In the side-room, Sean stepped dully towards the other two champions and said a jumbled "congratulations" to them, blinking hard. He still did not feel quite present. His hands were shaking invisibly and he felt a buzzing in his head and around his jaw.

The boy from Beauxbatons, Oscar, returned the compliment, but the girl - who Sean decided now was quite scary up close - merely looked at him. Her dark eyes were heavily lined in charcoal and her cheeks were hollow. She was striking, but not in Evelyn's sweet, girl-next-door sort of way. She intimidated him. He could see already why she had been chosen as champion. Oscar, on the other hand, did not look the part. Sean had to assume that he was a particularly talented wizard, because he looked like he had never done a minute of physical activity in his life. He looked pampered. He meant to say something else, to ask them something - he did not know what - but the door opened again at that moment and he supposed they would have to chat later.

A beaming Professor Osset strode towards them, followed by Madame Maxime and Professor Pavlov, who immediately went to their own students to congratulate them. Sean's head of house, Professor Westwick, was close behind. He was a bespectacled man with a sharp, to the point way of speaking, but a rather parental nature all the same. He wrung Sean's hand, grinning and said over and over how happy he was that a Ravenclaw had been chosen while Mr. Fenwick - looking even more sickly than he had the previous weekend - and someone else Sean did not recognize filed into the room. The door shut behind them and everyone turned to face Professor Osset. Professor Westwick left his hand on Sean's shoulder.

"Well," said the headmaster, hands pressed together in a manner that very much resembled a person who had just been presented with their very favorite treat. "I think there can be no question that the goblet of fire has made three exceptional choices this year. I'm sure you're all anxious to go and celebrate with your friends so we will not deprive the remaining delegates from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang" - he nodded at Oscar and Eline in turn - "or the students of Ravenclaw house," - he nodded, now, at Sean, with an extra twinkle in his eye - "a chance to celebrate for much longer. We must however, offer a few pieces of instruction before you leave here for the night. 

"You'll remember Mr. Fenwick," he said gesturing in his direction. The bags under Mr. Fenwick's eyes were illuminated cruelly in the dim glow of the torches hung on the walls. Sean noticed a very small badge pinned to his lapel. It glinted gold when he moved. He could not read what it said, but the badge itself looked to be a full moon.

"But you have not yet met our Head of the Department of Magical Sports and Games, Mr. Boris Catchlove." The man Sean had not recognized raised a hand. He was a much taller man than Mr. Fenwick, and certainly filled out his robes much better. His stomach was a little rotund now, but Sean could tell he had been an athletic and able-bodied man in his day.

"Both these men will be joining the three of us headmasters as judges for the tournament," continued Professor Osset, "and have played a huge part in the planning of this tournament. We owe them much thanks for their work, of course, but there will be time for that later. Now, we must hear from Mr. Catchlove about the first task."

Sean glanced at the other two champions, neither of whom seemed to have expected that they would be thrown into the logistics of the tournament so quickly. He felt something knot up in his stomach again, but pushed it away. The task was not happening yet. There was still time.

"Thanks for that introduction," said Mr. Catchlove jovially. "This'll only be but a minute. Not got much I can tell you just yet. May I first offer my own congratulations to the three of you. This'll be an exciting tournament and I'm sure you're all well fit for the tasks we've set in store for you. 

"Your first task will take place on the first Saturday in November at seven o'clock. It is designed to test your ability to keep your head under pressure and to use your wit and knowledge as much as your magical ability. Beyond that, the task is, of course, a surprise. You will be notified of the specifics that day. I urge you to prepare in any way you see necessary, be that.. Well I shouldn't give you any hints, should I?" he said, grinning around at them all. 

"As I say, you can prepare however you would like to, but you will not know what it is you'll be facing until the day of the task. Each of you will be awarded points out of ten by the five judges and the winner will have a slight advantage over the other two competitors in the second task." He paused, glancing at Mr. Fenwick. "That's all is it, Robbie? Nothing I've forgotten?"

Mr. Fenwick shook his head very slightly. "No, I think that covers it."

"Well, then, " said Professor Osset. "You've heard all we can tell you just yet, now, off to your celebrations. I'm sure your friends and peers are anxiously awaiting your return. Congratulations again."

Sean shook hands with the other two champions and they all filed out of the little room, the adults chatting happily. Sean could not decide how he felt. The terror from earlier had seeped back in just enough to notice at the talk of the first task. November was not very far away. He had less than a month to prepare and no idea what he was preparing for. But he had not forgotten the feeling of his entire house on their feet, of Evelyn's arms around him, her excited voice in his ear. Of applause ringing through the great hall at a decibel he had never heard, even at a Quidditch match.

He took his time walking back up to Ravenclaw tower, content to be with his own thoughts on the matter for a few minutes extra, but he could not put off entering forever. He lifted the knocker on the door, preparing to answer the usual riddle, but was surprised to hear the voice ask, not a difficult question, but a personal one. "Who," it said, the hint of a smile in it's voice, "is the Hogwarts champion?"

"I am," said Sean, alarmed. He had never known the door to have any kind of personality or interest in the students.

But there was no time to dwell on this, because the door had swung open and, immediately upon seeing Sean, people began to shepherd him through. An upsurge of noise hit him like a blow to they face as they all cheered and clapped again at the sight of their champion.

Someone had drawn a cartoon version of himself holding the triwizard cup in his hands and grinning. It was magically amplified so that it covered nearly the whole wall opposite the door where it hung. The pencilled Sean kept lifting the cup over his head in triumph and posing with it arrogantly, as if for a photo-op. The real Sean felt sick and embarrassed about this. He made a pointed effort not to look at it, although this was a difficult task seeing as it was so large.

The whole of Ravenclaw house seemed to want a moment with him. Sean barely recognized the people shaking his hand and congratulating him, asking what he had learned in the side room, if they had announced what the first task would be. He looked around, hoping to find a familiar face. 

Caiti was there first. "I swear!" she half screamed, forcing her way towards him. "If you die in this stupid tournament I will never forgive you. Mom is going to have a fit when she hears." But she hugged him tight and grabbed his forearm, pulling him through the crowd with some difficulty to where Evelyn and Marlowe were waiting. Marlowe dropped the custard cream in his hand and lifted his right hand forcefully, ready for a high five.

Sean grinned for the first time since he had entered the room and smacked hands with his best friend. He had not realized until he saw Marlowe that he had been nervous for this moment. Relief flooded through him when he recognized that Marlowe was not, it appeared, angry with or jealous of him. "Knew you'd get it, man," he said. Sean saw the slightest hint of disappointment cross over Marlowe's eyes but his tone was genuine anyhow.

"Thanks," said Sean. He sucked in a deep breath, shoulders rising, and let it out all at once. He looked at Evelyn. She tipped her head to the right, smiling at him, and then, shaking her head a little, she sidled over to hug him again, this time with much less urgency. She looped her arms under his so that her hands came up around the backs of his shoulders and her cheek was turned into his chest.

"I'm really proud of you," she said. "You're going to be amazing."

She pulled back, looking him right in the eye. He felt it for the second time that night, that urge to kiss her, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. What if she didn't feel the same way? Now he was in the tournament for certain, he needed his friends more than ever, and Evelyn especially - her cool, collected manner, her simple way of reassuring him, her constant, effortless support. No, he could not risk messing up with her now.

"Sean," said Caiti in a sing-song voice. "Pumpkin pasties, your favorite." She swam a pasty in front of his face and, laughing, he reached out to take it, realizing how little he had managed to eat at the feast.

"Come on, let's go sit down," said Marlowe. All the seats were taken but a bunch of first years scattered from the couch by the window as soon as they saw Sean heading over. It was lucky Evelyn, whose head was turned, had not seen this, because Sean knew she would have insisted that they keep their place and he really needed to sit down a minute and process.

People kept coming up to him to ask what he'd been told in the side room, to ask how he felt, and to speculate that he would win. His account of the brief conversation with the headmaster and the ministry men became more watered down with every retelling. By the time the common room had mostly cleared out, it was past two in the morning and he was exhausted.

Caiti lay slumped over on Marlowe's shoulder, eyes heavy. Marlowe himself kept yawning. Sean felt like if he did not sleep soon he would not be able to wake up for at least two days, but still, he was happy just to sit here. He was not quite ready to be alone yet. None of them spoke, even after the last person had gone up to bed.

The gigantic pencil Sean on the wall continued to raise his doodly triwizard cup and shake it in triumph, though much more feebly now.

Caiti yawned widely, sitting up. "Think I'll go to bed, too," she said. Her dark blonde hair was flattened on one side where it had been pressed into Marlowe's shoulder and there was a red spot on her temple.

Marlowe nodded his agreement. "You coming?" he asked Sean as he and Caiti stood.

"In a few minutes," he said. "You go ahead."

They both retreated up to their respective dormitories. Evelyn remained with Sean. Neither of them spoke for a while. Finally Evelyn looked at him and said, "How do you really feel?" She looked worried.

Sean looked up, thinking hard. "Okay," he said finally. "I feel okay."

"Are you.. Are you happy?" she asked. "That you were chosen?"

He nodded. "I am," he said.

"But you're scared?" Her voice was very quiet. She was scared, he knew.

Sean nodded again but said nothing.

"I don't blame you," she said. "You'd be an idiot not to be. Mind you, you're a bit of an idiot anyway for putting you name in, but I'll forgive that."

Sean laughed. "Thanks, I suppose."

She smiled. Her eyes were alight. "And Sean," she continued, "You know you're not really alone in this right? I mean, I realize it's up to you when the tasks actually come around, but you don't really have to do it by yourself." Her voice was low and her words spilled out quickly, a little desperately.

"I know, Ev," he said, smiling just a little. She rolled her lips together, eyes wide and still sparkling the way they did when she felt strongly about something, one way or another. "And," he added. "I promise that if I need help, I know who to go to." She relaxed.

"We should probably get some sleep too," she said.

"Yeah," he said quietly. Without really thinking about it, he reached out and tucked her a shock of red hair behind her ear. Her lips parted a little in surprise and she mirrored his movement with her own hand, brushing over the same place his hand had been seconds earlier.

"Yeah," he said again, and then he looked away from her , shaking his head slightly. In his periphery he saw Evelyn drop her hand. He stood and offered his hand to help her up, not looking at her directly this time.

"Goodnight," she said. He saw her trying to catch his eye, peering at him from under long, thick eyelashes.

He looked down at her one last time. "Goodnight," he said. He gave her a brief hug, fingers of one hand grazing her lower back, and then he headed upstairs, a funny feeling in his stomach that he could not place.

---

Marlowe sat in potions the following Monday, stirring his cauldron without paying much attention to what he was doing. He would probably spoil the entire potion, but he did not much care. He felt distracted. This was the first he had really been away from Sean since his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire and he hadn't yet decided how he felt about it.

He was happy for his friend, he knew that. He was glad one of them had gotten it, as they had always planned. But it had been hard, while he was standing next to Sean, sharing in his glory by association, to recognize that it was not Marlowe they cared about. All day, people had congratulated Sean with Marlowe standing right next to him. And each time, it had sunk in just a little more that his days of dreaming about competing in the Triwizard Tournament were over.

He felt very glum about it, and not even the thought of what Caiti would say if she saw the state his potion was in now could stop him sitting there feeling sorry for himself. He wanted to get it all out before he had to see Sean again that night. He did not want him to know he was jealous. Sean had never been anything but supportive when Marlowe, and not he, was made quidditch captain after all.

But then, hadn't that been the only thing Marlowe had ever had over his friend? Sean was a prefect. Head boy, now. He had more O.W.L.'s than Marlowe. He had a whole line of girls waiting to get together with him, none of which he even noticed.

Yes, Marlowe had every right to be jealous. He should be allowed to throw things, to have a tantrum, to shout about how very wrong Sean had been for submitting his name at all when he knew how badly Marlowe had wanted this opportunity. He dropped his nettles into the cauldron with more force than was strictly necessary. A bit of his unfortunately chunky and sickly green potion sloshed out over the edges, smoking when it hit the flames beneath his cauldron. The flame extinguished.

He swore under his breath and knelt down to reignite it with his wand. Unfortunately, Professor Pym chose that moment to arrive at Marlowe's cauldron. "Oh, dear," she said. Marlowe rose slowly back to his seat without lighting the fire again.

Marlowe had always liked Professor Pym. She was typically a forgiving teacher, very patient - head of Hufflepuff House. She refrained from telling anyone they were struggling until it was absolutely necessary, offering saving advice instead. But Marlowe had a feeling his potion could not be saved. He had barely read the instructions and the manner in which he had chopped, juiced, and siphoned his ingredients had been hasty and careless.

"I know," he said with his cheeks burning. He wanted to swallow himself whole and disappear into nothing so that no one could look at him. Everyone stared, hands loosely holding ladles in their own cauldrons or otherwise forgetting to drop the rest of their nettles inside.

He wished she would yell at him, but instead, she lowered herself to be eye level with him in his seat and said, very quietly, "Marlowe, dear, did you begin at the first step?"

He nodded once, jaw set.

"Did you continue on to the second step?" she asked.

He hesitated. His eyes flicked up to the board upon which the instructions were written in bold, clear print. He nodded again.

"And the third?"

Once more he hesitated. "I don't know," he said.

"Marlowe, this potion is not acceptable," she said. Her voice was very even.

He nodded again, not looking at her. He could not speak. His eyes burned, prickling with shame. He stared at the mess inside his cauldron. It had stopped boiling when the flame went out and, somehow, looked even worse sitting still. How he had let some stupid tournament get the better of him like this? So what if Sean was champion? Marlowe had always known he would be. But still, a part of him was angry at his friend.

This is his fault, he thought savagely.

"Why don't you clean it out," she said. "And start again."

Marlowe looked up, sharp. "But Professor," he argued. "The lesson is almost over."

"Yes," she said. "It is. But if you don't wish to use your time wisely, I shall have to take more of it. You have no more lessons after this?"

"No," he agreed, heart sinking. He had never known Professor Pym to be so strict, but then, he had never produced something so far off from the intended product and this was N.E.W.T. year.

"Then you have a choice. You can turn this in, and receive a zero, or," she paused, looking pointedly at him. "You can remain here and try again."

"I'll stay," he mumbled, hating himself.

She smiled, stood up, and walked back to her desk at the front of the room.

Ten minutes later, the class was officially over and everyone stood packing their bags to leave, but Marlowe was only just beginning again, his cauldron cleared and fresh ingredients laid out on the table. He began chopping his roots carefully. If he was going to spend another hour or more here, he might as well do a good job of it. He had to admit that Professor Pym, as angry as he was with her, was probably the only professor in the entire school who would give him this sort of a second chance.

A few minutes after the class had left, Professor Pym stood too. "I've got a few things to do in my office," she said. "I trust that you'll do your own honest work and clear up your things?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Marlowe, not meeting her eye.

"If I'm not back when you finish, just leave a bottle on my desk," she said.

"Yes, ma'am," he repeated. She picked up a few things from her desk and headed for the door, but stopped and turned to him again.

"And Marlowe? I know this seems harsh, but I'd never have expected this from you, and that's why I'm asking you to do it over. You're better than that."

Marlowe hung his head, feeling even worse than he had before.

She left him to sit there in his misery, wishing that he had not gotten so caught up in feeling sorry for himself that he made it visible to the people around him.

He was just at the point of adding his roots to the cauldron (step three) when the door opened again. It was not Professor Pym, as he had expected, however, but Caiti. She jumped when she saw him, hand flying up to her chest.

"You scared me," she said. "What are you doing here?" He had not seen her yet that day - she often tutored people in potions over her lunch, running into the great hall to grab something for a second and then dashing right back out. Her hair was pulled back in a half ponytail, tied up in the same blue ribbon she had been wearing the last time they had both been in this room.

"I," he said deliberately, hoping not to come across the way he actually felt, "am re-doing my potion. Because I suck."

Caiti laughed and he cracked a smile, relieved that she had taken his tone for his usual good humor and not for whining.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm just.. Checking something," she said evasively.

"Checking what?" he asked, curiously.

"Never mind that," she said. She walked around the edge of classroom and opened the door to the store room. She disappeared behind it for a few minutes and then re-emerged.

"Come on," he said. "Tell me what you're here for." He gave her his best winning smile.

"You're over-boiling your roots," she told him, instead. Marlowe jumped and hurried to read the next instruction.

"Shoot," he said, counting out his spiders and dropping them in one at a time. He stirred three times counter-clockwise, and six times clockwise and the potion settled back to the shade it was supposed to be. "Thanks," he said, settling back down.

Caiti sat by him, but said, "Keep going. This one cooks fast."

Marlowe got to work slicing up the next ingredient. "How is it," he asked, "that you've made all of these potions before that you aren't supposed to do until seventh year, but you're still in the sixth year class?"

She shrugged, swinging her legs under her seat. "I try them on my own," she explained. "But I improve them in class. Learn better technique. You can always use more practice."

"You mean I can always use more practice," he said darkly. "You are a natural."

She gave him a complacent smile.

He worked in silence for a minute, all too aware of Caiti's appraising eyes. "Hey," she said. "Do it this way." She pulled the dandelion roots he had just begun to smash towards him. "It's the yellow stuff inside they want," she said. "But juicing it like that mixes in the water in the stem and it doesn't work as well." She sliced very carefully down the length of the stem, opened it up and used the knife to scrape the insides onto her blade. She tapped it on the edge of the cauldron until it fell in. "Try," she said.

Marlowe's job was much more crude than Caiti's had been but he could see the benefits. In his last attempt, he had accidentally dropped bits of fiber from the stem in with the insides and hadn't managed to get out nearly as much of the sticky yellow plant guts.

"Thanks," he said, "Again."

When he reached step eight (Let the potion simmer for ten minutes. DO NOT STIR.), he sat back in his seat, checked the clock, and then looked at Caiti.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked.

"Of course."

He opened his mouth and closed it again. He had been about to tell her how he was feeling about the tournament, but then he remembered that Sean was Caiti's brother. He couldn't complain to her..

"It's a good thing you didn't see my original potion," he said finally.

Caiti was not a Ravenclaw for nothing. He knew immediately that she knew this had not been what he planned to say. But she was the kind of friend he liked best - the kind who did not push you to admit to anything you were not ready to admit to. She was a good listener, good at knowing what to do. And often times, with Marlowe, what to do was pretend all was normal, even when you knew it wasn't.

"Oh?" she said. "That bad was it?"

"Worse," he grinned.