𓏲 . THE BOY WHO LIVED . .៹♡
                                                     CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
                ─── OTHER SCHOOLS ARRIVE & CHAMPIONS CHOSEN

Early next morning, Charlus woke with a plan fully formed in his mind, as though his sleeping brain had been working on it all night. He got up, dressed in the pale dawn light, left the dormitory without waking Alistair, and went back down to the deserted common room. Here he took a piece of parchment from the table  and wrote the following letter:

Dear Sirius and Daniel,

I think we just imagined our scars hurting. We were half asleep when we wrote you last time. There's no point in coming back, we're both okay. Don't worry about us, our heads feel entirely normal.

Charlus

He then climbed out of the portrait hole, up through the silent castle (held up only briefly by Peeves, who tried to overturn a large  vase on him halfway along the fourth-floor corridor), finally arriving at the Owlery, which was situated at the top of West Tower.

The Owlery was a circular stone room, rather cold and drafty, because none of the windows had glass in them. The floor was entirely covered in straw, owl droppings, and the regurgitated skeletons of mice and voles.

Hundreds upon hundreds of owls of every breed imaginable were nestled here on perches that rose right up to the top of the tower, nearly all of them asleep, though here and there a round eye glared at Charlus. He spotted Phoenix nestled between a barn owl and a tawny, and hurried over to him, sliding a little on the dropping-strewn floor.

It took him a while to persuade him to wake up and then to look at him, as he kept shuffling around on his perch, showing him his tail. He was evidently still furious about the lack of gratitude the previous night.

In the end, Charlus came to the conclusion that Phoenix might have been too tired and decided to use Hedwig instead. She stuck out her leg and allowed him to tie the letter to it.

"Just find them, all right?" Charlus said, stroking her back as he carried her on his arm to one of the holes in the wall. "Before the dementors do."

She nipped his finger, perhaps rather harder than she would ordinarily have done, but hooted softly in a reassuring sort of way all the same. Then she spread her wings and took off into the sunrise.

Charlus watched her fly out of sight with the familiar feeling of unease back in his stomach. He had been so sure that Sirius and Daniel's reply would alleviate his worries rather than increasing them.

"That was a lie, Charlus," Hermione said sharply over breakfast when he told her, Harry, Alistair and Ron what he had done. "Neither of you imagined your scars hurting and you know it!"

"So what?" Harry asked, thankfully extremely grateful. "They're not going back to Azkaban because of us."

"And you honestly think they're going to believe that?" Alistair questioned, "I mean for goodness sakes, Sirius and Daniel are a lot of things, but they're not idiots."

"Drop it," Ron said sharply to Hermione as she opened her mouth to argue some more, and for once, Hermione heeded him, and fell silent.

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Charlus did his best not to worry about Sirius and Daniel over the next couple of weeks. True, he could not stop himself from looking anxiously around every morning when the post owls arrived, nor, late at night before he went to sleep, prevent himself from seeing horrible visions of Sirius and Daniel, cornered by dementors down some dark London street, but betweentimes he tried to keep his mind off the men. He wished he still had Quidditch to distract him; nothing worked so well on a troubled mind as a good, hard training session.

On the other hand, their lessons were becoming more difficult and demanding than ever before, particularly Moody's Defense Against the Dark Arts. On the day that the delegations were set to arrive, Professor Moody had announced that he would be putting the Imperius Curse on each of them in turn, to demonstrate its power and to see whether they could resist its effects.

"But — but you said it's illegal, Professor," Hermione said uncertainly as Moody cleared away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a large clear space in the middle of the room. "You said — to use it against another human was —"

"Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like," Moody said, his magical eye swiveling onto Hermione with an eerie, unblinking stare. "If you'd rather learn the hard way — when someone's putting it on you so they can control you completely — fine by me. Off you go."

He pointed one gnarled finger toward the door. Hermione went very pink and muttered something about not meaning that she wanted to leave. Charlus, Harry, Alistair and Ron grinned at each other. They knew Hermione would rather eat bubotuber pus than miss such an important lesson.

Moody began to beckon students forward in turn and put the Imperius Curse upon them. Charlus watched as, one by one, his classmates did the most extraordinary things under its influence. Dean Thomas hopped three times around the room, singing the national anthem.

Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel. Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state. Not one of them seemed to be able to fight off the curse, and each of them recovered only when Moody had removed it.

"Potter," Moody growled, "you're next."

Charlus moved forward into the middle of the classroom, into the space that Moody had cleared of desks. Moody raised his wand, pointed it at Charlus, and said, "Imperio!"

It was the most wonderful feeling. Charlus felt a floating sensation as every thought and worry in his head was wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. He stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching him.

Then he heard Mad-Eye Moody's voice, echoing in some distant chamber of his empty brain: Jump onto the desk... jump onto the desk...

Almost instantly, Charlus bent his knees slightly, preparing to spring.

Jump onto the desk...

Why, though? Another voice had awoken in the back of his brain. Stupid thing to do, really, the voice said.

Jump onto the desk...

No, I don't think I will, thanks, said the other voice, a little more
firmly....no, I don't really want to....

Jump! NOW !

The next thing Charlus felt was considerable pain. He had both jumped and tried to prevent himself from jumping- the result was that he'd smashed headlong into the desk, knocking it over, and, by the feeling in his legs, fractured both his kneecaps.

Harry's eyes widened, and he quickly went to his side. "Are you alright?" he asked in worry. "As good as I can get," Charlus said sarcastically while he winced in pain. Harry rolled his eyes, glad his brother still had his sense of humour.

"Now, that's more like it!" Moody's voice growled , and suddenly, Charlus felt the empty, echoing feeling in his head disappear. He remembered exactly what was happening, and the pain in his knees seemed to double.

"Look at that, you lot...Potter fought! He fought it, and he damn near beat it! We'll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention — watch his eyes, that's where you see it — very good,Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling you!"

"The way he talks," Charlus muttered as he hobbled out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class an hour later, "you'd think we were all going to be attacked any second."

"Yeah, I know," Ron said, who was skipping on every alternate step. Hermione, Harry and Alistair following closely behind them.

All five of them were still completely dumbfounded as to how Professor Moody was able to perform such a curse on a bunch of fourteen year olds.

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After Care of Magical Creatures that day, Charlus, Harry, Alistair, Ron, and Hermione had found themselves heading towards the Entrance Hall, but were unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all milling around a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase.

Charlus, the tallest of the five, stood up on his tiptoes to see over the heads in front of them and read the sign aloud to the other four:

THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT

THE DELEGATIONS FROM BEAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANG WILL BE ARRIVING AT 6 O'CLOCK LATER TODAY. LESSONS WILL END HALF AN HOUR EARLY —

"Brilliant!" Harry said. "We have Potions next! Snape won't have time to poison us all!"

STUDENTS WILL RETURN THEIR BAGS AND BOOKS TO THEIR DORMITORIES AND ASSEMBLE IN THE GREAT HALL FOR THE WELCOMING FEAST.

"Only a couple of hours away!" Ernie Macmillan said of Hufflepuff, emerging from the crowd, his eyes gleaming. "I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I'll go and tell him..."

"Cedric?" Ron asked blankly as Ernie hurried off. "Cedric Diggory," Alistair explained. "He's in Hufflepuff. He must be entering the Tournament."

"He is." Anna said with a proud smile on her face.

"That idiot, Hogwarts champion?" Ron said, aghast, as they pushed their way through the chattering crowd toward the staircase. "He's not an idiot. You just don't like him because he beat Gryffindor in Quidditch," Hermione said. "I've heard he's a really good student — and he's a prefect."

She spoke as though this settled the matter to which Charlus shook his head slightly in disbelief. "You only like him because he's handsome," Ron said scathingly.

"Excuse me, I don't like people just because they're handsome!"  Hermione said indignantly, glancing at Charlus for a moment, but so quickly that none of her friends seemed to notice, "There are other reasons to like someone..."

Charlus raised a brow before he gave a loud false cough, which sounded oddly like "Lockhart!"

Harry, Alistair and Ron held back their laughter at Hermione's flustered state as they continued on their way towards their last class of the day, Potions.

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The appearance of the sign in the entrance hall had a marked effect upon the inhabitants of the castle, everyone was overjoyed and getting ready for the delegations to arrive shortly.

After getting out of Potions seemingly unscathed and returning their books to their dorms, the two Slytherin friends found themselves back in the Great Hall, which had been decorated while the students were in their classes.

Enormous silk banners were hung from the walls, each of them representing a different Hogwarts House proudly — red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, green with a silver serpent for Slytherin, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and finally, dark blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw. On the back wall, behind the large staff table, was the largest banner in the room — the lion, eagle, badger, and serpent solidified in unity within the Hogwarts crest.

Charlus and Alistair sat down beside Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. Once again, Fred and George were sitting apart from everyone else and conversing in low voices.

"It's a bummer, all right," George was saying gloomily to Fred. "But if he won't talk to us in person, we'll have to send him the letter after all. Or we'll stuff it into his hand. He can't avoid us forever."

"Who's avoiding you?" Ron said, sitting down next to them. "Wish you would," Fred said, looking irritated at the interruption. Alistair gave a small laugh at that.

 "What's a bummer?" Ron asked George. "Having a nosy git like you for a brother," George said. "You two got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament yet?" Charlus asked. "Thought any more about trying to enter?"

Hermione gave Charlus a scolding look, "Don't go encouraging them." "I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen but she wasn't telling," George said bitterly. "She just told me to shut up and get on with transfiguring my raccoon."

"Any one wondering what the tasks are going to be like?" Ron said thoughtfully. "I bet we could do them. We've done loads of dangerous stuff before —"

"Did you not hear Dumbledore?" Alistair asked, "This Tournament is famous for its death-toll. I don't know about you, but I'm not trying to die anytime soon, especially not for something as pathetic as 'eternal glory'."

"Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven't," Fred said towards his brother, ignoring Alistair's remark. "McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they've done the tasks.""Who are the judges?" Harry asked.

"Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel," Hermione said, and everyone looked around at her, rather surprised, "because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice, the champions were supposed to be catching, went on a rampage."

She noticed them all looking at her and said, with her usual air of impatience that nobody else had read all the books she had, "It's all in Hogwarts, A History —"

Her next few words were drowned out by the sudden whooshing noise from overhead, which thankfully, only a couple of Gryffindors were in the Great Hall to notice.

Charlus looked up at once, and saw Hedwig soaring towards the table. Hermione stopped talking abruptly; she, Harry, Alistair and Ron watched Hedwig anxiously as she fluttered down onto Harry's shoulder, folded her wings, and held out her leg wearily.

Charlus pulled off the piece of parchment and then, checking that Fred and George were safely immersed in further discussions about the Triwizard Tournament, Charlus read out Sirius's letter in a whisper to his brother and his friends.

Nice try, Charlus.

We're back in the country and well hidden. We want you to keep us posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig or Phoenix, keep changing owls, and don't worry about us, just watch out for yourself, and for your brother. Don't forget what we said about your scars.

Sirius and Daniel.

"Why d'you have to keep changing owls?" Ron asked in a low voice.

"Hedwig and Phoenix will attract too much attention," Hermione said at once. " They stands out. A snowy owl and reddish-brown coloured owl that keeps returning to wherever they're hiding... I mean, they're not native birds, are they?"

"She's right," Alistair whispered, "it's best to keep this under wraps for now, it looks as though the feast is about to begin."

The door of the Great Hall had opened, and hundreds of students from each House had started piling in the room, moving to their designated tables. Hedwig, startled by the sudden loud noises, had flew off the way she came, while Charlus had stuffed Sirius and Daniel's note in his robes.

Not long after, Dumbledore strode down the pathway between the House tables, the rest of the staff following closely behind him. However, the sight of Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch among that group of adults is what really intrigued Charlus.

"What are they doing here?" Harry  asked in surprise.

"They organized the Triwizard Tournament, didn't they?" Alistair replied, thinking of the only viable answer he could come up with. Hermione added on, "I suppose they wanted to be here to see it start."

However, they were silenced as Dumbledore approached the golden podium, ready to speak.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" he beamed, "Today is a special day indeed! Today, we shall be welcoming the delegations from both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang who, I have been informed, have just recently arrived at the castle."

There was a significant cheer from the students, but Charlus had furrowed his brows. "They're already here?" he whispered, turning to his brother and his friends, "What? No dramatic entrance?"

But Dumbledore continued on before Harry, Alistair, Ron, or Hermione had the chance to make any comment. "Please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and their Headmistress, Madame Maxime!"

As if on cue, the Great Hall doors opened and a woman strode down the pathway wearing a diaphanous gown. She was elegant, yes, but also happened to be about ten feet tall.

"Blimey," Seamus muttered from a little bit further down the table, "That's one big woman."

Then, one by one, a procession of stunningly beautiful girls had entered the Hall in graceful synchronization. They all wore silky blue, skin-clinging robes, which made quite the impression on the boys in the room.

"Spoke too soon about the whole 'dramatic entrance' thing," Hermione muttered. "They're veela!" Ron said hoarsely to Charlus,Harry and Alistair.

"Of course they aren't!" Hermione said tartly, watching Charlus's gaze cautiously. "I don't see anyone else gaping at them like an idiot!"

But she wasn't entirely right about that. As the girls' crossed the Hall, many boys' heads turned, and some of them seemed to have become temporarily speechless, just like Ron.

"I'm telling you, they're not normal girls!" Ron said, leaning sideways so he could keep a clear view of them. "They don't make them like that at Hogwarts!"

"I think they make them better than that at Hogwarts," Harry said softly, without thinking.

The group of Beauxbatons had began to pitch themselves forward, cartwheeling to the top of the room, where, allayed in a circle, they awaited their last  thre members.

Two blonde girls walked down the aisle, holding hands, one appearing younger than the other — must be sisters. Vaulting side by side to the centre of the circle, the older looking girl pulled out a silk scarf, dangling it in her fingertips, before spinning the smaller girl like a top to finish off a dramatic trick.

Then, last but not least, was a girl with red hair.

She danced her way down the aisle, a trail of magically-enchanted birds chirping beside her. Then her eyes met Alistair's as she moved her way to the middle of the circle.

She blew a kiss in his direction, and bowed gracefully, causing a handful of whistles from the boys in the room. She glanced up, a teasing smile forming on her face, and sent a cheeky wink in Alistair's direction to finish off the dramatic entrance.

The crowd cheered and clapped before the Beauxbatons sat down on the other side of the room next to the Ravenclaws.

"And now..." Dumbledore announced once again, "our friends from the North! Please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang and their Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff!"

The Great Hall door opened once again, and a tall, sleek, and arrogant-looking man walked forward. He was followed by a regiment of stoic Durmstrang students dressed in dark fur coats.

A pair of sleek black panthers, whose eyes fluttered gold, padded sullenly at the sides of Igor. The students behind him engaged in the craziest parkour-like jumps Charlus had ever seen.

Then, a quartet of Durmstrang boys brought torches to their lips and spat dazzling comets of fire into the air, causing enthusiastic applause from the room.

Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed,  Charlus caught a glimpse of a prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He didn't need the punch on the arm Ron gave him, or the hiss in his ear, to recognize that profile.

"Charlus— Harry —Alistair — it's Krum!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at the boy, "For heaven's sake, Ron, he's only a Quidditch player."

"Only a Quidditch player?" Ron said, looking at her as though he couldn't believe his ears. "Hermione — he's one of the best Seekers in the world! I had no idea he was still at school! I'm getting his autograph if I can! You haven't got a quill, have you, Charlus or Harry?"

"Nope, they're upstairs in my bag," Harry said. "Even if I did have one," Charlus muttered, "I wouldn't give it to you."

"Alistair? Do you have one?" Ron said, turning to him. "I don't, sorry Ron," Alistair said with a small smile.

But Ron shook him off as he watched in awe as Krum walked down the aisle causing majority of the girl's in the room to stare in absolute admiration.

However, it was when Krum had passed by their section of the Gryffindor table that made Charlus furrow his brows. Viktor had sent an interesting glance towards Hermione, and suddenly, the light brown-haired boy started to get really pissed off. Jealous even.

Surely, he didn't have anything to worry about... but what if he did —

"Over here! Come and sit over here!" Ron hissed. "Over here! Hermione, budge up, make a space —" "What?" "Too late," Ron said bitterly.

Viktor Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students had settled themselves at the Slytherin table. Charlus could see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle looking very smug about this. As he watched, Malfoy bent forward to speak to Krum.

"Yeah, that's right, smarm up to him, Malfoy," Ron said scathingly. "I bet Krum can see right through him, though... bet he gets people fawning over him all the time..."

Charlus laughed slightly, "You're one to talk."

Ron ignored him, however, as he was too preoccupied with gawking over Viktor Krum. "Where d'you reckon they're going to sleep?" he said, "We could offer him a space in our dormitory,Harry... I wouldn't mind giving him my bed, I could kip on a camp bed."

Hermione snorted, placing her head on Charlus' shoulder trying to contain her laughter. "Absolutely not," Harry said sharply, "You're not tainting our dorm room with your fanboy fantasies."

Charlus and Alistair had laughed hysterically as Ron sulked, putting his head down in defeat.

Dumbledore spoke once again, beaming around at the foreign students. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and - most particularly - guests. I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast, I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

Albus sat down, and Charlus saw Karkaroff lean forward at once and engage him in conversation, while Madame Maxime seemed to cozying up to Hagrid, much to the discomfort of Professor Flitwick, who sat in between the two giants.

The plates in front of them filled with food as usual. The house-elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than Charlus had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign.

"What's that?" Ron asked, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stood beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding.

"Bouillabaisse," Hermione replied, simply. "Bless you," Ron said. "It truly is amazing how daft he is sometimes," Charlus muttered to Harry, making him chuckle.

"It's French," Alistair explained, nodding to the dish. Hermione added on, "I had it on holiday summer before last. It's very nice."  "I'll take your word for it," Ron said, helping himself to black pudding.

The Great Hall seemed much more crowded than usual; perhaps it was because the delegations had different colored uniforms stood out so clearly against the black of the Hogwarts' robes. Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were revealed to be wearing robes of a deep blood red.

Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A pleasant sort of tension seemed to fill the Hall now. Charlus felt a slight thrill of excitement, wondering what was coming. Several seats along from them, Fred and George were leaning forwards, staring at Dumbledore with great concentration.

"The moment has come," he said, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket —"

"The what?" Charlus muttered. Ron just shrugged in response.

"— just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation" — there was a smattering of polite applause — "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater, or simply because he looked so much more likeable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced.

Remembering him in his neat suit at the Quidditch World Cup, Charlus thought he looked strange in wizard's robes. His toothbrush moustache and severe parting looked very odd next to Dumbledore's long white hair and beard.

"Mr. Bagamn and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore continued, "and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts."

At the mention of the word "champions," the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."

Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached Dumbledore, carrying a great wooden chest, encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old.

A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students; Dennis Creevey actually stood on his chair to see it properly, but, being so tiny, his head hardly rose above anyone else's.

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," Dumbledore said as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways... their magical prowess — their daring — their powers of deduction — and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."

At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.

"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore went on calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector... the Goblet of Fire."

Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup.

It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames. He closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," Dumbledore said. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, the Goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete."

"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," Dumbledore said, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the Entrance Hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line."

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the Goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the Goblet."

"Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."

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As the next day was Saturday, most students would normally have breakfasted late. Charlus, Harry, Alistair, Ron, and Hermione, however, were not alone in rising much earlier than they usually did on weekends.

 When they went down into the entrance hall, they saw about twenty people milling around it, some of them eating toast, all examining the Goblet of Fire. A thin golden line had been traced on the floor, forming a circle ten feet around it in every direction.

"Anyone put their name in yet?" Ron asked a third-year girl eagerly. "All the Durmstrang lot," she replied. "But I haven't seen anyone from Hogwarts yet."

"Bet some of them put it in last night after we'd all gone to bed," Harry said. "I would've if it had been me... wouldn't have wanted everyone watching. What if the Goblet just gobbed you right back out again?"

Charlus laughed, "That's a fair point."

Someone laughed behind Harry. Turning, they saw Fred, George, and Lee Jordan hurrying down the staircase, all three of them looking extremely excited.

"Done it," Fred said in a triumphant whisper to the five. "Just taken it." "What?" Alistair and Ron asked together.

"The Ageing Potion, dung brains," Fred said. "One drop each," George said, rubbing his hands together with glee. "We only need to be a few months older."

"We're going to split the thousand Galleons between the three of us if one of us wins," Lee said, grinning broadly. "I'm not sure this is going to work, you know," Hermione said warningly. "I'm sure Dumbledore will have thought of this."

Fred, George, and Lee ignored her. "Ready?" Fred said to the other two, quivering with excitement. "C'mon, then — I'll go first —"

Charlus watched, fascinated, as Fred pulled a slip of parchment out of his pocket bearing the words, Fred Weasley — Hogwarts. Fred walked right up to the edge of the line and stood there, rocking on his toes like a diver preparing for a fifty-foot drop. Then, with the eyes of every person in the entrance hall upon him, he took a great breath and stepped over the line.

For a split second Charlus thought it had worked — George certainly thought so, for he let out a yell of triumph and leapt after Fred — but next moment, there was a loud sizzling sound, and both twins were hurled out of the golden circle as though they had been thrown by an invisible shot-putter.

They landed painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor, and to add insult to injury, there was a loud popping noise, and both of them sprouted identical long white beards.

The entrance hall rang with laughter. Even Fred and George joined in, once they had gotten to their feet and taken a good look at each other's beards.

(A/n: The only time Fred and George got to grow old together.)

"I did warn you," a deep, amused voice said, and everyone turned to see Professor Dumbledore coming out of the Great Hall. He surveyed Fred and George, his eyes twinkling. "I suggest you both go up to Madame Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like yours."

Fred and George set off for the hospital wing, accompanied by Lee, who was howling with laughter, and Charlus, Harry, Alistair, Ron, and Hermione, also chortling, went in to breakfast.

The decorations in the Great Hall had changed this morning, but still seemed very patriotic towards Hogwarts. Charlus led the way over to Dean and Seamus, who were discussing Hogwarts students of seventeen or over who might be entering.

"There's a rumor going around that Warrington got up early and put his name in," Dean told them as they sat down. "That big bloke from Slytherin who looks like a sloth."

Harry, who had played Quidditch against Warrington, shook his head in disgust, "We can't have him as champion! That would be horrible!"

"And all the Hufflepuffs are talking about Diggory," Seamus said contemptuously. "But I wouldn't have thought he'd have wanted to risk his good looks." "Listen!" Hermione said suddenly.

People were cheering out in the entrance hall. They all swiveled around in their seats and saw Angelina Johnson coming into the Hall, grinning in an embarrassed sort of way.

Angelina came over to them, sat down, and said, "Well, I've done it! Just put my name in!" "You're kidding!" Ron said,looking impressed. "Are you seventeen, then?" Harry asked.

"Course she is. Can't see a beard, can you?" Charlus joked. "Although she may be getting one soon." "Very funny, Charlus," Angelina said, sending the boy a look. "I had my birthday last week."

"Well done!" Alistair said in an excited voice. "Well, I'm glad someone from Gryffindor is entering," Hermione said. "I really hope you get it, Angelina!"

"Thanks," Angelina said, smiling at them. "Yeah, better you than Pretty-Boy Diggory," Seamus said, causing the entirety of the Hufflepuff table to turn and scowl, including Anna, who was sitting next to her brother.

"What d'you reckon'll happen to the ones who aren't chosen?" Ron muttered to his friends as they watched a veela-girl move to drop her parchment into the Goblet of Fire. "Reckon they'll go back to school, or hang around to watch the tournament?"

"Dunno," Harry answered. "Hang around, I suppose... Madame Maxime's staying to judge, isn't she?" "More girls for you three to goggle at," Charlus said teasingly towards the other boys.

"Talking about girls..." Harry said, turning to his brother. Charlus simply rolled his eyes and sighed, "Don't start."

Ron and Alistair shared a knowing glance while Hermione sighed, leaving their two friends with them, bickering in the Hall as they proceeded to their next class.

                                      ────────⊹⊱🐍⊰⊹────────

After classes, the three Gryffindors and the two Slytherins made their way back into the candlelit Great Hall. The Goblet of Fire had been moved; it was now standing in front of Dumbledore's empty chair at the teachers' table. Fred and George — clean-shaven again — seemed to have taken their disappointment fairly well.

The feast seemed to take much longer than usual. Perhaps because it was their second feast in two days, Charlus didn't seem to fancy the extravagantly prepared food as much as he would have normally.

Like everyone else in the Hall, judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet,  Charlus simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champions.

At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet.

On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored.

"Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision," Dumbledore said. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" — he indicated the door behind the staff table — "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness.

The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting....A few people kept checking their watches....

Then, the flames inside the Goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it — the whole room gasped.

Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white. "The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

"No surprises there!" Ron yelled as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Charlus saw Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

"Bravo, Viktor!" Karkaroff boomed, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you!"

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

 "The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore said, "is Fleur Delacour!""Ron, look!" Harry shouted as the girl who so resembled a veela got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.

"Oh look, they're all disappointed," Hermione said over the noise, nodding toward the Beauxbatons. "Disappointed" was a bit of an understatement, Charlus thought. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms.

When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next....

And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment. "The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

"No!" Ron said loudly, but nobody heard him except Charlus. The uproar from the next table was too great. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, but no one was louder than Anna as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off towards the chamber behind the teachers' table.

Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —"

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him.

The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it.

The fire in the goblet turned red again, and another piece of parchment flew out. Dumbledore grabbed it and stared at the two pieces of parchment.

There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the first slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out —

"Charlus and Harry Potter."

━━ AUTHORS NOTE

Oh, shit. Things just got real...

Well, first of all I would like to ask you to take a look at my new story, Tragic Souls, which is a Rings Of Power fanfic. Hope to see you over there soon.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Please, don't forget to vote and share if you do, and if you want, comment too ! I'd really appreciate it <3

Thank you for reading this far.

Until next time, much love to you all!