As Summer Came to a Close...Sitting here, cross-legged in the middle of my bed with my back against the wall, I began to reflect on the last few months that had gone by. My life had been quite uneventful during the whole of the summer, what with having a muggle for a single mother who expected me to get a job and help out around the house. Now at the age of 17 and, as my mother liked to put it, on the cusp of 'entering womanhood'.. it was time I start trying to make something for myself. What she didn't know was, that I was already set up with a future of my own that was nothing near what she could fathom.
It was hardly achievable to have a social life when the job I maintained in the Muggle Realm was constantly on call, the need never ceased. We always seemed to be 'in season'. Every now and again, I'd get a letter from a friend or two, and would immediately jump at the opportunity to get details of what was currently happening in the wizarding world. It was the only way I was still surviving through the summers, living vicariously through the stories of my friends and their amazing adventures and the occasional Daily Prophet with the usual, unsavory articles Rita Skeeter would write. I couldn't stand reading her articles. It never was clear how some people could actually believe her. She's crooked and slimy. Untrustworthy. It was rumored that Rita could turn into a beetle, but had failed to register herself into the the Animagi Registry. If the rumors were true, I'm sure the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would love to hear all about it.
A sudden
clack! brought me back to my present place, staring over at my pet ferret,
Micah, who was frozen in fear at the edge of my bed. Following his gaze, I found an all-too-familiar owl sitting on my windowsill with a letter hanging loosely from its beak. The owl being my friend Bronwyn Devereuax's feathery friend. Quickly retrieving the letter, I pet the petite little bird on the top of its head before it turns away and flies off towards home. I settle back into my spot and pull the tab of the envelope open, practically tearing the letter from inside. It didn't take long before the smile on my face faded.
422nd World Cup. Death Eaters. The Conjured Dark Mark. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang pulling out of the Tri-Wizard Tournament!?
My heart instantly sank. What would this school year bring, with a start like this? With both schools out for the Tournament, it'd turn into an in-house rivalry, of sorts. I sighed heavily and set both the paper and letter aside, sliding my hand across my face. Giving a soft, apprehensive sigh, I look over at Micah laying in a tight ball of fluff at my feet.
"At least you can sleep with ease." I frowned slightly at my furry friend, feeling slightly envious knowing I'd not have any luck with a decent nights sleep for a few days.
Naming the Tri-Wizard Tournament Champions..."Sit down. Please." Dumbledore's words were softly spoken but held a very stern tone. Everyone listened immediately, finding a seat as quickly as possible. I, myself, sitting beside a few of my housemates and friends. Dumbledore waved his hand slowly around the room and suddenly the lanterns dimmed while everyone fell silent with them.
"Now the moment, we've all been waiting for. The Champion Selection!" He turned towards the Goblet, placing both hands on either side of it a moment before stepping away. The bright blue light within flickered a bit and turned a blazing red, spitting out a burning piece of paper which Dumbledore quickly snatched straight out of the air, squinting at it as he read the name.
"The first Tri-Wizard Champion is, Cedric Diggory!" The room erupted in numerous cheers, the tall, handsome guy shaking a few hands as he flashed a grin towards the whole of the room. Crossing the room, Cedric shook Dumbledore's hand, quickly disappearing off into a separate room.
Without a second's notice, the Goblet spit out another paper. "For our second Champion, Richard Corbeaux!" From across the room, the Ravenclaws applauded and a boy I had only seen once or twice was thrust out of his spot among his friends and out into the open. He seemed stiff. Hell, I would be, too. I couldn't imagine being picked. With everyone previously stating the chances of actually getting chosen were slim to none. I watched as the guy shook Dumbledore's hand and went to join Cedric in the other room.
Once Richard disappeared from sight and Dumbledore had his attention back on the Goblet, as if it knew all eyes had been returned to it, it spat out the last 'golden ticket'. "Our third and final Champion," Dumbledore seemed to hesitate, probably for dramatic effect. Well, it was working. The whole room seemed to be holding their breath, including me. He took a look around the room, his eyes being the only thing on him that moved, and shot the hand holding the paper in the air as he called out the name. "Maddison Morley!" ...my name.
The breath I had been holding onto had left me, in that moment. The girls around me were squealing with joy and the guys were cheering in a steady applaud. The cheers were nothing close to Cedric's, but roughly around the same as Richard's had been. Constant and encouraging enough to get me up out of my seat on the bench and down standing in front of our Headmaster. I gave the best smile I could possibly manage and reached my hand out to meet his, his firm handshake seemed to hold me upright. My head was spinning and I felt as if my legs might melt from beneath me. Regardless, I managed to cross the chamber through the crowd of other students, making my way down the curving staircase to the room below.
As I descended, I could hear Dumbledore's fading voice as it echoed throughout the small room behind me. "Excellent. We now have our three champions. But in the end, only one will go down in history. Only o-" I'd reached the bottom of the steps and could hear no more. Before me stood the two young men who'd been chosen before me. Cedric and Richard. A Hufflepuff, a Ravenclaw, and a Slytherin. All that was missing was a Griffindor. If only it was called the Quad-Wizard Tournament. I couldn't help but smile at the thought.
"Seems as though we've won," I mutter in a soft, cheeky manner. From behind, Dumbledore yelled out almost angrily, "Harry Potter!" My eyebrow raised curiously, turning to face the staircase. Moments later, the very soul that had been called out above came from around the corner and down the steps. Just a boy. 14-years-old. Obviously chosen for the tournament. But how?
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