the guests. The Beauxbatons students were smartly dressed in pale blue, whilst those from Durmstrang wore thick, warm furs.
As Neville took his seat on the Gryffindor bench, next to him Ron shook Harry by the shoulder and tried to point discreetly across the Hall. “Look who’s there,” he whispered. “Look who it is!” Neville and Harry looked. Ron was pointed in the direction of the Durmstrang contingent. “It’s Viktor Krum!” Ron exclaimed. And indeed it was, sitting quietly with a calm, inscrutable look on his face. Several others had also recognised him, but he had as yet made no acknowledgement towards them.
“What, the Quidditch player?” said Hermione, turning round to look. “I’d have thought he’d be too old to still be at school.”
“He must be only seventeen,” said Harry. “Seventeen, and already Seeker for his country. Lucky git. I guess we know who the Durmstrang Champion will be.”
“If he’s half as good as magic as he is at Quidditch, he’ll win easily,” reckoned Ron.
At the front of the Hall, the teachers filed in. There were four additions to their number. Neville recognised Bartemius Crouch and Ludo Bagman from the Quidditch World Cup. Taking a large seat next to Hagrid was, incredibly, a woman even taller than he was. She was fashionably and elegantly dressed and exhibited a very austere manner. Hagrid seemed to be taking a great deal of interest in her.
Seated between Moody and McGonagall was a middle-aged wizard, heavily built with thick dark hair. He was beardless, but bore a luxuriant moustache on his top lip, above a jovial smile. He was dressed similarly to the Durmstrang students and was sharing a joke with McGonagall which the Head of Gryffindor was obviously finding highly amusing.
Dumbledore rose to his feet to address the Hall. “Good evening students and friends from far and wide. Tonight I am delighted to formally welcome our guests for the revived Triwizard Tournament. To my left, may I introduce Madame Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.” He indicated the tall woman next to Hagrid. There were loud cheers from the Beauxbatons students and Madame Maxime raised a huge hand in polite acknowledgement.
Dumbledore then turned to the man with the prominent moustache. “And to my right, may I welcome Alexander Preminin, Headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute.” Fierce applause from the Durmstrang students. Preminin rose and gave a rather theatrical bow. “Also with us,” continued Dumbledore, “are Bartemius Crouch of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and Ludovic Bagman of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, who will be overseeing the Triwizard Tournament. But more of that after the feast. Enjoy!”
He sat, and at once food filled the House tables. As he hungrily ate, Neville noticed that Ron kept glancing over his shoulder at Krum. Hermione must have noticed it to, because she said, “Ron, stop it, you’ll embarrass the poor guy.”
“Come on, Hermione, he’s the best Seeker in the world,” replied Ron. “He probably gets people staring at him all the time. I’ve got to get his autograph.”
Hermione shook her head in bewilderment. “I just don’t get it. It’s only Quidditch, after all.” Harry and Ron stared at her as if she was from another planet, or had suddenly sprouted horns. Neville smiled to himself.
As the feast came to its end, Crouch brought out a heavy wooden chest and placed it in front of the teacher’s table. Dumbledore came forward, opened the chest and removed a large stone cup which he placed on the table. “If I may have your attention,” he called out to the Hall. “It now falls to me to explain the details of the Triwizard Tournament.” Everyone listened eagerly. “Firstly, for reasons of safety it has been agreed with the Ministry of Magic that only students who are of age may enter the Tournament.”
This got a loud murmur of dissatisfaction from around the Hall. The four Marauders glanced at each other with disappointment. Dumbledore gently raised a hand for quiet. “To ensure fairness,” he continued, “the selection of the champions is performed by the Goblet of Fire.” He indicated the stone cup on the desk. “Any student brave enough to enter must write their name on a piece of parchment and place it in the Goblet before the Halloween feast tomorrow night. Be sure you know what you are letting yourself in for before entering. This is a difficult and challenging competition. Once you have entered, there is no going back and you cannot withdraw. I wish you all the best of luck and formally declare the Triwizard Tournament open.”
At the moment Dumbledore spoke the last word, blue flames danced up from inside the stone cup. They quickly filled the cup and rose high into the air, burning continuously. “The Goblet of Fire lights only for each Tournament,” Dumbledore explained, “and its magical flames last for exactly one day. We will reconvene for the Halloween feast tomorrow where our three champions will be chosen. For the course of the tournament, myself, Madame Maxime, Mr Preminin, Mr Crouch and Mr Bagman will act as judges. Good night, and we shall see you all tomorrow.”
* * *
In the morning, the Goblet of Fire was to be found placed on a pedestal in the centre of the Entrance Hall. Around it, an Age Line had been drawn, to prevent over-eager yet underage students from entering their names. However, this had not deterred the Marauders, who had stayed up in the Gryffindor common room half the night, plotting how to overcome the restriction. They left breakfast early, and Neville and Hermione wondered what they were up to.
All through the day there was a steady procession of seventh-year and older sixth-year students into the Entrance Hall to put their names forward to be the Hogwarts Champion. Some were doing it just for a laugh, or were encouraged by their friends. Others appeared genuinely serious and dropped their slips of parchment in very carefully.
The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang groups passed through early in the morning. Nearly all of those who had come entered their names. In general, they seemed to treat the whole thing much more seriously than their Hogwarts counterparts, regarding the Goblet of Fire with a great deal of reverence. Neville and Hermione were among those watching when Viktor Krum added his parchment just after breakfast, and he did so silently and soberly, as if undertaking a solemn promise.
Shortly before lunch, Neville was in the common room when Seamus burst in through the portrait hole. “You’ve got to come quick!” he exclaimed. “They’re doing it, Harry and the Weasleys, they’re doing it!”
“What are you talking about, Seamus?” said Hermione, looking up from a book.
“They’re making their attempt on the Goblet of Fire!” Seamus answered excitedly. A whole host of Gryffindors, including Neville, hurried out of the common room and down the long staircase to the Entrance Hall. Hermione reluctantly followed, though she refused to leave behind her book.
In the Entrance Hall they found the four Marauders standing just outside the Age Line. Fred had his right sleeve rolled up to his shoulder and George was helping cake it in some sort of thick orange coloured cream. “Hi guys!” said Ron as they entered.
“What on earth are you doing?” asked Neville.
“It was George’s idea,” grinned Ron. “They call this Combining Cream apparently. It’s designed to effectively mix the active properties of ingredients in potions, apparently.”
“So that’s what it is,” said Hermione. “But what use is that to you?”
“Ah, this is the clever part,” said George. He finished covering Fred’s arm. “Gentlemen, your pins.” Each of Harry, Ron and George took out a small pin. Holding their fingers over Fred’s arm, they each pricked them and let a couple of drops of blood fall onto the arm. Instantly, the cream turned a muddy brown colour.
“Ouch!” complained Ron. “I hope that was worth it.”
“You see,” explained Fred, “To cross the line, you need to be seventeen. None of us are. But together we’re far older. My arm is now a mixture of the four of us. It’s hardly a perfect combination, but we only need my arm to be five months older. It’s brilliant!”
“It’s utterly crazy,” said Hermione. “There’s no evidence Combining Cream can even work in that way, and even if it did that’s Dumbledore’s magic you’re going up against. But if you want to make a fool of yourself, go ahead.”
“Oh ye of little faith,” replied Fred with a grin. “Watch this. George, the parchment please. My name first. Once we prove it works, I’ll do yours.” George handed him a slip of parchment. He scrumpled it up in his cream covered hand, took a deep breath and plunged in his arm through the Age Line. Everybody held their breath, but nothing happened. There was a loud cheer.
Grinning broadly, Fred swung his arm back and forth and then tossed the little ball of parchment into the Goblet’s flame. The moment it touched the flame however, there was a bright flash of blue light and what looked like lightening shot from the Goblet into Fred’s arm. He was flung backwards across the Entrance Hall. The charred parchment dropped to the floor and crumbled away.
The other Marauders and the onlookers rushed over to Fred. He was staring down at his arm. The cream had melted away, and his arm was thin and horribly wrinkled, as if it had aged and decayed rapidly. All the hairs on it were grey. Fred looked up at his brother. “This was all your fault, Wormtail,” he moaned.
“Hey, you volunteered, Moony,” chuckled George. “I did say it wasn’t foolproof.”
“You did not! For Merlin’s sake, my arm looks like Auntie Muriel’s!”
“You know,” laughed Ron, “I think that was worth it.”
As they led Fred away to the hospital wing, Neville stopped to talk to Harry. “Would you really have put your name in for the Tournament?” he asked.
“No,” said Harry. “I said I would, but you’d really need to be at least a sixth year to have any chance, and even then you’d have to be really talented. I doubt Fred or George would have been picked anyway.”
They walked out of the Entrance Hall, passing a boy Neville recognised as Cedric Diggory on the way. “Still, it would be an adventure, wouldn’t it?” continued Harry. “The whole school cheering you on. Sirius would think it would be brilliant.”
Neville smiled. He had seen first hand Sirius’ recklessness and love of danger, and Harry was very much Sirius’ godson. He took a different view. The whole tournament sounded incredibly dangerous and he did not envy the three who would be chosen that night. He only hoped they would be capable enough to cope with whatever was thrown at them.
Neville Longbottom and the Goblet of Fire by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang schools arrive and the Goblet of Fire is unveiled.
Chapter Endnotes: If you're wondering where Igor Karkaroff is, you will find out later in this story.