❝TELL US WHAT'S HAPPENING AT HOGWARTS...❞

.・。.・゜✭・.

Ara stares down at her trunk, packed as full as she can possibly get it (somehow she ended up with more belongings than she arrived at the Burrow with), and sighs heavily. The day she leaves the Burrow is always a slightly sad one, but she has Hogwarts to look forward to, and Christmas, which is always a festive time with the Weasleys around.

She adjusts the sleeves of Fred's jumper, listening to the sounds of the rain against Ginny's window. Jasper chitters angrily from his cage atop her trunk, a walnut clasped tightly in his paws.

"I know, but it's only until we get to school," Ara says, bending down and reaching through the bars to scratch between his ears. "You do this every year, and nothing's ever happened to you."

"I wish we were of age," groans Ginny, hefting one handle of her trunk up with some effort. "We could just levitate these downstairs."

Hermione grunts her agreement, also struggling with her trunk, and with much heavy breathing and scraping of Ginny's floor, the trio manages to pull all three trunks through the doorway and onto the landing.

Ara's trunk gets stuck in the doorway, so she leans back to give it an almighty yank, and it comes free a little easier than she was expecting, sending her into a freefall, surely she's going to tumble all the way down the stairs–

And then a pair of strong arms grabs her shoulders, hoisting her back onto her feet.

Charlie smirks at her. "Really, Ara? Falling for me again?"

"Thank you, Charlie." Ara blows a breath out, attempting to steady her racing heart, and grabs the handle of her trunk again, fully prepared to drag it all the way down the stairs. She wonders every year why she chooses to pack so many books.

"Uh, uh." Charlie wags a finger. "Not on my watch." He pulls out his wand, mutters, "Locomotor Trunks," and all three trunks lift about six inches off the ground, floating gently in the air.

"Thank you, Charlie!" Hermione, Ginny, and Ara chorus, extremely gratefully, and they follow him down the stairs, trunks leading the way, held aloft by his wand. With another flick of his wrist, they stack themselves neatly by the door.

Eggs, bacon, and toast adorn the breakfast table, kept warm by Mrs. Weasley, and Ara's just grabbed herself a piece of toast when a sudden pop shocks the jar of jam right out of her hand.

Amos' Diggory's head has appeared in the fireplace, and it turns toward Mrs. Weasley, who's standing at the stove, frying still more eggs. "Morning, Molly," he says. "Is Arthur about?"

Mrs. Weasley acts as if this is a regular occurrence. "Good morning, Amos! He's up getting dressed, can I take a message?"

"Afraid not." Mr. Diggory grimaces. "It's an emergency, I'm sorry to say. Have to act quickly."

Mrs. Weasley's smile disappears and she drops the spatula into the frying pan, drying her hands on her apron and hurrying to the foot of the stairs. "Arthur!" Ara hears her calling up the stairs. "Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!"

There's a clattering of footsteps and then Mr. Weasley comes hurtling into the kitchen, looking rather harried. "Yes, yes, I'm here! What is it, Amos?"

Mr. Diggory begins talking very quickly, and between bites of egg, Ara makes out something about a disturbance involving someone called Mad-Eye and dustbins and Muggles. It all seems very chaotic, and Ara's so intently focused on the conversation at hand that she doesn't even notice the boys enter the room, much less Fred sit down next to her, until he reaches across her to grab the butter.

She starts in her seat, heart racing, and Fred chuckles softly. "Didn't mean to scare you, love." He glances down at her, pinching the sleeve of the jumper she's wearing with a grin. "Like this, do you?"

"I meant to give it back before, but I forgot." Ara smiles back. "It's comfortable."

"Keep it then." Fred shrugs. "Looks better on you than it does on me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." He smirks slyly. "I like seeing you in it, anyway."

Ara's stomach turns over at his words, and she brushes it off as hunger, reaching for the plate of bacon. Mr. Weasley hurries out of the kitchen once again, off to fight magical crime, Ara's sure, and Mr. Diggory's head turns to Mrs. Weasley apologetically.

"Sorry about this, Molly, bothering you so early and everything... But Arthur's the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and Mad-Eye's supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had to choose last night..."

"Never mind, Amos," Mrs. Weasley replies, shaking her head. "Sure you won't have a bit of toast or anything before you go?"

"Oh, go on then," Mr. Diggory replies, and Ara watches in surprise as Mrs. Weasley uses the fire tongs to transfer a piece of toast from the table into his mouth, and Mr. Diggory thanks her before disappearing with another sharp pop.

Mr. Weasley hurries through the house, calling goodbyes to everyone hurriedly and a bit absentmindedly–he kisses Ara on the top of the head instead of Ginny, but neither of them really mind–and Disapparates out the front door.

"Did someone say Mad-Eye?" asks Bill, entering the kitchen with Charlie, eyebrows raised. "What's he been up to now?"

"He says someone tried to break into his house last night," Mrs. Weasley explains, returning to her fried eggs, which magically haven't burned at all.

"Mad-Eye Moody?" George frowns. "Isn't he that nutter–?"

"Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody," Mrs. Weasley interrupts sternly, tilting the pan so that the fried eggs slide onto the plate in the center of the table.

"Yeah, well, Dad collects plugs, doesn't he?" Fred says, lowering his voice as Mrs. Weasley slips her wellies on and heads out toward the chicken coop. "Birds of a feather..."

"Fred!" Ara elbows him sharply. "That's not a very kind thing to say!"

"I'm not wrong, am I?" Fred rubs his arm, scowling at her.

"Moody was a great wizard in his time," Bill says, reaching for a piece of toast.

"He's an old friend of Dumbledore's, isn't he?" Charlie drops into the chair on Ara's other side, leaning over to kiss her temple gently.

"Dumbledore's not what you'd call normal, though, is he?" Fred asks. "I mean, I know he's a genius and everything..."

No one argues this point; everyone agrees Dumbledore's slightly batty, but it doesn't seem to affect his judgment or his leadership, so Ara doubts it matters. Some of the best people are the ones who are just a little crazy.

"Who is Mad-Eye?" Harry asks, posing the question Ara's been wanting to ask as well.

"He's retired, used to work at the Ministry," Charlie replies. "I met him once when Dad took me into work with him. He was an Auror, one of the best... a Dark wizard catcher," he explains, when Harry frowns in confusion. "Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though, the families of people he caught, mainly, and I heard he's been getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn't trust anyone anymore. Sees Dark wizards everywhere."

"Alright, everyone, the taxis will be here in five minutes," says Mrs. Weasley, bustling back into the kitchen, now apron-free. "Be sure and be ready."

"Taxis?" George frowns. "What happened to the Ministry cars?"

"There weren't any to spare," Mrs. Weasley replies briskly. "I've called a company out of Exeter and they're sending three cars. Come on, get up, get your things."

Bill and Charlie, having some more time off before they leave England again, decide to come along to King's Cross, but Percy's nowhere to be found. Ara's not entirely surprised; he's a workaholic, and although the air between them has changed after their conversation, she doubts he really wants to be around her after she put him firmly in the friendzone. She certainly wouldn't.

The rain is coming down hard outside, and Ara very much pities the three Muggle drivers, watching them attempt to shove seven very large, very heavy trunks into the back of their cars, while Pigwidgeon screeches and Crookshanks yowls, shellshocked from the explosion of fireworks from Fred's trunk just moments before.

The trip to London is a long one, through small towns and rolling hills, and Ara spends most of it staring out of the window at the rainwashed English countryside. Fred falls asleep halfway through and his head falls onto her shoulder, but Ara doesn't mind. He smells nice, anyway.

It's still pouring down rain when the taxis pull into King's Cross Station, so Ara, Fred, George, and the others find carts as quickly as possible and hurry their trunks and the discontented owls, cat, and squirrel under cover. The raindrops are fat and cold and chill Ara to the bone, somehow finding their way beneath the hood of Fred's jumper and sliding all the way down her back. She hopes her hair doesn't get too wet; she doesn't want to have to deal with the frizzy mess that would be.

"Let's find Lee," says George once they get on the train, attempting to find an empty compartment. "Get his opinion on this Bagman thing."

Ara sighs heavily. She's torn on the subject. Fred and George pulled her aside a few days ago and told her that the money he'd paid them for the bet at the World Cup had turned out to be leprechaun gold and it disappeared within hours, and they were going to write him a letter, because it was surely a simple misunderstanding. But Ara has a funny feeling that it's not, and that this is bigger than they think.

Once they find a compartment and have safely stowed their trunks inside, they hop off to say quick goodbyes to Bill, Charlie, and Mrs. Weasley. Charlie gives Ara a tight hug and kiss on top of her head, while Bill is a little gentler, and Mrs. Weasley smells as nice as always as she squeezes Ara tightly and makes her promise, as she does every year, to keep Fred and George out of too much trouble.

It never really works, but Ara promises all the same.

"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," Charlie says with a grin, as he gives Ginny a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Why?" asks Fred, eyebrows raised.

"You'll see," Charlie replies mischievously. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it. It's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it', after all."

"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year," says Bill, staring fondly at the red steam engine to their left.

"Why?" asks George demandingly. Ara laughs; the twins can't stand having secrets kept from them.

"You're going to have an interesting year." Bill's eyes twinkle just the same way as his father's do when he's hiding something exciting. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it."

"A bit of what?" Even Ron might explode with curiosity, but before anyone can answer, the train whistle sounds, meaning it's time for all the students to climb aboard, despite the boys' keen interest in the unknown.

"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione says, leaning out of the window, and Harry and Ara both echo their agreement. The Burrow is a home away from home for all three of them, and for both Ara and Harry, it's perhaps their only home, aside from Hogwarts. It's the only place they truly have family.

"Oh, it was my pleasure, dears." Mrs. Weasley beams at them. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with...one thing and another."

"Mum!" Ron wrinkles his nose grumpily. "What d'you three know that we don't?"

"You'll find out this evening, I expect," Mrs. Weasley replies with a smile. "It's going to be very exciting–mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules–"

"What rules?" the boys chorus.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you. Now behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred? And you, George?"

"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Fred shouts out of the window, as the train pulls out of the station, picking up speed, and the platform quickly disappears from sight. "What rules are they changing?"

"Come on, you." Ara tugs at his and George's sleeves, pulling them away from the window and toward the compartment they chose.

"I hate bloody secrets," mutters Fred grumpily, dropping onto the seat nearest the window with a scowl. "Why can't they just tell us?"

"Tell us what?" Lee pops his head in the door with a grin.

"There's something happening at Hogwarts this year that no one can tell us about," Ara replies, sitting down next to Fred. "And Freddie's just being cross about it."

"Am not," interjects Fred, rather crossly.

"Figure we'll find out from Dumbledore tonight, though," George says carelessly, kicking his feet across Lee's lap lazily and laughing when Lee shoves his legs off, looking entirely offended. "Any bets on what it is?"

"Well, new Defense teacher's a lock." Fred shrugs his shoulders. "Lupin definitely won't be coming back."

Ara shakes her head. "It was utterly cruel what Professor Snape did to him." She really loved Lupin, and when Snape outed him as a werewolf to the whole school and forced him to quit at the end of last year, it broke her heart. He was the best DADA teacher they'd ever had.

"Snape's a git, we all know that," George quips lazily. "But Bill said he wanted to come and watch whatever it is, so it's got to be some type of event."

"Maybe...a special Quidditch cup?" Lee suggests, shrugging. "Something with a real prize at the end? Money, maybe?"

"Nah." Fred waves a hand. "Nobody'd come and watch that, not when they've got professional Quidditch to watch."

The boys debate this topic back and forth for the next few hours, and Ara pulls out a book–Modern Magical History–only partially listening to their conversation. She leans back against the seat, curling her legs underneath her, and her stomach turns over when Fred adjusts in his seat, resting his hand on her knee casually.

As the day winds on, the sky grows darker and darker outside, the rain lashing heavily against the roof and sides of the train, so loud that Ara can barely hear herself think. Fred and George bring up Bagman in front of Lee, who brushes it off. Bagman's notorious for leaving his debts longer than he should, and Lee is confident he'll pay both them and his father back in time. When the lunch trolley comes around, they make sure to stock up on Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties, as all of their stomachs are growling hungrily.

Angelina pops in at half past four, and the conversation turns to the World Cup. As Angelina and Lee argue about whether or not Zograf really fouled Mullet, Ara watches George's gaze: All too often, it lands on Angelina. She's noticed this since fourth year: The way he watches her, the way he leans toward her in conversation. Maybe this is the year he does something about the way he feels.

Maybe Ara should push him a little.

At a quarter to six, Ara and Angelina kick the boys out of the compartment so they can change into their school robes, and the rain pounds even harder against the windows as they shuffle out into the hall, pulling their robes tight around them. Ara takes Jasper out of his cage and tucks him into the inside pocket of her robes.

The queue for the carriages is long, as always, but it seems to be moving so much more slowly than in the past. The rain is icy, fat drops finding their way down Ara's neck, into her socks, dripping into her eyes. She leans into Fred's shoulder, hiding her face in his cloak, shivering from the cold.

Angelina drops back to ride up to the castle with Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell, and Fred drapes his cloak over Ara's shoulders as they make their way toward the front of the queue. "Bloody cold for September," he says, pushing his sopping hair back from his forehead and wiping rain from his eyes. "Alright, love?"

"Fine." Ara takes George's hand, stepping up into the carriage, careful not to slip on the rain-soaked step. Fred's hand presses gently at the small of her back, steadying her, and Ara refuses to let this sway her, despite the deliberate uptick of butterflies in her stomach.

The wind and rain batter the carriages, and lightning flashes ominously as Lee complains about getting his dreadlocks wet, and Ara ties her curls up into a knot on top of her head, where they will be less of a nuisance. Bloody annoying rain.

The steps up to the Great Hall are slippery, and this is only exacerbated by Peeves chucking water balloons at unsuspecting students. Fred yanks Ara out of the way of one such balloon, and as Peeves cackles maniacally, Fred shows him two middle fingers. George and Lee howl with laughter, and together they slip and slide through the entrance hall and into the Great Hall.

It is delightfully warm inside, candles floating above the tables as always, reflected in the hundreds of bright golden plates. Ara, Fred, George, and Lee find seats near the middle of the table, and George mutters something about hurrying the hell up with the bloody Sorting so that they can eat. He and Ron are the same, always worrying about food first.

More and more students file into the Great Hall, chattering animatedly, and finally, after several long, food-deficient minutes, Professor McGonagall leads the tiny, nervous, sopping wet first-years between the tables up to the front of the Hall, Sorting Hat tucked beneath her arm.

The Sorting Hat's song is drowned out by Fred, George, and Lee whispering bets about Dumbledore's secret announcement–a larger-than-ever Quidditch cup, an inter-house competition of some kind, or something even more radical–and then the Sorting commences. Three new Gryffindors, Dennis Creevey, Jimmy Peakes, and Natalie McDonald, join their ranks, and then Professor Dumbledore gets to his feet.

He smiles around at them, his eyes twinkling, arms spread wide. "I have only two words to say to you: Tuck in."

"About bloody time," George mutters, as the dishes in front of them fill magically with food. Ara scoops roast chicken, mashed potatoes, sprouts, carrots, and peas onto her plate, all of a sudden ravenously hungry, and when the main dishes disappear and are replaced with puddings, she helps herself to a large slice of apple cake.

As everyone is finishing up their pudding, Dumbledore stands once again, pausing only for the chatter to die down as every face turns expectantly toward him. "So," he says, smiling again, "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."

"Know what I'm ordering from Zonko's next," whispers Lee, grinning mischievously.

"The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe," Dumbledore continues, his mouth twitching in amusement, "and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it. As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students–"

"Is it now?" Fred winks at Ara slyly, and she covers her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

"–as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

Fred and George's jaws drop. They stare incredulously at Dumbledore, opening and closing their mouths like outraged goldfish, unable to formulate a coherent sentence. Ara's a little confused; if the Quidditch Cup isn't happening, then what is?

"This is due to an event that will be starting in October," Dumbledore says, silencing the angry whispers from the students across the Hall, "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–"

"Here it comes!" Lee's nearly falling out of his seat in excitement.

But before Dumbledore can say any more, the doors to the Great Hall are thrown open with a deafening crash. Every head whips around in sync.

There in the doorway, stands a man, shrouded in shadow and a black traveling cloak, a tall, foreboding staff in one hand. Lightning illuminates his face, deeply and heavily scarred, lined with age, and framed by long, straggly gray hair. One eye is real; the other is mechanical, magical, and bright blue, whirring around in its socket like an excited hamster in a ball.

Silence falls entirely over the Great Hall, as every student stares, openmouthed, at this stranger, limping up the hall toward the staff table.

"That's Mad-Eye Moody," Fred whispers in Ara's ear. "Wonder what he's doing here?"

Mad-Eye Moody... The same Moody that Mr. Weasley dashed off to help just this morning. Ara watches in awe as Moody shakes Dumbledore's hand gruffly, talking in low, inaudible tones, then drops into the seat on Dumbledore's right, pulling a plate of food toward him unceremoniously.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Dumbledore says, turning back to face the hall. "Professor Moody!"

The hall is stunned into silence. Only Dumbledore and Hagrid clap for Moody, who doesn't seem bothered by the aura of awe and slight fear that falls over the students below, now heavily interested in the food on his plate.

"Defense teacher?" Lee leans closer to Fred, George, and Ara, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Doesn't seem like he's defended himself very well, does it?"

Ara knows Lee means Moody's heavily scarred face, but her eyes drift beneath the staff table, to the unmistakable outline of a wooden leg. No doubt this Moody is very different to any Defense teacher they've ever had.

"As I was saying," Dumbledore says, clearing his throat pointedly. "We are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century."

He pauses briefly, perhaps to draw out the suspense, before saying: "It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

.・。.・゜✭・.

finally an update lmao i'm so terrible with this story. i'll do my best to update more regularly?