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Lady Mouldywart · 02-01-2012, 09:22 PM

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Chapter 11 - October 1994

‘...Therefore, anyone interested in entering the Tournament must firstly inform Professor Kysely and if, over the course of your six, seven, eight years here you have proven yourself worthy enough to represent the school, you may be one of the few aboard the ship to Hogwarts, where you will spend the rest of the year – lessons and exams included – even if you are not one of the champions. Might I remind you that despite the precautions taken to make this year’s Tournament – less dangerous – for the champions, death is not necessarily out of the question. You have one week to decide. Go.’

The Headmaster addressed a yellow-toothed leer at the students as they started filing out of the hall for their lessons; Amara and Karina got up and followed the throng of chattering sixth-years making their way to History.

‘Always so positive, Karkaroff, isn’t he?’ Karina said, shouldering her schoolbag, which was surprisingly bulging for someone who rarely carried more than three books around. She peered sideways at Amara. ‘So, what do you think?’

Amara thought for a second. ‘Maybe, but it’s not like I have a big chance of going, seeing as Kysely’s in charge.’

‘Well, I’m definitely trying,’ Karina said, panting slightly under the weight of her mysteriously heavy bag. ‘I bet Hogwarts is great. Well, warmer, to start with. Plus there’s the Ball.’

‘What if one of us gets chosen, though?’

‘They’ll probably choose some tough guy like Pavlovich, not—’

There was a ripping sound and her bag’s contents fell to the floor. There was nothing that looked like it could have weighed more than two kilos – a few sheaves of parchment, two books, quill and ink, dragon-hide gloves, and a silver round object about five centimetres in diameter.

‘You’re still carrying that Warder around?’ Amara said wearily, kneeling down to pick up the sphere, which was much heavier than Amara had assumed it to be. Karina had taken to carrying the Warder around her everywhere she went after Professor Stach, their Magical Creatures teacher, had informed them that the sixth years would be studying Corridor Four. It was by far the most dangerous one, and – according to Karina – the Warder was the only reason they hadn’t been attacked by escaped rampages of Scandinavian dragons and Wendigos yet, as it supposedly warded off evil and bad luck.

‘Don’t tell me it doesn’t work,’ she’d said one morning, perched on the end of her bed in their dormitory as the two were waiting for their turn to use the bathroom. ‘Even Kysley’s been giving us less homework lately.’

After which Amara had had to lend two Dark Arts essays and a diagram for Karina to copy, who'd only just realised she had forgotten to jot them down on her diary, and had Dark Arts in one hour.

This sufficiently proved that the Warder didn’t, in fact, ward off evil or bad luck, but that didn’t stop Karina from hauling it around in her bag everywhere she went.

The History Professor had already started a drone on the 1689 Statute of Secrecy as they entered the classroom and seated themselves at the back, so, without further ado, Amara and Karina followed their usual routine of playing hangman on the corners of their parchment, occasionally scribbling down a note or two from the never-ending litany about witch hunters and Reasonable Restrictions on magic, or ticking off the names of boys they would go with to the Yule Ball or not.

*

The wind blew strongly from the north in the late October. It was the first Quidditch match of the year, and conditions were not very ideal, as Aleks McFarland, Amara’s team captain, kept reminding them as they waited inside the changing rooms beside the Quidditch pitch.

‘We could have done with a bit less fog – just look at that, how are you going to know if you’re catching Quaffles or Bludgers?’ he was saying to the Chasers, pointing at the window as he paced up and down the room. His face was strained in a look that said he’d have liked to aim a Bludger at whoever had fixed the date for the match, as he turned to their Seeker. ‘And you’ll be lucky to spot that Snitch before they call us off. Amara – keep your eyes open and you should be able to see the Quaffle coming. Stan, you—’

He broke off and stared at Stan, who seemed to have dozed off, head resting against his broom and a dribble of drool hanging out of his open mouth.

‘STAN!’

He jerked awake and hit his head against the wall in the act, then, seeming to realise what the look on his Captain’s face meant, started muttering in a thick, uneven accent, ‘Ah – Kapitan, I am most —’

‘Have you been drinking again, Stan?’ Aleks said, clenching his teeth and turning a deep shade of magenta.

‘Ne,’ Stan clearly lied, rubbing his head. His teammates glared at him. ‘Ah, come on, what can a few pints do?’

‘They can lose us this game, that’s what they can do!’ his Captain roared. ‘It’s bad enough already with this weather! And you didn’t come last time we had practice too. If you don't—’

‘Calm down, Aleks,’ Lea said, giving Stan a warning look as Aleks went on. She was a Chaser for the team, and always seemed to find herself being the go-between when one of these arguments broke out. After waiting a few seconds for Aleks let off some steam she cut in, ‘Shut up, Aleks! Both teams play on the same pitch, don’t they? So those Teeming Thestrals aren’t any better off than us. We’ve got a good chance of winning.’

‘Not with Krum on their—’ Stan fretted, rubbing his head. Lea glared at him and he cut off immediately.

A few seconds passed in a strained silence, then Aleks turned round and, head hanging in a defeated way, he said, ‘Come on. The game’s about to start.’

‘We’re going to win this,’ Finn, their Seeker, cheerily said, clapping his Captain on the back, as they heard the commentator outside shout, ‘...and a round of applause for the previous year’s champions, the Hippogriffs!’, and dashed outside, where it had started to rain.

*

‘We lost.’

Back in the changing rooms, Aleks sat down on a bench and stared miserably at his shoes, droplets of rain dripping from the end of his nose onto the wooden floor. The others glanced at each other knowingly. He was probably going to ruin their lives that week with his pestering and groaning.

‘Lost. And we won’t get to play another match for at least another year.’ He looked up at Amara, Stan and Finn, looking so hopeless the situation felt almost funny. ‘What with you guys at the Tournament – I mean, not that – but how will we – unless...’

‘Unless you replace us?’ Stan said bluntly, taking out a bottle of what suspiciously looked like Firewhisky from his rucksack and innocently popping the cork with his wand. He took a sip and went on. ‘No way, Kapitan. I have been trying to get on this team vor years. I am not going to just—’

‘Why are you entering the Tournament, then?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lea cut in. ‘I think we all agree that we should get substitutes, just for this year, yes? Right, that’s settled.’

She got up and, without waiting for an answer, went out into the pitch, followed closely by the other Chasers. Not knowing exactly what to say, Amara hurried outside too, preferring to leave the pep talk to someone who was good at it, like Finn.

It had stopped raining now, but the clouds, dark and dense with water, promised of a storm later in the night. It must have been near sunset, but the sky was already a navy blue. Amara walked in long, slow strides up the steep hill to the castle, wondering if her name would be among the students chosen to go to the Tournament, when the list would be called out the next morning at breakfast. And if they were allowed to take their broomsticks with them to Hogwarts, after all.

She didn’t realise she had reached the East Wing before something made a resounding crash behind her and she spun around, searching for the source of the sound in the torch-lit corridor. Her eyes fell on what looked like a heap of bedraggled clothes leaning on a broomstick and holding what looked like a bottle of Firewhisky.

Sighing exasperatedly, Amara walked towards her drunk teammate and pulled him up with great effort.

‘I apologise,’ Stan said, accenting the ‘ise' so that it echoed across the corridor. He bent down to pick up his Firewhisky, almost toppling over again in the act. ‘It seems I have gotten myself a bit lost. Well, I’ll be off then.’

‘Yeah, well. Are you sure you remember the way?’ Amara said, regretting her words as soon as she’d said them. She’d curse herself into a Flobberworm if she ended up spending the night as a tour guide. She didn’t even know exactly where the boys' common room was.

‘Amara, what took you so long?’

Turning around, she saw Karina closing the door to the common room and hurrying towards her. Sparing a look of reproach at Stan, who was now slurping whisky all over his Quidditch robes, she hurriedly said, ‘I just saw a note on the notice board, and it said there were too many names entered for the Tournament, so they’re holding tryouts instead. They’re tomorrow at five.’

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I hope you liked it! Let me know what you think

02-01-2012, 09:22 PM	#148 (permalink)
Lady Mouldywart Gnome Join Date: Aug 2011 Posts: 276 First Year	----- Chapter 11 - October 1994 ‘...Therefore, anyone interested in entering the Tournament must firstly inform Professor Kysely and if, over the course of your six, seven, eight years here you have proven yourself worthy enough to represent the school, you may be one of the few aboard the ship to Hogwarts, where you will spend the rest of the year – lessons and exams included – even if you are not one of the champions. Might I remind you that despite the precautions taken to make this year’s Tournament – less dangerous – for the champions, death is not necessarily out of the question. You have one week to decide. Go.’ The Headmaster addressed a yellow-toothed leer at the students as they started filing out of the hall for their lessons; Amara and Karina got up and followed the throng of chattering sixth-years making their way to History. ‘Always so positive, Karkaroff, isn’t he?’ Karina said, shouldering her schoolbag, which was surprisingly bulging for someone who rarely carried more than three books around. She peered sideways at Amara. ‘So, what do you think?’ Amara thought for a second. ‘Maybe, but it’s not like I have a big chance of going, seeing as Kysely’s in charge.’ ‘Well, I’m definitely trying,’ Karina said, panting slightly under the weight of her mysteriously heavy bag. ‘I bet Hogwarts is great. Well, warmer, to start with. Plus there’s the Ball.’ ‘What if one of us gets chosen, though?’ ‘They’ll probably choose some tough guy like Pavlovich, not—’ There was a ripping sound and her bag’s contents fell to the floor. There was nothing that looked like it could have weighed more than two kilos – a few sheaves of parchment, two books, quill and ink, dragon-hide gloves, and a silver round object about five centimetres in diameter. ‘You’re still carrying that Warder around?’ Amara said wearily, kneeling down to pick up the sphere, which was much heavier than Amara had assumed it to be. Karina had taken to carrying the Warder around her everywhere she went after Professor Stach, their Magical Creatures teacher, had informed them that the sixth years would be studying Corridor Four. It was by far the most dangerous one, and – according to Karina – the Warder was the only reason they hadn’t been attacked by escaped rampages of Scandinavian dragons and Wendigos yet, as it supposedly warded off evil and bad luck. ‘Don’t tell me it doesn’t work,’ she’d said one morning, perched on the end of her bed in their dormitory as the two were waiting for their turn to use the bathroom. ‘Even Kysley’s been giving us less homework lately.’ After which Amara had had to lend two Dark Arts essays and a diagram for Karina to copy, who'd only just realised she had forgotten to jot them down on her diary, and had Dark Arts in one hour. This sufficiently proved that the Warder didn’t, in fact, ward off evil or bad luck, but that didn’t stop Karina from hauling it around in her bag everywhere she went. The History Professor had already started a drone on the 1689 Statute of Secrecy as they entered the classroom and seated themselves at the back, so, without further ado, Amara and Karina followed their usual routine of playing hangman on the corners of their parchment, occasionally scribbling down a note or two from the never-ending litany about witch hunters and Reasonable Restrictions on magic, or ticking off the names of boys they would go with to the Yule Ball or not. * The wind blew strongly from the north in the late October. It was the first Quidditch match of the year, and conditions were not very ideal, as Aleks McFarland, Amara’s team captain, kept reminding them as they waited inside the changing rooms beside the Quidditch pitch. ‘We could have done with a bit less fog – just look at that, how are you going to know if you’re catching Quaffles or Bludgers?’ he was saying to the Chasers, pointing at the window as he paced up and down the room. His face was strained in a look that said he’d have liked to aim a Bludger at whoever had fixed the date for the match, as he turned to their Seeker. ‘And you’ll be lucky to spot that Snitch before they call us off. Amara – keep your eyes open and you should be able to see the Quaffle coming. Stan, you—’ He broke off and stared at Stan, who seemed to have dozed off, head resting against his broom and a dribble of drool hanging out of his open mouth. ‘STAN!’ He jerked awake and hit his head against the wall in the act, then, seeming to realise what the look on his Captain’s face meant, started muttering in a thick, uneven accent, ‘Ah – Kapitan, I am most —’ ‘Have you been drinking again, Stan?’ Aleks said, clenching his teeth and turning a deep shade of magenta. ‘Ne,’ Stan clearly lied, rubbing his head. His teammates glared at him. ‘Ah, come on, what can a few pints do?’ ‘They can lose us this game, that’s what they can do!’ his Captain roared. ‘It’s bad enough already with this weather! And you didn’t come last time we had practice too. If you don't—’ ‘Calm down, Aleks,’ Lea said, giving Stan a warning look as Aleks went on. She was a Chaser for the team, and always seemed to find herself being the go-between when one of these arguments broke out. After waiting a few seconds for Aleks let off some steam she cut in, ‘Shut up, Aleks! Both teams play on the same pitch, don’t they? So those Teeming Thestrals aren’t any better off than us. We’ve got a good chance of winning.’ ‘Not with Krum on their—’ Stan fretted, rubbing his head. Lea glared at him and he cut off immediately. A few seconds passed in a strained silence, then Aleks turned round and, head hanging in a defeated way, he said, ‘Come on. The game’s about to start.’ ‘We’re going to win this,’ Finn, their Seeker, cheerily said, clapping his Captain on the back, as they heard the commentator outside shout, ‘...and a round of applause for the previous year’s champions, the Hippogriffs!’, and dashed outside, where it had started to rain. * ‘We lost.’ Back in the changing rooms, Aleks sat down on a bench and stared miserably at his shoes, droplets of rain dripping from the end of his nose onto the wooden floor. The others glanced at each other knowingly. He was probably going to ruin their lives that week with his pestering and groaning. ‘Lost. And we won’t get to play another match for at least another year.’ He looked up at Amara, Stan and Finn, looking so hopeless the situation felt almost funny. ‘What with you guys at the Tournament – I mean, not that – but how will we – unless...’ ‘Unless you replace us?’ Stan said bluntly, taking out a bottle of what suspiciously looked like Firewhisky from his rucksack and innocently popping the cork with his wand. He took a sip and went on. ‘No way, Kapitan. I have been trying to get on this team vor years. I am not going to just—’ ‘Why are you entering the Tournament, then?’ ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lea cut in. ‘I think we all agree that we should get substitutes, just for this year, yes? Right, that’s settled.’ She got up and, without waiting for an answer, went out into the pitch, followed closely by the other Chasers. Not knowing exactly what to say, Amara hurried outside too, preferring to leave the pep talk to someone who was good at it, like Finn. It had stopped raining now, but the clouds, dark and dense with water, promised of a storm later in the night. It must have been near sunset, but the sky was already a navy blue. Amara walked in long, slow strides up the steep hill to the castle, wondering if her name would be among the students chosen to go to the Tournament, when the list would be called out the next morning at breakfast. And if they were allowed to take their broomsticks with them to Hogwarts, after all. She didn’t realise she had reached the East Wing before something made a resounding crash behind her and she spun around, searching for the source of the sound in the torch-lit corridor. Her eyes fell on what looked like a heap of bedraggled clothes leaning on a broomstick and holding what looked like a bottle of Firewhisky. Sighing exasperatedly, Amara walked towards her drunk teammate and pulled him up with great effort. ‘I apologise,’ Stan said, accenting the ‘ise' so that it echoed across the corridor. He bent down to pick up his Firewhisky, almost toppling over again in the act. ‘It seems I have gotten myself a bit lost. Well, I’ll be off then.’ ‘Yeah, well. Are you sure you remember the way?’ Amara said, regretting her words as soon as she’d said them. She’d curse herself into a Flobberworm if she ended up spending the night as a tour guide. She didn’t even know exactly where the boys' common room was. ‘Amara, what took you so long?’ Turning around, she saw Karina closing the door to the common room and hurrying towards her. Sparing a look of reproach at Stan, who was now slurping whisky all over his Quidditch robes, she hurriedly said, ‘I just saw a note on the notice board, and it said there were too many names entered for the Tournament, so they’re holding tryouts instead. They’re tomorrow at five.’ ----- I hope you liked it! Let me know what you think Last edited by Lady Mouldywart; 08-03-2012 at 12:39 PM.