❝THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT IS ABOUT TO START...❞

.・。.・゜✭・.

The month of September passes by with relatively no problem. Ara keeps up with all of her homework, doing most of it by firelight while the twins struggle with their letter to Ludo Bagman. He's still refusing to answer them or pay them back the money he owes them, and despite Lee's fervent assertions that he'll set the record straight eventually, Ara's beginning to get worried. She wonders if perhaps Bagman is broke and owes even more people money, not just Fred, George, and Mr. Jordan. Desperate men can do insane things, and Ara doesn't want Fred and George to get hurt.

Hermione, who's discovered a new passion for activism, has started a new club called the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare (S.P.E.W. for short, or, as Harry and Ron like to call it, spew) and has taken to rattling her box of badges underneath people's noses in the common room at night and telling them that their very souls were being cared for by slaves in the basements of Hogwarts. Ara bought a badge just so she could finish her homework in peace, but Fred and George, ever stalwarts for principle, have resisted for weeks.

Their course load has become increasingly more difficult, too: Ara's halfway through translating an entire ancient history book from runes to English, Professor Sinistra has them filling out three star charts a week, Professor McGonagall's starting them on Conjuring Spells, and everyone is extremely sore after Defense lessons, as Moody's begun his teaching on how to resist the Imperius Curse.

October is relatively the same, as well: The weather turns chilly, and Ara, Angelina, and Lee have to wear their coats on the way down to Hagrid's cabin for Care of Magical Creatures lessons. Snape's dungeons are also freezing, and Davies and Pucey have taken to offering to keep Angelina and Ara warm with awful grins on their faces. Snape doesn't seem to care, but last week, Cedric dropped a Dungbomb into Davies' cauldron when Snape wasn't looking and blew up his Memory Potion. They got out of class a half hour early and laughed all the way to lunch.

Then, on Monday, the last week of October, a sign appears in the entrance hall, and George pushes through the large crowd of students in order to read it to Fred, Lee, and Ara: "The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at six o'clock on Friday, the 30th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early. Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast."

"Brilliant!" Fred crows, throwing his arms around Lee's and Ara's shoulders as they head into the Great Hall for lunch. "Now we can get to work on that Aging Potion."

"You still planning on helping us, A?" George asks, raising his eyebrows at Ara.

Ara sighs. "You won't let me get out of it, will you?"

"Not a chance." Lee leans across Fred to ruffle Ara's curls playfully. "Speaking of, where are Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, anyway? I forgot."

"Beauxbatons is in France and Durmstrang's in Scandinavia somewhere, no one really knows where," Ara replies, dropping into a seat at the Gryffindor table, next to Angelina and Alicia. "I wonder how many students are coming."

"Suppose we'll see on Friday," Fred says, scooping roasted potatoes onto his plate. "Let's go straight to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom after last period tomorrow and get to work on the potion. We've got bananas already, and leaves, but Ara's going to need to steal the snake and the newt spleens from Snape's supply room during Potions."

"Just toss a Dungbomb into Pretty Boy Diggory's cauldron." George bumps Ara's shoulder playfully. "That'll be distraction enough, yeah?"

"I'd rather pit Davies and Pucey against each other," Ara replies, shaking her head. "That'd be a hell of a lot more entertaining."

It is only by the skin of Ara's teeth that she procures the snake and newt spleens during Potions the next day, however, on the pretense of needing more ingredients for her Cough Potion. Cedric nearly catches a glimpse of her shoving a very dead orange snake into the pocket of her robes, and she is saved in the nick of time by Pucey dropping a glass phial onto the stone floor and swearing loudly.

The newt spleens are very gross to handle with bare hands, and they begin to smell slightly, despite being wrapped in paper. Ara is lucky to get out of Arithmancy without Professor Vector asking any questions, and she practically sprints all the way down to the second-floor girls' bathroom, clutching her robe pockets to keep the snake and spleens from bouncing out.

"You've got them?" This is the first question out of George's mouth when Ara careens into the bathroom, gasping for breath, clutching her pockets with white-knuckled fingers. He, Fred, and Lee are all sitting on the floor, a cauldron between them, looking up at her expectantly.

"What, no 'hello'?" Ara rolls her eyes, still attempting to catch her breath, and tosses the snake to Fred and the package of newt spleens to Lee. "Yes, I bloody got them. Don't inhale too much, Lee. Those things don't smell very nice. Oh, hello, Myrtle."

"Hello." The teenage ghost waves bleakly from where she's floating above the sink, watching George light a fire beneath the cauldron with slight disdain.

"You're bloody brilliant, Ara." Fred leans over and kisses her temple gratefully. Ara feels a shiver run up her spine at the touch of his lips against her skin. Stop it.

The potion only needs to brew for half an hour, and the four of them spend most of it guessing what the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be like. George's convinced all the French students will be "stuck-up prats", and it's evident after only five minutes that Lee couldn't pick Bulgaria off of a map if he tried.

"You lot owe me for this," Ara says in mock-frustration, scooping the murky orange potion into a small glass phial. She really doesn't care what the twins and Lee get up to; she'll always be around to help them out, and she's said they owe her nearly every day for the last six years. At this rate, she owns a large share of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, whatever that turns out to be.

"We know," George replies.

"We'll pay you back," Fred says with a grin.

"With a bit of the Triwizard winnings, of course," Lee adds.

Ara hands the phial to George, who shoves it into a pocket of his robes with a grateful nod. "It's nearly time for dinner. Let's get this cleaned up, shall we?"

"You know, so many people come in here and leave my bathroom a wreck," says Myrtle mournfully, drifting over to float above one of the stalls. "They don't seem to care how they leave Myrtle's home."

"How extremely unthoughtful of them." Ara shakes her head. "I promise we'll never leave your bathroom a mess."

Myrtle sniffles, and Ara can't tell if she's overwhelmingly happy or dismally sad. "No one's ever cared about me like you do."

"Nice one, A." George rolls his eyes. "You've got Myrtle falling in love with you."

"Not hard to do," Lee chortles, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Everyone falls in love with our Arabella. Pretty Boy Diggory, Dodgy Davies, Kenneth Towler–"

"Never forget how we poured itching powder into his knickers," George says wistfully, as if remembering something lovely. "Bloody brilliant, that was."

"I thought you said Kenneth Towler had a nervous breakdown because of O.W.L.s!" Ara frowns at him. She distinctly remembers a different version of this story.

"Oh, no way." Lee shakes his head with a grin. "Overheard him talking about your arse and Freddie suggested a little payback. Got him scratching all through the Transfiguration practical."

Fred is looking extremely guilty, and Ara rounds on him. "Fred Weasley! You–"

"Defended your honor," Fred interrupts her. "Kenneth Towler had no business talking about your arse to anyone, especially not Pucey and Warrington. He deserved what he got."

Ara wishes she could pretend to be at least a little mad, but the truth is, she's grateful. These three crazy boys can be extremely protective, but she loves them to death and they've gotten her out of some tight situations before.

So she just sighs and shakes her head. "You lot–"

"Are ridiculous," George finishes for her. "We know."

"And you–"

"Should stop fighting your battles." Lee nods. "That, too."

"But–"

"You love us way too much to care." Fred gives her the slow, mischievous grin that always sends the butterflies in her stomach aflutter. "Noted."

"Now, to dinner." George takes Ara's hand and drags her out the door. "I'm starved!"

Somehow, Ara manages to make it through the rest of the week without getting behind on homework, despite McGonagall's and Snape's best efforts to sidetrack her with long, details essays, and when Friday rolls around, Fred is waiting outside the Transfiguration classroom when the bell rings.

"Come on," he says, taking Ara's bag from her and slinging it over his shoulder. "Let's get up to Gryffindor Tower and drop these useless things off."

"Asked McGonagall if that Goblet rumor was true, and she told me to shut up," George says to Fred conversationally. "No one really knows how the champions are gonna be chosen."

"Dumbledore might just pick them himself," Angelina suggests.

"Nah, that wouldn't work." Lee shakes his head. "That'd be partisan, wouldn't it? Give Hogwarts an edge?"

"All I know is there's an Age Line," Ara says, shrugging. "And an Aging Potion isn't likely to fool it."

"Spoilsport." Fred bumps her shoulder, grinning. "Better hope you brewed it right, then, smarty-pants."

"Arsehole." But Ara's smiling anyway.

They dump their bags in their dormitories, Ara and Angelina take a moment to fix their hair in front of the mirror and grab their cloaks, and then rejoin the boys to hurry down to the entrance hall with the rest of the students.

Professor McGonagall orders them into a line, seeming fussier than usual about appearances–she tells off Parvati Patil for wearing a "ridiculous" butterfly hair clip, and chides Ron for his hat being crooked–and when all the Houses have arrived and are obediently standing in queues, they file down the front steps and onto the grounds.

It's already dark out, signaling the start of winter, and extremely chilly. A crescent-sliver of moon peeks out above the Forbidden Forest, and the beginnings of stars twinkle excitedly in the night sky. Despite wearing her cloak, Ara is freezing. She presses herself into Fred's side, whispering, "I'm cold, Freddie," and he wraps his arm around her with a reply: "Don't worry, I'll keep you warm, love."

While his arm doesn't offer her much warmth, his words certainly do. Ara feels a flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks and thanks the stars above that it's dark outside.

"How d'you reckon they're all getting here?" Lee mutters, leaning across Fred to look at Ara and George. "Portkey?"

George shrugs. "Doubt it. Hogwarts has got loads of enchantments on it. Can't Apparate in or out, either. The train?"

"No, they'll want to make an entrance, I expect," Fred says. "Bloody boring, the train."

Then a clear, commanding voice calls out over the heads of the students: "Aha!" Dumbledore sounds excited. "Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

Ara frowns. The grounds are still remarkably empty. "Where–?"

"THERE!" Roger Davies points at the sky just above the forest, and Ara's head jerks upward–

And she, Fred, George, and Lee all see it at once.

A large, black shape hurtles toward them out of the sky at lightning speed, and when it comes close enough to draw the light from the castle, Ara's hands fly to her mouth. "Oh, my god–"

It's a carriage. A massive, blue, flying carriage, pulled by a dozen pale horses twice the size of normal horses. And as the students all watch, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, it circles once and then slams into the ground with an almighty thud.

"Well, I wasn't expecting this," Lee says, his eyes round as dinner plates.

The door to the carriage swings open and a boy wearing blue robes leaps out, unfolding a set of golden steps. Ara stands on her tiptoes to see better over the heads of the fifth-years in front of her. But this is not necessary once the eight-foot-tall woman steps out of the carriage.

She is surprisingly beautiful, in an unusual, jarring sort of way, with clear olive skin, shining dark eyes, and black hair pulled up into a sleek bun.

Every student simply stares at her, open-mouthed, until Dumbledore begins clapping, breaking the tense silence, and everyone else follows his lead. The woman's face, slightly apprehensive before now, breaks into a smile, and she meets Dumbledore in front of the rows of students. He tilts his head to kiss her hand politely. "My dear Madame Maxime, welcome to Hogwarts."

"Dumbly-dorr," she replies graciously, and Fred snickers softly in Ara's ear. "I 'ope I find you well?"

"In excellent form, I thank you." Dumbledore nods to her, smiling.

"My pupils." Madame Maxime gestures to the carriage behind her, where a dozen students, male and female, all dressed in the same blue robes–but no cloaks, which is rather odd, Ara thinks–have disembarked and are standing in a row, shivering and looking rather disgruntled.

"Why haven't they brought cloaks?" Ara whispers, frowning. "Don't they know it's cold in Scotland?"

"Rich gits," Lee mutters grumpily. "Not all of us get to go to school on a beach in France."

They're forced to move over as Madame Maxime leads her students up the steps into the entrance hall, and then it's back to staring at the sky and the grounds, waiting expectantly for the Durmstrang students to arrive.

"D'you think it'll be another carriage?" asks George.

"Dunno." Fred shrugs. "If it is, Hagrid'll have a right hard time dealing with two dozen horses that size."

"THE LAKE!" Lee leans across Fred and Ara to point at the lake. Ara starts, and then turns to look where he's pointing.

In the center of the lake, a massive whirlpool's appeared, creating an odd sucking sound–and then a ship's mast rises up out of it. Ara gasps, grabbing Fred's arm tightly. Her heart is racing for some strange reason, watching this magnificent sight.

The ship, once fully emerged from the lake, drifts slowly toward the shore, and then a large plank thuds onto the bank. Ara can see, from the light of the castle and the inside of the ship, people walking toward them. About a dozen students in red robes, and these students are wearing large fur cloaks at least, all led by a tall, thin man adorned in silver furs.

As they draw nearer, the man is thrown into sharp relief: Short white hair, a curling goatee, and when he calls out happily to Dumbledore, Ara decides she doesn't like his voice very much. "Dumbledore! How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff." Dumbledore meets him in the same place he met Madame Maxime, in front of the students, and they shake hands.

"Dear old Hogwarts." Karkaroff looks up at the castle with an insincere smile. "How good it is to be here, how good... Viktor, come along, into the warmth... You don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold..."

Before Ara can even catch a glimpse of this Viktor, she's being elbowed on both sides by the twins, and both of them are whispering in her ears: "It's Viktor Krum!"

"The Bulgarian Seeker!" Lee looks as though he might wet himself, he's so excited, and as they file back into the castle behind the Durmstrang students, he actually hops up and down on his toes to get a better look at Krum.

"Lee, stop that." Ara grabs the back of his robes, yanking him back into the queue. "You look like an idiot. He's only a student, just like us, and he's probably exhausted."

"Ara, he's not only a student," Lee grumbles, attempting to pull away from her. "He's one of the best Quidditch players in the world!"

"And he's a real person with a cold who's just traveled all the way from Scandinavia." Ara keeps her hold on his robes firmly. "At least wait until tomorrow if you want to fangirl, yeah?"

Reluctantly, Lee drops into a seat at the Gryffindor table, next to George, but he turns around periodically to stare at Krum and the other Durmstrang students, who have chosen seats next to Draco Malfoy at the Slytherin table.

Slowly, all the students from each school file into the Great Hall–the Beauxbatons students are now sitting at the Ravenclaw table–and the staff after them, and while everyone is seated, Dumbledore remains standing, and the chatter ceases immediately.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts, and most particularly: guests," Dumbledore says warmly, smiling widely. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be 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!"

Ara is quite excited about the feast, which is extra decadent, laden with foreign dishes like Hasselback potatoes and coq au vin. She fills her plate with a little of everything, and so do Fred and George. Lee is apparently so excited at the prospect of having Viktor Krum to stay at Hogwarts for the whole year that he can't eat a thing.

Once dinner is over, and Ara feels as though she can't eat anymore, the puddings appear, and Ara finds that she can, in fact, eat more. There's a lovely Scandinavian caramel custard, and of course French macarons, and Ara's favorite apple cake.

And when all the plates have cleared again, Dumbledore rises to his feet. Fred, George, and Lee all snap to attention, practically falling out of their chairs with anticipation.

"The moment has come," Dumbledore says, and Ara can tell he's excited, too. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket, 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–"

Ara frowns, unsure how she hadn't noticed until now. What is Percy's boss doing here? He looks extremely out of place next to Dumbledore, with his severely combed hair and small toothbrush mustache.

"–and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

Bagman is sitting on Dumbledore's other side and gets significantly more applause than Mr. Crouch did. He waves at the students, beaming cheerily, his cheeks as rosy and eyes as twinkling as ever.

Fred leans over and whispers in Ara's ear: "Now we've bloody got him. He can't refuse to answer our letters now, can he?"

Before Ara can respond, Dumbledore begins speaking again. "Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament, and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts." He pauses to smile at the students again, and then glances at the far wall. "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."

Fred grips Ara's arm tightly as Filch stumbles up to the front of the hall, carrying a large old wooden chest inlaid with glittering jewels, and hefts it onto the table in front of Dumbledore.

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," Dumbledore continues, "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."

"Wicked," whispers Lee, his mouth wide open in awe.

"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament, 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."

"I knew it!" George hisses.

Dumbledore pulls out his wand and taps the lid of the chest three times, and it creaks open slowly. He reaches inside and pulls out a large wooden goblet, which is full of nothing but blue flames, flickering ominously. Fred squeezes Ara's arm excitedly.

"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 places the goblet atop the chest, so that everyone in the hall can see it. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, 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, 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."

"We'll see about that," Fred mutters, grinning.

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly," Dumbledore says, his eyes turning suddenly more serious. "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."

Ara suddenly feels her stomach sink. If Fred, George, or Lee are somehow able to enter, and are chosen, there's no turning back. What if they get hurt, or even worse–?

"An Age Line!" Fred crows, as they follow Harry, Hermione, and Ron through the entrance hall toward Gryffindor Tower. "You were right, Ara, and that should be fooled by a well-brewed Aging Potion! And once your name's in that goblet, you're laughing–it can't tell whether you're seventeen or not!"

Hermione turns around to face them, frowning. "But I don't think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance," she says disapprovingly. "We just haven't learned enough..."

"Speak for yourself." George rolls his eyes. "You'll try and get in, won't you, Harry?"

Harry opens his mouth to answer, but closes it again, his eyes glazing over a little at the thought. Ara knows the idea of winning the tournament in front of the whole school is an appealing one, especially to adrenaline junkies like the twins and Harry.

"What's on your mind, love?" Fred bumps Ara's shoulder with his curiously. "You're awfully quiet."

"Just worried." Ara shrugs. "Dumbledore said the tournament would be dangerous, and if you, George, or Lee were to get in–"

"Ah, don't worry about us." George shakes his head dismissively. "We'll be alright. Can't be any more dangerous than trying to invent things behind Mum's back, can it?"

"Or sneaking dragon dung into Percy's in-tray." Fred snickers. "That was a laugh."

Ara can't help but laugh, too. As worried as she will be for their safety if they somehow get in, she knows they'd love it, and she just wants them to be happy.

"Cheer up, love. Balderdash." Fred helps her through the portrait hole, his hand on her elbow. "If I get in, I promise I won't do anything rash."

George and Lee nod in agreement, and Ara laughs as they wave goofily to her before heading up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

"So there's no reason to worry," Fred continues, squeezing her arm gently. "Alright?"

Ara nods, smiling softly. "Alright, Freddie. Good night."

"Night, Ara." Fred kisses her gently on the forehead, lingering perhaps a little longer than he should, and then he follows George and Lee up the stairs to bed.

.・。.・゜✭・.

so sorry for taking so long between updates. my work schedule's been pretty crazy, and i've also been trying to finish another fic up, but hopefully (!) once that fic is done, i can update this story more regularly. 

i thought maybe a long chapter would make up for not updating in a while <3