The Story of Blaise Zabini, Ch. 9
Chapter 9! :)
You'll recognise bits of Dumbledore's speech from book 4 - in fact, this chapter is pretty much just a retelling of GoF, except from Blaise's perspective (well, obviously lol). Some might say this is plagiarism, but I didn't do it for money, and I acknowledge that all excerpts from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire belong to JK Rowling and the team of bloodthirsty lawyers she's no doubt hired to sniff out any form of plagiarism whatsoever. :D Enjoy!
***
So that was my third-year. Pretty dull, don’t you think? Still, when we went back for our fourth-year, it more than made up for a previous year that was duller than Pansy’s personality.
You could tell something was up once we were seated in the Great Hall for the start-of-term feast. The teachers were looking extremely smug about something, and even the Hufflepuffs had noticed something was going to happen. They never usually notice a damn thing.
Sure enough, when the Sorting was over, Dumbledore stood up, causing the chatter to stop almost at once. He gave his usual introduction of the year, about the stuff Filch has forbidden students to use, about the Forbidden Forest and entrance to Hogsmeade.
Then he made the second-most shocking announcement of the night.
“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.”
The Slytherin Quidditch team weren’t the only people that were upset by this news; many people around the hall were whispering in outrage and shock.
“This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy - but I am sure you will enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts -”
Suddenly the crashes of thunder became louder, and the doors to the Great Hall were flung open.
There was a figure standing in the doorway, with a long staff, and wearing a black cloak. Everybody around me, and at the other tables, turned their heads to look at the newcomer.
A flash of lightning illuminated the man’s face. Nearly everybody gasped.
His face was scarred; horribly and completely. A chunk of his nose was missing, and his mouth was just a line in his face. His eyes were the creepiest thing I have ever seen; one was small and black, but the other was round and vivid blue. It kept rolling around in its socket, until it disappeared into the back of his head.
When this person reached the High Table, he shook hands with Dumbledore, then took a seat on the Headmaster’s right-hand side. Once the stranger had made himself comfortable, Dumbledore introduced him as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody. After this pronouncement, the Headmaster was the only one clapping.
Instead of the usual polite applause, there was just an aching void of silence as we stared, transfixed by Moody. But he either didn’t seem to notice, or he just didn’t care. I can imagine someone like him always gets people staring at him wherever he goes.
“As I was saying,” Dumbledore said, after clearing his throat, “we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”
Then a voice I recognised to Fred Weasley’s shouted, “You’re JOKING!”
Everyone laughed at that, even some of the teachers, though you could see McGonagall looking very disapproving.
Once the laughter had died down, Dumbledore continued, saying, “Some of you will not know what this Tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.”
So then he went on to explain what the Triwizard Tournament was about. Basically, it's a year long competition between three schools: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. A student is selected from each school to be their school’s champion and they have to do three separate tasks. But apparently a rising death toll - excuse me? - discontinued the tournament.
“... Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said, “the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older - will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration.”
There was another outburst of chatter at that point, but it was tinged with indignation. Dumbledore must’ve gotten the gist of the conversations, and explained that it was for our own safety, which didn’t seem to help the angry muttering at all.
Then Dumbledore told us when the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would arrive, and then it was time for bed.
As I stood up, talk of the Tournament was on everybody’s lips. By the sound of it, most didn’t care whether it was dangerous or difficult; they just wanted Hogwarts to win. Which brought up the subject of who would be champion for Hogwarts. Someone had apparently heard from the Hufflepuffs that their team’s Seeker was going to put his name forward. This caused even more outrage because, apparently, he’s a pretty boy.
So that night, when I eventually fell asleep, I wondered what it’d be like to be Hogwarts champion. Not that I would ever find out; I’m not seventeen, and I think dangerous and difficult qualifies as an excuse not to put my name forward. Although it might be fun anyway.
***
When October came around, the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had been there for a while already, and it was time for the champions to be selected.
You could almost taste the excitement in the air. From the looks on everyone’s faces, they couldn’t wait to see who would become the three champions.
Once dinner was over, Dumbledore gave a few words about the judges of the Tournament, then when the Hall was deathly silent, he smiled, gestured, and Filch brought in a wooden chest, encrusted with jewels, that looked extremely old.
“... 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. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector ... the Goblet of Fire.”
Dumbledore tapped the lid of the chest with his wand three times and with a long creak, it slowly opened. The Headmaster pulled out a cup made of wood. There was nothing unusual about the cup itself, more what was inside it.
Dancing, blue-white flames flickered in the darkened Hall from the brim of the wooden cup. Goblet of Fire, I mused, nice name.
“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, Halloween, the Goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools.”
Dumbledore began to issue a warning about entering the tournament, and that the Goblet was going to be stationed in the Entrance Hall. I kind of stopped listening because, well, it didn’t really concern me.
There was even more excited chatter that night as everyone left the Hall for bed. So many seventh-years were boasting loudly to their friends that they were going to put their names forward. But I bet none of them do; they’re all talk and no action.
***
The next day, all anyone could talk about was the Tournament. The question was, who would be Hogwarts champion? Most people seemed to think it would be that Hufflepuff, Diggory. Me? Well, I heard a rumour that some of the older Slytherins had put their names in the Goblet, so I’ll show my true house pride and support them. Maybe.
So, once we were seated again in the Great Hall, and everyone had finished dinner, Dumbledore stood up again.
“Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” he said. “I estimate that it requires one more minute.”
Dumbledore then explained that the selected champions were to go through the door behind the High Table where they were to receive their first instructions. He waved his wand and all the lights were extinguished; only the Goblet was alight and shone brightly in the darkness.
Then its blue-white flames turned red and sparks flew from it. Then a flame shot into the air, and a piece of charred parchment came from it. Dumbledore took the parchment and read what was on it.
“The champion for Durmstrang,” he said, “will be Viktor Krum”
Cheers and applause rang through the Hall, as a moody looking git got up from our table and sauntered along into the chamber next to the Great Hall.
Through the Durmstrang cheers and the mumblings of the rest of the school, you could hear Karkaroff shouting, in as loud a voice as possible, that he’d always known Krum would be selected as champion. Karkaroff is a slimy bastard; you should see him fawning over the judges, just for shot at winning the tournament.
The flames in the Goblet had turned red again, and another piece of parchment flew from it. Dumbledore read what was on it again.
“The champion for Beauxbatons,” he said, “is Fleur Delacour!”
Another wave of applause echoed through the Great Hall, although some of the other girls from Beauxbatons were sobbing heavily.
Fleur Delacour is a self-obsessed bitch; she’s pretty, and boy, does she know it. Someone said she’s part Veela, and they’re probably right; from all the pictures I’ve seen of Veelas, they’re stunningly beautiful, with silvery hair and a sort of ethereal glow about them. Fleur Delacour has all those things, the stupid cow, though she doesn't deserve them.
For a third time, the flames of the Goblet became red, and the third and final piece of parchment came out of it. Once again, Dumbledore read what was on it.
“The Hogwarts champion,” he said, while everyone in the Hall waited with bated breath, “is Cedric Diggory!”
Oh for crying out loud! That stupid pretty-boy, Hogwarts champion? Well, that’s it isn’t it? We’re going to lose.
Dumbledore was addressing the school cheerfully, when the flames of the Goblet of Fire, unexpectedly, turned red, once more. There was instant silence; everybody knew that only three people were supposed to be chosen, and we all wondered who had managed to hoodwink the Goblet after all.
Another piece of parchment shot out and Dumbledore seized it; then he looked at it for a long time, before clearing his throat and saying:
“Harry Potter.”
Whoa, this wasn’t supposed to happen! And you can just tell by the looks on the teachers’ faces that they didn’t expect this either. How could a fourth-year Gryffindor hoodwink the ‘impartial selector’ that apparently couldn’t be fooled?
So now, everybody is whispering loudly, and from my seat at the Slytherin table, I can see Potter, and he looks just as surprised as everyone else. Unless he's a really good actor, it doesn't seem as though he's done it; still, you never know with Gryffindor heroes.
Dumbledore conferred with McGonagall for a few minutes, both of their faces serious and somewhat anxious. Then he called Potter's name again, and Potter stood, stumbling slightly as he did so, going into the chamber just off the Great Hall.
You should’ve heard the excited chatter after he’d gone. It was louder than ever, and several people wore faces of surprise, or indignation, or an expression that suggested they thought Potter was just looking for more attention. I don't think that's necessarily true, because he looked genuinely stunned when his name came out of the Goblet. I'd like to say that a fourth-year doesn't know how to do big magic like that, but at Hogwarts, there's always been talk about Potter being as powerful as You-Know-Who was before he fell, so maybe he did put his name in. Either way, he's in big trouble.
As the rest of the school stood up and went up to their dormitories, and the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students went out to the grounds back to their ship and their carriage thing, I wondered exactly how much trouble Potter was in. He was in deep shit if you ask me, but maybe Dumbledore will believe him if he says he didn’t do it. Dumbledore’s cool that way; he gives you a chance to explain and if it’s reasonable enough, then you’re off the hook. Why d’you think I haven’t been expelled yet?
On to chapter 10
You'll recognise bits of Dumbledore's speech from book 4 - in fact, this chapter is pretty much just a retelling of GoF, except from Blaise's perspective (well, obviously lol). Some might say this is plagiarism, but I didn't do it for money, and I acknowledge that all excerpts from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire belong to JK Rowling and the team of bloodthirsty lawyers she's no doubt hired to sniff out any form of plagiarism whatsoever. :D Enjoy!
***
So that was my third-year. Pretty dull, don’t you think? Still, when we went back for our fourth-year, it more than made up for a previous year that was duller than Pansy’s personality.
You could tell something was up once we were seated in the Great Hall for the start-of-term feast. The teachers were looking extremely smug about something, and even the Hufflepuffs had noticed something was going to happen. They never usually notice a damn thing.
Sure enough, when the Sorting was over, Dumbledore stood up, causing the chatter to stop almost at once. He gave his usual introduction of the year, about the stuff Filch has forbidden students to use, about the Forbidden Forest and entrance to Hogsmeade.
Then he made the second-most shocking announcement of the night.
“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.”
The Slytherin Quidditch team weren’t the only people that were upset by this news; many people around the hall were whispering in outrage and shock.
“This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy - but I am sure you will enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts -”
Suddenly the crashes of thunder became louder, and the doors to the Great Hall were flung open.
There was a figure standing in the doorway, with a long staff, and wearing a black cloak. Everybody around me, and at the other tables, turned their heads to look at the newcomer.
A flash of lightning illuminated the man’s face. Nearly everybody gasped.
His face was scarred; horribly and completely. A chunk of his nose was missing, and his mouth was just a line in his face. His eyes were the creepiest thing I have ever seen; one was small and black, but the other was round and vivid blue. It kept rolling around in its socket, until it disappeared into the back of his head.
When this person reached the High Table, he shook hands with Dumbledore, then took a seat on the Headmaster’s right-hand side. Once the stranger had made himself comfortable, Dumbledore introduced him as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody. After this pronouncement, the Headmaster was the only one clapping.
Instead of the usual polite applause, there was just an aching void of silence as we stared, transfixed by Moody. But he either didn’t seem to notice, or he just didn’t care. I can imagine someone like him always gets people staring at him wherever he goes.
“As I was saying,” Dumbledore said, after clearing his throat, “we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”
Then a voice I recognised to Fred Weasley’s shouted, “You’re JOKING!”
Everyone laughed at that, even some of the teachers, though you could see McGonagall looking very disapproving.
Once the laughter had died down, Dumbledore continued, saying, “Some of you will not know what this Tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.”
So then he went on to explain what the Triwizard Tournament was about. Basically, it's a year long competition between three schools: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. A student is selected from each school to be their school’s champion and they have to do three separate tasks. But apparently a rising death toll - excuse me? - discontinued the tournament.
“... Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said, “the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older - will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration.”
There was another outburst of chatter at that point, but it was tinged with indignation. Dumbledore must’ve gotten the gist of the conversations, and explained that it was for our own safety, which didn’t seem to help the angry muttering at all.
Then Dumbledore told us when the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would arrive, and then it was time for bed.
As I stood up, talk of the Tournament was on everybody’s lips. By the sound of it, most didn’t care whether it was dangerous or difficult; they just wanted Hogwarts to win. Which brought up the subject of who would be champion for Hogwarts. Someone had apparently heard from the Hufflepuffs that their team’s Seeker was going to put his name forward. This caused even more outrage because, apparently, he’s a pretty boy.
So that night, when I eventually fell asleep, I wondered what it’d be like to be Hogwarts champion. Not that I would ever find out; I’m not seventeen, and I think dangerous and difficult qualifies as an excuse not to put my name forward. Although it might be fun anyway.
***
When October came around, the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had been there for a while already, and it was time for the champions to be selected.
You could almost taste the excitement in the air. From the looks on everyone’s faces, they couldn’t wait to see who would become the three champions.
Once dinner was over, Dumbledore gave a few words about the judges of the Tournament, then when the Hall was deathly silent, he smiled, gestured, and Filch brought in a wooden chest, encrusted with jewels, that looked extremely old.
“... 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. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector ... the Goblet of Fire.”
Dumbledore tapped the lid of the chest with his wand three times and with a long creak, it slowly opened. The Headmaster pulled out a cup made of wood. There was nothing unusual about the cup itself, more what was inside it.
Dancing, blue-white flames flickered in the darkened Hall from the brim of the wooden cup. Goblet of Fire, I mused, nice name.
“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, Halloween, the Goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools.”
Dumbledore began to issue a warning about entering the tournament, and that the Goblet was going to be stationed in the Entrance Hall. I kind of stopped listening because, well, it didn’t really concern me.
There was even more excited chatter that night as everyone left the Hall for bed. So many seventh-years were boasting loudly to their friends that they were going to put their names forward. But I bet none of them do; they’re all talk and no action.
***
The next day, all anyone could talk about was the Tournament. The question was, who would be Hogwarts champion? Most people seemed to think it would be that Hufflepuff, Diggory. Me? Well, I heard a rumour that some of the older Slytherins had put their names in the Goblet, so I’ll show my true house pride and support them. Maybe.
So, once we were seated again in the Great Hall, and everyone had finished dinner, Dumbledore stood up again.
“Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” he said. “I estimate that it requires one more minute.”
Dumbledore then explained that the selected champions were to go through the door behind the High Table where they were to receive their first instructions. He waved his wand and all the lights were extinguished; only the Goblet was alight and shone brightly in the darkness.
Then its blue-white flames turned red and sparks flew from it. Then a flame shot into the air, and a piece of charred parchment came from it. Dumbledore took the parchment and read what was on it.
“The champion for Durmstrang,” he said, “will be Viktor Krum”
Cheers and applause rang through the Hall, as a moody looking git got up from our table and sauntered along into the chamber next to the Great Hall.
Through the Durmstrang cheers and the mumblings of the rest of the school, you could hear Karkaroff shouting, in as loud a voice as possible, that he’d always known Krum would be selected as champion. Karkaroff is a slimy bastard; you should see him fawning over the judges, just for shot at winning the tournament.
The flames in the Goblet had turned red again, and another piece of parchment flew from it. Dumbledore read what was on it again.
“The champion for Beauxbatons,” he said, “is Fleur Delacour!”
Another wave of applause echoed through the Great Hall, although some of the other girls from Beauxbatons were sobbing heavily.
Fleur Delacour is a self-obsessed bitch; she’s pretty, and boy, does she know it. Someone said she’s part Veela, and they’re probably right; from all the pictures I’ve seen of Veelas, they’re stunningly beautiful, with silvery hair and a sort of ethereal glow about them. Fleur Delacour has all those things, the stupid cow, though she doesn't deserve them.
For a third time, the flames of the Goblet became red, and the third and final piece of parchment came out of it. Once again, Dumbledore read what was on it.
“The Hogwarts champion,” he said, while everyone in the Hall waited with bated breath, “is Cedric Diggory!”
Oh for crying out loud! That stupid pretty-boy, Hogwarts champion? Well, that’s it isn’t it? We’re going to lose.
Dumbledore was addressing the school cheerfully, when the flames of the Goblet of Fire, unexpectedly, turned red, once more. There was instant silence; everybody knew that only three people were supposed to be chosen, and we all wondered who had managed to hoodwink the Goblet after all.
Another piece of parchment shot out and Dumbledore seized it; then he looked at it for a long time, before clearing his throat and saying:
“Harry Potter.”
Whoa, this wasn’t supposed to happen! And you can just tell by the looks on the teachers’ faces that they didn’t expect this either. How could a fourth-year Gryffindor hoodwink the ‘impartial selector’ that apparently couldn’t be fooled?
So now, everybody is whispering loudly, and from my seat at the Slytherin table, I can see Potter, and he looks just as surprised as everyone else. Unless he's a really good actor, it doesn't seem as though he's done it; still, you never know with Gryffindor heroes.
Dumbledore conferred with McGonagall for a few minutes, both of their faces serious and somewhat anxious. Then he called Potter's name again, and Potter stood, stumbling slightly as he did so, going into the chamber just off the Great Hall.
You should’ve heard the excited chatter after he’d gone. It was louder than ever, and several people wore faces of surprise, or indignation, or an expression that suggested they thought Potter was just looking for more attention. I don't think that's necessarily true, because he looked genuinely stunned when his name came out of the Goblet. I'd like to say that a fourth-year doesn't know how to do big magic like that, but at Hogwarts, there's always been talk about Potter being as powerful as You-Know-Who was before he fell, so maybe he did put his name in. Either way, he's in big trouble.
As the rest of the school stood up and went up to their dormitories, and the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students went out to the grounds back to their ship and their carriage thing, I wondered exactly how much trouble Potter was in. He was in deep shit if you ask me, but maybe Dumbledore will believe him if he says he didn’t do it. Dumbledore’s cool that way; he gives you a chance to explain and if it’s reasonable enough, then you’re off the hook. Why d’you think I haven’t been expelled yet?
On to chapter 10