"I wish I could've gone!" Lee Jordan sighed, leaning against the window of the carriage that began taking them towards Hogwarts. They had been replaying all of the quidditch cup to him, telling him all the details of the bet and the game itself.

Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive, the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale.

Lightning flashed across the sky as their carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. "Let's go fast, I don't want to get soaked." Alicia sighed, running her fingers through her hair.

The group rushed up the stairs, trying to outrun the rain. "Thank Godric!" Alicia grinned, only seconds later to let out a scream. A large, blue, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto her head and exploded.

Drenched and spluttering, Alicia staggered sideways into Angelina, just as a second water bomb dropped — narrowly missing George, it burst at Tori's feet, sending a wave of cold water over her trainers into her socks. People all around them shrieked and started pushing each other in their efforts to get out of the line of fire – Tori looked up, and saw, floating twenty feet above them, Peeves the poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow-tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again.

"PEEVES!" yelled an angry voice. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"

Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress and Head of Gryffindor house, had come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop herself falling. "Ouch – sorry, Miss Granger –"

"Peeves, get down here NOW!" barked Professor McGonagall, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upwards through her square-rimmed spectacles.

" Not doing nothing!" cackled Peeves, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts. Wheeeeeeeeee!" And he aimed another bomb at a group of second-years who had just arrived

"I shall call the Headmaster!" shouted Professor McGonagall  "I'm warning you, Peeves –"

Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely.

"Well, move along, then!" said Professor McGonagall sharply to the bedraggled crowd. "Into the Great Hall, come on!"

Alicia was complaining loudly about how she was soaked. She squeezed her hair out on the steps, entering the great hall.

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in mid-air. The four long house tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here.

"Who do you think is going to be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Angelina asked, looking up at the teachers.

They had never yet had a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. Tori's favorite by far had been Professor Lupin, who had resigned last year. She looked up and down the staff table. There was definitely no new face there.

"Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" George said, taking a seat. "Maybe no one wanted the job," Tori replied. "Oh, hurry up,' Lee groaned, "I'm starving."

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened, and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first-years up to the top of the Hall. Professor McGonagall now placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first-years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty, patched wizard's hat. The first-years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was silence. Then a tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into song:

"A thousand years or more ago,

When I was newly sewn,

There lived four wizards of renown,

Whose names are still well known:

Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,

Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,

Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,

Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.

They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,

They hatched a daring plan

To educate young sorcerers

Thus Hogwarts School began.

Now each of these four founders

Formed their own house, for each

Did value different virtues

In the ones, they had to teach.

By Gryffindor, the bravest were

Prized far beyond the rest;

For Ravenclaw, the cleverest

Would always be the best;

For Hufflepuff, hard workers were

Most worthy of admission;

And power-hungry Slytherin

Loved those of great ambition.

While still alive they did divide

Their favorites from the throng,

Yet how to pick the worthy ones

When they were dead and gone?

'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,

He whipped me off his head

The founders put some brains in me

So I could choose instead!

Now slip me snug about your ears,

I've never yet been wrong,

I'll have a look inside your mind

And tell me where you belong!"

The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished. The sorting began immediately, shouting out the houses. Tori clapped every time for a new Gryffindor, watching the Prefects welcome them. The feast started shortly, Professor Dumbledore had got to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome.

"I have only two words to say to you," He told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. "Tuck in."

"Excellent!" The twins shouted, digging in immediately. The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark windows. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings.

When the puddings, too, had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" Dumbledore said, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices."

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched.

He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of
Hogsmeade to all below third years.

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

Tori slammed her hand on the table, shocked. No Quidditch?! She turned to Fred and George. They were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak. Angelina looked ready to commit a murder.

Dumbledore continued, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy – but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts –"

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled towards the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark grey hair, then began to walk up towards the teachers' table.

A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily towards Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Tori gasped.

The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any anyone had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces were supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing.

But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening.

One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye – and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head so that all they could see was whiteness.

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words no one could hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.

The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark grey hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages towards him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.

"May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore said brightly, into the silence. "Professor Moody."

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students clapped except Dumbledore and Professor Hagrid. Both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.

"Mad-Eye Moody?" Tori whispered to the twins, who shrugged. Dumbledore cleared his throat again.

"As I was saying," He said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "We are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" Fred yelled loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," He said, "Though, now you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag and a leprechaun who all go into a bar —"

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. "Er – but maybe this is not the time ...
no..." Dumbledore nodded. "Where was I?"

"Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament... well, some of you will not know what this Tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago, as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry — Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities – until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the Tournament was discontinued."

"Death toll?" Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. But her anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall many of them were whispering excitedly with each other, Tori herself was interested in hearing more about the Tournament, but she shuddered at the idea of any of her friends dying.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the Tournament," Dumbledore continued, "None of which have been very successful. However, our own Departments of International Magical Co-operation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that, this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.

"The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Hallowe'en. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

"I'm going for it!" Fred hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing themself as Hogwarts champion. At every house table, Tori could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore or else whispering fervently to their neighbors.  But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quietened once more

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," He said, "The Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age – that is to say, seventeen years or older – will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This –"

Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious. "THAT'S RUBBISH!" They were shouting.

"This is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the Tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." His light-blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred and George's mutinous faces. "I, therefore, beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October, and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet, and swarmed towards the double doors into the Entrance Hall.

"They can't do that!" George shouted, standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot!" Tori sighed, agreeing. It would be a little while until she turned seventeen, but still. She wanted some sort of chance... but the death toll...

"They're not stopping me entering," Fred said stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"

"Yeah," Ron sighed, a faraway look on his face. "Yeah, a thousand Galleons..."

"Come on," Hermione said. "We'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."

The group set off for the Entrance Hall, Fred, and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen entering the Tournament.

"Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?" Harry asked.

"Dunno," Tori shrugged. Fred was still talking of ideas. "But it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Ageing Potion might do it, George..."

"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," Tori replied, already knowing she'd be the one to help them with the potion. "Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?" Fred said shrewdly. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are  Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."

"People have died, though!" replied Hermione in a worried voice, as they walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase

"Yeah," said Fred airily, "but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get around Dumbledore? Fancy entering?"

"What d'you reckon?" Ron asked Harry.
"Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older... dunno if we've learnt enough..."

Fred and George immediately continued going over the ideas to enter as they stepped into the portrait. Tori rolled her eyes, knowing this was going to be a hard one to talk them out of.

over three thousand words... wow