A Summoner in the Wizarding World

Separating from Luna and promising to reply as soon as possible, I joined the students in red and gold walking towards the Hall. Dean Thomas, who I saw at the World Cup, along with Fred and George's friend Lee Jordan spotted me and promptly filled me in with the details of their thrilling escape from the Dark Wizards that day the Dark Mark was seen after over ten years - not that either of them was telling the truth, of course.

After greeting Harry's acquaintances and feigning interest in the various irrelevant adventures they had over the summer, I settled into the Griffindor table with Ron and Hermione. A certain boy with a camera waved at me enthusiastically, but even Harry's innate physiology rejects him and screams to hide from the clicking shutters, prompting me to ignore his actions.

The Hat sung a new song, this year, which, to be honest, did not sound quite so polished or magical, nor plot-relevant like some of the following years. I lightly snoozed through it, tired from the train's questioning, and got shook awake at the end by Ron. Dennis Creevey, the younger sibling of that overenthusiastic fan just now, got sorted in my House and I'm not so pleased with getting two tails now instead of one.

As my eyes drift towards the Ravenclaw table, I met Cho's, who gave me a carefree, respectful and platonic smile, possibly a result of mutual respect for Quidditch Seekers, which original Harry definitely would've mistaken as reciprocating his feelings. Of course, this did not go unnoticed as two sharp glares pierced me questioningly from the sides, and any common sense dictates they're from a certain brunette who had Granger in her name and a petite younger student with fiery red hair.

After the newly-Sorted first-years settled in, the feast begins and the tables filled with roasted meat, steaks, boiled potatoes and kidney pies along with much more typical British cuisine. This time, as I did not draw Hermione's attention to House Elves' slavery, she dug into the food moderately, not paying attention to Nearly Headless Nick's comment about them being cooked by hundreds of elves.

Next, as the clattering of utensils stopped and the leftovers vanished from the long tables, Dumbledore took the center of the podium and prepared to deliver a speech about all the horrible ways the students might die this year, as per tradition. Knowing that I am spared this year's SPEW and could experience the famous "Harry! Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?!" meme from the previous life firsthand brought a smile on my face.

The buzzing chatter stopped and all that could be heard is the howling wind and pouring rain outside the warm confines of the stone walls.

"So!" said Dumbledore, showing his grandfatherly smile. "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. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it," the corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched.

He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, 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. "

"What?" I pretended to gasp. Fred and George, the fellow members of the Quidditch team were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, too appalled to speak. Ignoring the surprise from students, Dumbhedore went on:

"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 all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts -"

The old wizard was cut off by a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banging open. A crooked man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, wearing a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall turned towards the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a flash of lightning on the ceiling.

He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then walked up in direction of the teachers' table. A dull clunk echoed on his every other step. Reaching the top table, the stranger limped heavily toward Dumbledore, shaking hands with the Headmaster before sitting on his right-hand side.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" announced Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody. "

None of the staff or students clapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, whose applause echoed dismally into the silence, and stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too puzzled by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than just stare.

"Moody?" I muttered to Ron. "Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help over the summer?"

"Must be," said Ron in a low, awed voice."

"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered. "What happened to his face?"

"Dunno," he replied while I pulled out a book from my pocket about famous Aurors and their accomplishments.

"The man's been catching dark wizards all his life. I'd reckon he came across some particularly nasty ones in the process, too," I reasoned. Hermione seemed displeased that I was so prepared for this moment.

The man in question was indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, fake Moody reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it, which must be his Polyjuice potion.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students, "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. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year. "

"You're JOKING!" shouted Fred Weasley. The tension that had filled the Hall suddenly broke and nearly everyone laughed. Dumbledore himself chuckled appreciatively.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar." The Headmaster did not manage to tell this joke, however, as he received a loud, Umbridge-like cough from Professor McGonagall.

"Er - but maybe this is not the time... no..." retreated Dumbledore, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament... well, 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."

"The Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities - until, that is, the mortality rate became too high to ignore and the tournament was discontinued."

"Death toll?" Hermione noticed, looking alarmed. Her anxiety was not shared by the most of students in the Hall as many of them were whispering excitedly to one another.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger."

"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

"I'm going for it!" Fred Weasley hissed, his face ablaze with enthusiasm at the prospect of glory and riches. Little did he know that the prize money, at least, would be lent to him after the Cup was won. He was not the only person who seemed immersed in the idea of being the Hogwarts champion.

At every House table, Harry could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. Then, Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted down.

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he 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."

"This -" Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people - a certain pair of red-headed twin for example - had made noises of outrage at these words - "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion."

His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen." - knowing full well that students would not listen to him.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected."

"And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!", Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody.

There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.

"They can't do that!" said George, who was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen next April, why can't we sign up?"

"They're not stopping me," said Fred stubbornly, also scowling. "It's a whole thousand Galleons prize money!"

"Yeah," said Ron, enchanted by the fantasy. "Yeah, a thousand Galleons..."

"Come on," interrupted Hermione, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."

Myself, Ron, Hermione and the twins set off for the common room, Fred and George debating the methods Dumbledore might use to prevent underage students from entering the tournament.

"Who's do you think is this 'impartial judge' that decides the champions?" I asked, feigning interest.

"Dunno," replied Fred, "but it's certainly not Dumbledore or he wouldn't warn us like that. Anyways, it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might make up the difference, George..."

"Dumbledore would know you're not of age, though," said Ron. "Wouldn't he invalidate your application even if you're chosen?"

Fred commented shrewdly. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."

"People have died!" interjected Hermione in a worried voice as we walked through a door hidden behind a tapestry and climbed up another narrow staircase. 

"Yeah," said George airily, "but that was years ago, wasn't it? I reckon they wouldn't restart the Tournament this time without any safety measures. Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk?"

He turned to Ron, "Hey, what if we find out how to get 'round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?"

"What d'you think?" Ron asked me. "Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older, at least 6th year like Fred and George. Dunno if we've learned enough..."

I nodded noncommittally, though not worried about being in the game. At least, kind Mr Crouch limping over there would help me with that problem, so no need to get my hands dirty doing that kind of thing. Come to think of it, if things go well, when Ron decided to lash out because I am chosen and he wasn't, I would be dating Hermione and can probably sever any chance of them getting together.

The red-headed boy was oblivious to his supposed best friend planning his demise, I guess sometimes ignorance is bliss. Before long, we entered the Griffindor common room with "Balderdash", Hermione mouthed silently to not forget to stay out tonight and we split up, each to our dorms.

Ron and I along with our dorm mates got into our pajamas and into bed. A house-elf had placed warming pans between the sheets, making them quite comfortable. Lying in bed and listening to the storm raging outside, I heard Ron's sleepy voice through the darkness.

"I might go in for it, you know, if Fred and George find out how to... the tournament... you never know, do you?"

"S'pose not...", I rolled over in bed, about to slip into the mind space to pass the time. 'Except if you've read the entirety of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire', I added to myself. Moody, or rather Crouch, simply cannot fail - he's going all out to get me into the competition, since it concerns the resurrection of his master, after all.