Friday afternoon found Sean in A History of Magic with Marlowe. Neither of them were quite sure why they were still taking the subject. It wasn't as though anyone particularly enjoyed it. Sean supposed his Exceeds Expectations grade on his O.W.L. exam two years ago had been an indicator that he should continue, because he had certainly not expected to receive such a decent grade. He slid Marlowe back his book, inside the cover of which they had been playing hangman. Sean had just guessed the word "champion" in one go. Marlowe read what he'd written, snapped his fingers comically and filled in the letters.

This was a huge improvement on the last word Marlowe had given him (Horklump) which Sean had failed miserably to guess. Only a few minutes earlier, Marlowe had tapped the little hangman drawing with his wand and made him go swinging. He was still swaying back and forth at the top of the page, his little stick person legs kicking uselessly.

Sean began to think of a new word, his quill poised on the page, when Marlowe held up a finger to signal he had thought of another one. Marlowe pulled the book back towards himself and began scratching out short lines for each letter, this one two words long.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _    _ _ _ _

Sean considered it and wrote the letter 'A' somewhere above the dashed line.

Marlowe filled in the word appropriately. Professor Binns droned on about the development of werewolf laws and the increasing acceptance of part-human creatures in recent years. The subject might have been interesting, even relevant had they had a different teacher.

_ A _ _ _ _ A _ _ _ _    _ A _ _

Sean frowned at it. He thought another vowel would be a good bet and chanced an 'I.' Marlowe grinned and drew a big round head hanging from the hangman pole. He doodled an impressive mustache and huge frightened eyes on it while Sean thought.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Professor Binns, who was so used to ignoring the sounds of people not listening, did not go to answer it. He did not, in fact, even seem to have heard it. Sean looked towards the window on the door and saw a familiar face peering in, barely tall enough to see inside the door. It was Elliot, Marlowe's little brother. He caught Sean's eye and waved frantically. Then he pointed first at Sean, then back at himself, and finally jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, mouthing something that Sean could not understand.

He looked at Marlowe who had been watching too. "Guess you'd better go," he whispered. Sean looked back at Elliot who repeated the gesture and then, for the first time in seven years, he raised his hand. Professor Binns looked startled. "Did you have a question, Connor?"

"Uh..." said Sean, not sure exactly why he needed to leave. "I have to go..."

"You are in class, I'm afraid," he began, but then Elliot opened the door a crack and poked his head in.

"Excuse me," he said. "I've been sent to take Sean? It's for the tournament?"

Sean looked back at Professor Binns who sighed and said, "Very well," and continued on with his lecture as though there had been no interruption.

Sean packed up his things silently and stood to go, but Marlowe tapped him on the shoulder before he could leave.

He had filled in the rest of their hangman game.

B A L L Y C A S T L E    B A T S

Sean smacked himself in the forehead and Marlowe gave him a thumbs up. "Tell me what they're doing," he whispered. Sean nodded and he slipped out of the room after Elliot.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Elliot began chattering loudly. "I was in Professor Munslow's class," he said. "And he let us go early, because he had to go to the Weighing of the Wands. And then he said he had to go and get you and I said I  could go and get you. And he let me! What's the Weighing of the Wands?"

Sean hitched his bag up his shoulder. "No idea," he said. Elliot, who was about half Sean's height, half-ran to keep up with him. "Where are we going anyway?" Sean asked him.

"Classroom eleven," he said.

"Mm," said Sean. They walked down a flight of stairs and turned left. Down at the end of the corridor was the classroom. Oscar and Eline were already there.

"Good luck!" squeaked Elliot and he scurried off again.

Sean walked in alone. Oscar looked up when he came in. "'Ello Sean," he said. His accent was thick and airy.

"Hi," Sean said. 

Eline just nodded.

"Do either of you know what this is?" asked Sean, voice low.

"Madame Maxime said that zey are only wondering eef our wands are working well enough to compete. There is a wandmaker 'ere to test them. And then the newspaper ees here to take pictures."

Sean noticed a woman with dark red hair, in the corner talking with the headmaster. She had a notepad out and was writing down something Professor Osset was saying. Had to be a journalist. Next to her was a photographer in black robes with flyaway hair and a twitchy eyebrow. 

Seated at the back of the room in quiet observation was the man Sean had bought his wand from when he was eleven, a man he had been amazed could still be alive back then, and yet, was standing here all these years later: Mr. Ollivander. He was ancient and frail, with pale blue eyes. Sean always had the impression that Mr. Ollivander saw straight to people's souls. He seemed to look at you as though he saw something besides the exterior. It made Sean feel uncomfortable.

"Well, I think we're all here," Professor Osset said, striding over to the champions. "Why don't we get started? Mr. Ollivander is here to check that your wands are all in good order, so I'll turn things over to him."

The wandmaker stepped towards them and in a small voice said, "Ladies first, I think." He approached Eline who held out a short, thick wand made of dark wood.

He took it, ran his fingers down it. "A Dragovic wand, my dear?" he asked.

She nodded. Sean realized he had not yet heard her speak.

"Yes, yes, a fine wandmaker. Adopted my use of only three cores... though the style is certainly different than my own..." he said, examining the wand's girth.  "Let's see, six inches, brittle, phoenix feather core... all correct, I'm sure?"

She nodded again.

Ollivander waved the wand and a jet of pink and yellow bubbles shot out the tip of the wand. Eline looked scandalized. Sean supposed nothing so brightly colored had ever come out of her wand before.

"Yes, all well, all well," he said, handing the wand back to Eline. He moved on to Oscar whose wand was made of a pale cedar wood. "Eleven inches," said Ollivander, examining it. "Quite springy. Good wand for charm work, is it?" His eyes flicked up to Oscar.

"Yes, sir," said Oscar pompously, standing a little taller.

"Yes, and a unicorn hair core," continued Ollivander. He swished the wand to one side and flicked it – Oscar's hat floated off his head. Ollivander chuckled as Oscar's gaze snapped up. He let the hat float back down, where it landed lopsided. Oscar hastened to straighten it before retrieving his wand from Mr. Ollivander who repeated, "All well, all well."

He turned to Sean. "Ah!" he said immediately. "One of my own." He reached out for Sean's wand with more interest. "Yes, I remember this one well. A fine wand. Not a bit temperamental. And it works well for you, I assume?"

"Yes, sir. Always," said Sean. He was very fond of his wand.

"Nine and a half inches," said Mr. Ollivander, tracing one long, knobby finger down the wand. "Dragon heartstring. Pliable. Very good for transfiguration." Sean smiled, proud. Transfiguration was his best and favorite subject.

"You have a girlfriend?" he asked Sean, a slight smile on his pale, thin lips.

Sean shook his head, but something in his face must have told Mr. Ollivander that the answer wasn't really so simple as a yes or a no. "Now you do," he said. He waved the wand and said "Orchideus!" and a bouquet of yellow roses flew out of the tip of the wand. He handed them to Sean, along with his wand. "You give these to her," he said.

Sean cracked a bemused smile. "Will do," he said.

"Well," said Professor Osset, clapping his hands together. "Shall we move along? How would you like them arranged?" he asked, looking at the photographer.

Mr. Ollivander stepped back, still eyeing Sean. He wished he wouldn't. The photographer came over, breathing loudly. He conjured a very small, rickety looking chair which he asked Eline to sit in. "And the boys on either side, just behind," he said.

The photos took much longer than Sean had anticipated. They were made to turn their chins every which way until he was satisfied, and then they were asked to do it all again for the individual shots. Sean thought that, when they had finally finished, they would need to do an interview too, but the journalist had been talking with the professors and headmasters all the while and said she had all she needed. Sean had no idea what they might have said about him. He had not been able to listen in while also accurately accomplishing the intricate movements of his head neck and hands that the photographer was asking him to do.

"Thank you all for your time. I'm sure you're eager to have the rest of your afternoons to enjoy yourselves," said Professor Osset. He shook each of their hands on the way out, calling, "We'll see you again in a few weeks!"

Sean realized, heart sinking, that the first task was now only two weeks away.

---

On Sunday morning, two owls swooped down towards Sean and Evelyn at breakfast. A large tawny owl perched itself on the edge of Evelyn's plate, balancing on one leg with it's great, yellow eyes averted. Evelyn dropped a few coins in the pouch on the owl's leg and untied that morning's copy of the Daily Prophet to which she had a subscription. It had fluttered away before Sean had even managed to get hold of the letter tied to his own brown owl, still a baby and quite giddy. It had been his present when he had become Head Boy.

He had only just managed to remove the letter when Evelyn gasped, the paper unrolled in front of her.

"What?" said Sean, alarmed.

"It's here!" she squeaked. She unfolded the paper to reveal the entire article. A large picture of the three champions covered most of the page under the heading "CHAMPIONS SELECTED FOR TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT."

"Wow, that's a horrible picture of me," said Sean, frowning.

Evelyn smoothed it out so they could read.

On Saturday, the tenth of October, three champions were selected to compete in the one hundred and fifty seventh Triwizard Tournament, hosted this year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Over two dozen students each from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and Durmstrang Institute submitted their names, making this the most populated pool of potential champions in history.

"Wow," whispered Evelyn, drawing her finger under that last line. "I didn't realize..."

When asked to confront the fiasco which took place the last time the tournament was held just five years ago (in which so much security was put in place to ensure that no one left the grounds of Durmstrang with any knowledge of where they had been that the champions of the opposing schools were too confunded to compete appropriately and the first task had to be redesigned and done over), Anna Pavlov, headmistress of Durmstrang Institute, refused to comment.

Gerald Osset, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, assured the Prophet that no such scenario would take place whilst Hogwarts plays host to the competition. "Between the careful planning of the Departments of Magical Games and Sports and of International Magical Cooperation, we are confident everything will run smoothly," said Osset this Friday at the Weighing of the Wands ceremony.

Representing Beauxbatons Academy of Magic is Oscar Durand of Mulhouse, France, aged seventeen. Durand, says headmistress Olympe Maxime, is an able student with an ability for charm work that surpasses that of many students she has watched walk through the halls of her school in her impressive tenure as headmistress. "He has been a leader for his younger peers and a (continues on p.6).

Evelyn quickly turned pages, looking for the rest of the article. The individual shots of the champions were on this page, including a small headshot of Sean, smiling in an embarrassed kind of way with shifty eyes, wondering when the photoshoot would be over. Sean decided he did not like seeing himself in print this way. He was nervous to read what they had written about him. "Sean O'Connell is a complete dunce," perhaps. "We just don't know he ended up champion. Hogwarts has no chance of winning this year's tournament."

Evelyn flattened out page six and they continued to read.

(Triwizard: continued from p.1) model student."

"Representing Durmstrang Institute is Eline Halvorson of Krakow, Poland, aged eighteen. Miss Halvorson's headmistress assures us her pupil is extremely well-versed in defensive magic. "Eline will win," she told the Prophet decisively. "She is winning everything she enters." Halvorson certainly appeared to have a determined look on her face when we met her on Friday. We shall soon see if Pavlov's prediction is true.

Finally, representing our own Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is seventh year and seventeen year old Sean O'Connell of Edenderry, Ireland. We spoke to Professor Westwick - Head of Ravenclaw house of which O'Connell is a member - regarding his pupil. "Sean is the kind of kid you want in a competition like this," he told the prophet fondly. "Good kid. Kind to everyone, hard worker, and a very able wizard." O'Connell is among the top of his class at Hogwarts, plays keeper for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team (which has twice won the Interhouse Quidditch cup with his help), and serves as Head Boy of the student body. We at the prophet support our Hogwarts champion and hope to see him snatch another Hogwarts victory.

The historic tournament will officially begin on November the Third at seven o'clock for the first task. Viewing is limited to Hogwarts students and foreign guests, but limited seating is available for the third task in May, tickets for which can be obtained by contacting the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry of Magic.

Sean's face was bright red when he finished reading.

"Gave you rave reviews, didn't they?" said Evelyn, smirking. Sean hoped no one else read the article. It had come off so boastful. He was happy, now, that he had not been interviewed, and could only hope everyone else read the article that way as well.

"Yeah," he said. "Guess so." He looked away from the paper, not quite sure he was happy with his depiction. They'd made him seem perfect. It felt artificial.

He tried to interest himself in some sausages while Evelyn continued to peruse the paper, looking for anything else of interest. He lost sight of her behind the paper for a few minutes, and she occasionally murmured things to herself. He thought he heard "oh no" and "can't be true..." once or twice.

Suddenly she emerged again, accidentally dipping a corner of the paper into a bowl of jam.

"Look at this," she said. Her eyes were wide and her face had gone pale. She pointed at a very small article on the same page as the second half of the Triwizard Tournament announcement.

Sean began to read again.

MUGGLE ATTACK RECALLS DEATH EATERS

Last weekend, Ministry Officials were summoned to deal with an act of Muggle Baiting the likes of which we have not witnessed since the reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. In a brief interview at the scene, Senior Auror Elise Walsh explained that six or seven masked wizards who aurors have yet to identify had been caught leading a bus full of muggle children towards a particularly dangerous quarry in the South of Scotland. The driver of the bus had been killed, no doubt by an unforgivable curse.

The wizards disapparated as soon as ministry officials appeared on the scene, making it impossible to discover who was involved, but luckily, before any children were harmed. "The ministry has had a job modifying the memories of everyone involved. There were plenty of witnesses besides the thirty or so kids. Seemed they'd all been imperiused or I doubt they would have followed," said Walsh. "We're glad we had news of the incident so early on, preventing anything worse from happening, but the fact is, those wizards are still at large, and our department won't be able to rest until we've identified and caught all of them."

We urge the wizarding community to report any unusual behavior they witness or hear about. This will likely not be an isolated incident. We believe the masks worn were similar to those worn by He Who Must Not Be Named's Death Eaters in the past and can only hope that this fact is coincidence and not a conscious choice.

Sean shook his head slowly, at a loss for words. "That," he said finally, "should have been front page news." He had grown up after You Know Who had gone, of course, but his parents had been in school during the last uprising, and he felt the same prickle of fear that they did every time something to do with him came up.

"I know," said Evelyn. "I guess they didn't think they could share with the Tournament and everything, but I don't know... it's such a small article and it's sort of hidden. Easy to look past. Seems kind of reckless on the Prophet's part, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I do think," said Sean, handing back the paper. He felt shaken. He wondered if his parents had seen it. "Maybe they don't want people to worry."

"Or maybe," said Evelyn slowly, "They don't want to draw attention to it and give them any more power."

"I don't know that that's the best method. Certainly not the one I'd take. But you might be right."

They fell silent, each dreading to think what would happen if these wizards were not caught soon.

"Didn't you get a letter?" Evelyn asked out of the blue.

"What? Oh-" Sean picked up the envelope he had left sitting on the table, unopened. "Oh, yeah."

He slit the envelope open and slid out a piece of parchment, folded into fourths. He recognized his mother's neat print.

Sean,

I can't believe you entered that tournament and I can't believe that it was Caiti who told me you'd been chosen, and not you. I wish I could say I'm furious with you for even considering entering and for leaving me in the dark, but as you're champion now, I suppose I can't pretend any longer that I'm not more proud of you than ever. Your name couldn't have come out of the Goblet of Fire if you weren't the amazing young man I've always known you are - and now the world will know too!

Please, promise me you'll be careful, Sean. This tournament is so dangerous. I know you'll be able to do it, but I can't help but worry, and I know Caiti's worried too. You know how she is. She cares so much about you and about everyone. If something happened to you, she'll experience it twice as hard.

Your father is beside himself. He can't stop telling everyone he meets. He's been boasting to his colleagues all week and I've had so many people come to call asking about you and they're all agog. Course I expect you'll explain everything to me. I want details on every bit of it. Got to be able to answer questions when people come around, you know.

My son, a Triwizard Champion!

I love you so much, Sean. And I'm so proud. Please, be careful and win if you can! We're all rooting for you at home. You'll have the whole of Ireland on your side in a heartbeat at the rate your father's going.

Please write soon - I don't want to keep finding out huge news from your sister that ought to have come from you!

Love,

Mum

Sean's face felt hot and his eyes burned a little. He blinked hard, folding up the letter again, and took a sip of his pumpkin juice to hide his face.

"Who's it from?" asked Evelyn.

"My mum," said Sean. "Just saying congratulations and all." He had known it would be from her the second he had noticed his owl coming, but he had not anticipated he would be so affected. Although, if he was being honest with himself, he had always been a Momma's Boy. Sometimes he thought it was the reason he liked Evelyn so much; she was very maternal.

"Sweet," said Evelyn, a small smile on her lips.

They left the great hall a few minutes later, all thoughts of muggle baiting and masked wizards out of his mind.