Right Now Could Last Forever

“I don’t believe it!” Ron said, in a stunned voice, as the Hogwarts students filed back up the steps behind the party from Durmstrang. “Krum, Corey! Viktor Krum!”

“For heaven’s sake, Ron, he’s only a Quidditch player,” said Hermione.

“Only a Quidditch player?” Ron said, looking at her as though he couldn’t believe his ears. “Hermione –he’s one of the best Seekers in the world! I had no idea he was still at school!”
“Well, yeah, he is,” I said, pointing out the obvious. “Didn’t I mention that before? Silly me.” I give Ron a grin.

As we re-crossed the Entrance Hall with the rest of the Hogwarts students, heading for the Great Hall, I see Lee Jordan jumping up and down on the soles of his feet to get a better look at the back of Krum’s head. Several sixth-year girls were frantically searching their pockets as we walked – “Oh, I don’t believe it, I haven’t got a single quill on me –“ “D’you think he’d sign my hat in lipstick?”

“Really,” Hermione said loftily, as we passed the girls, now squabbling over the lipstick.

“I’m getting his autograph if I can,” said Ron, “you haven’t got a quill, have you, Harry?”

“Nope, they’re upstairs in my bag,” said Harry.

We walked over to the Gryffindor table and sat down. Ron took care to sit on the side facing the doorway, because Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students were standing around it, apparently unsure about where they should sit. The students from Beauxbatons had chosen seats at the Ravenclaw table. They were looking around the Great Hall with glum expressions on their faces. Three of them were still clutching scarves and shawls around their heads.

“It’s not that cold,” said Hermione irritably, who was watching them. “Why didn’t they bring cloaks?”

“Over here! Come and sit here!” Ron hissed. “Over here! Hermione, budge up, make a space –“

“What?”

“Too late,” said Ron bitterly.

Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students had settled themselves at the Slytherin table. I could see Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle looking very smug about this. As I watched, Malfoy bent forwards to speak to Krum.

“Yeah, that’s right, smarm up to him, Malfoy,” said Ron scathingly. “I bet Krum can see right through him, though... be he gets people fawning over him all the time... where d’you reckon they’re going to sleep? We could offer him a space in our dormitory, Harry... I wouldn’t mind giving him my bed, I could kip on a camp-bed.”

Hermione and I snorted.

“They look a lot happier than the Beauxbatons lot,” said Harry.

The Durmstrang students were pulling off their heavy furs and looking up at the starry black ceiling with expressions of interest; a couple of them were picking up the golden plates and goblets and examining them, apparently impressed.

Up at the staff table, Filch, the caretaker, was adding chairs. He was wearing his mouldy old tail coat in honour of the occasion. I was surprised to see that he added four chairs, two on either side of Dumbledore’s.

“But there are only two extra people,” I said. “Why’s Filch putting out four chairs? Who else is coming?”

“Eh?” said Ron vaguely. He was still staring avidly at Krum.

When all the students had entered the Hall and settled down at their house tables, the staff entered, filing up to the top table and taking their seats. Last in line were Professor Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime. When their Headmistress appeared, the pupils form Beauxbatons leapt to their feet. A few of the Hogwarts students laughed. The Beauxbatons party appeared quite un-embarrassed, and did not resume their seats until Madame Maxime had sat down on Dumbledore’s left-hand side. Dumbledore, however, remained standing, and a silence fell over the Great Hall.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and – most particularly – guests,” said Dumbledore, beaming around at the foreign students. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.”

One of the Beauxbatons girls still clutching a muffler around her head gave what was unmistakeably a derisive laugh.

“No one’s making you stay!” I hissed quietly, bristling at her.

“The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast,” said Dumbledore, lightening my mood instantly. “I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!”

He sat down, and Karkaroff leaned forward at once and engaged him in conversation.
The dishes in front of us filled with food as usual. The house-elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of us than I had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign.

“What’s that?” said Ron, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stood beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding.

“Bouillabaisse,” said Hermione.

“Bless you,” said Ron.

“It’s French,” said Hermione. “I had it on holiday, summer before last, it’s very nice.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I said, helping myself to food I recognised and loved.

The Great Hall seemed somehow much more crowded than usual, even though there were barely twenty additional students there; perhaps it was because their differently coloured uniforms stood out so clearly against our black robes. Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were wearing their deep, blood red robes.

Hagrid sidled into the Hall through a door behind the staff table twenty minutes after the start of the feast. He slid into his seat at the end and waved at Harry, Ron, Hermione and I with a very heavily bandaged hand.

“Skrewts doing all right, Hagrid?” I called.

“Thrivin’,” Hagrid called back happily.

“Yeah, I’ll just bet they are,” said Ron quietly. “Looks like they’ve finally found a food they like, doesn’t it? Hagrid’s fingers.”

At that moment, a voice said, “Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?”

It was the girl from Beauxbatons who had laughed during Dumbledore’s speech. She had finally removed her muffler. A long sheet of silvery blonde hair fell almost to her waist. She had large, deep blue eyes, and very white, even teeth.

Ron went purple. He stared up at her, opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out except a faint gurgling noise.

“Yeah, have it,” I said, pushing the dish towards the girl.

“You ‘ave finished wiz it?”

“Yeah,” Ron said breathlessly. “Yeah, it was excellent.”

The girl picked up the dish and carried it carefully off to the Ravenclaw table. Ron was still goggling at the girl as though he had never seen one before. I started to laugh. The sound seemed to jog Ron back to his senses.

“She’s a Veela!” he said hoarsely to Harry.

“Of course she isn’t!” said Hermione tartly. “I don’t see anyone else gaping at her like an idiot!”

But she wasn’t entirely right about that. As the girl crossed the Hall, many boys’ heads’ turned, and some of them seemed to have become temporarily speechless, just like Ron.
“I’m telling you, that’s not a normal girl!” said Ron, leaning sideways so he could keep a clear view of her. “They don’t make them like that at Hogwarts!”

“They make them OK at Hogwarts,” said Harry.

“When you’ve both put your eyes back in,” I said, “you’ll be able to see who’s just arrived.”

Up at the Staff table, the two remaining empty seats had just been filled. Ludo Bagman was now sitting on Professor Karkaroff’s other side, while Mr Crouch, Percy’s boss, was next to Madame Maxime.

“What are they doing here?” said Harry in surprise.

“They organised the Triwizard Tournament, didn’t they?” said Hermione. “I suppose they wanted to be here to see it start.”

When the second course arrived we noticed a number of unfamiliar puddings, too. Ron examined an odd sort of pale blancmange closely, the moved it carefully a few inches to his right, so that it would be clearly visible from the Ravenclaw table. The girl who looked like a Veela appeared to have eaten enough, however, and did not come over to get it.

Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A pleasant sort of tension seemed to fill the Hall now, I felt a thrill of excitement, wondering what was coming. Several seats along from me, Fred and George were leaning forwards, staring at Dumbledore with great concentration. Just like I was.

“The moment has come,” said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. “The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket –“

“The what?” I muttered.

Ron shrugged.

“ – just to clarify the procedure which we will be following this year. But firstly, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation” – there was a smattering of polite applause – “and Mr Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.”

There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater, or simply because he looked so much more likable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced. Remembering his neat suit at the Quidditch World Cup, I thought he looked strange in wizard’s robes. His toothbrush moustache and severe parting looked very odd next to Dumbledore’s long white hair and beard.

“Mr Bagman and Mr Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime on the panel which will judge the champions’ efforts.”

At the mention of the word ‘champions’, the attentiveness of listening students seemed to sharpen.

Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed our sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, “The casket, then, if you please, Mr Filch.”

Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached Dumbledore, carrying a great wooden chest, encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely odd. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students; Denis Creevey actually stood on his chair to see it properly, but, being so tiny, his head hardly rose above anyone else’s.

“The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr Crouch and Mr Bagman,’ said Dumbledore, as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, “and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. 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.”

At his last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.

“As you know, three champions compete in the Tournament,” Dumbledore went on calmly, “one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector... the Goblet of Fire.”

Dumbledore now took out his wand, and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it, and pulled out a large roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable, had it not been full to the brim with dancing, blue-white flames. This was definitely not something Fred, George and I had thought about.

Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the Goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.

“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,” said Dumbledore. “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 worthy to represent their schools. The Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.

“To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation,” said Dumbledore, “I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the Entrance Hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross the line.

“Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this Tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the Tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the Goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are whole-heartedly prepared to play, before you drop your name into the Goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Goodnight to you all.”

“An Age Line!” said Fred, his eyes glinting, as we all made our way across the Hall to the doors into the Entrance Hall. “Well, that should be fooled by an Ageing Potion, shouldn’t it?”
“And once your name’s in that Goblet, you’re laughing – it can’t tell whether you’re seventeen or not!” I said.

“But I don’t think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance,” said Hermione, “we just haven’t learnt enough...”

“Speak for yourself,” said George shortly. “You’ll try and get in, won’t you, Harry?”

“Where is he?” said Ron, who wasn’t listening of a word of this conversation, but looking through the crowd to see what had become of Krum. “Dumbledore didn’t say where the Durmstrang people are sleeping, did he?”

But this query was answered almost instantly; we were level with the Slytherin table now, and Karkaroff had just bustled up to his students.

“Back to the ship, then,” he was saying. “Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?”

I same Krum shake his head as he pulled his furs back on.

“Professor, I vood like some vine,” said one of the other Durmstrang boys hopefully.

“I wasn’t offering it to you, Poliakoff,” snapped Karkaroff, his warmly paternal air vanishing in an instant. Krum had always been his favourite; mostly because of his fame. “I noticed you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy –“

Karkaroff turned and led his students towards the doors, reaching them at exactly the same moment as Harry, Hermione, Ron and I. I stopped to let him walk through first.

“Thank you,” said Karkaroff carelessly, glancing at us.

And then Karkaroff froze. He turned his head back to Harry, and stared at him as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. Behind their Headmaster, the students from Durmstrang came to a halt, too, and Krum’s eyes found mine again. Karkaroff’s eyes, however, moved slowly up Harry’s face, and fixed upon his scar. The Durmstrang students were staring curiously at Harry, too. You could see the comprehension dawn on a few of their faces. The boy with food all down his front nudged the girl next to him and pointed openly at Harry’s forehead.

“Yeah, that’s Harry Potter,” said a growling voice from behind us.

Karkaroff spun around. Mad-Eye Moody was standing there, leaning heavily on his staff, his magical eye glaring unblinkingly at the Durmstrang Headmaster.

The colour drained from Karkaroff’s face as I watched. A terrible look of mingled fury and fear came over his face.

“You!” he said, staring at Moody as though unsure he was really seeing him.

“Me,” said Moody grimly. “And unless you’ve got anything to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You’re blocking the doorway.”

It was true; half the students in the Hall were now waiting behind us, looking over each other’s shoulders to see what was causing the hold-up.

Karkaroff caught my eye, and started heading towards the door, his voice trailing along behind him.

“Samuels,” he said, his hand indicating for me to follow.

Hermione, Ron and Harry gave me startled looks, but I shrugged and fell into step with Krum, who was at the front of the group of Durmstrang students.

“You didn’t tell me you went to Hogwarts,” Krum said. If anyone from Hogwarts was listening, they wouldn’t understand a word of what we were saying.

“I didn’t think it was necessary,” I said truthfully, shrugging. “I didn’t really know that you’d be coming to Hogwarts last time I saw you.”

“And even if you did, we didn’t have very long to talk,” Krum said.

We were outside now, and I shuddered slightly as the cold air brushed against my skin. Unaware of doing it, I started walking closer to Krum; seeking the heat his fur coat promised.
“Are you putting your name in the cup?” Viktor said.

“I’m technically not old enough to,” I said.

“That’s right,” Krum says, nodding as his remembers the age difference. “What year are you, now? Five?”

“Four,” I correct. “You must be in your last.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement; I remember exactly how many years are between us.

“Right, you know what to do; inside and in your rooms,” Karkaroff said, since we were now nearly at the ship.

I say goodbye to Krum, and watch as the Durmstrang students all disappear into the ship.
“Corey Samuels,” Karkaroff says. “You’ve grown up a lot since I’ve seen you last. How’s your father?”

I silently thank myself for remembering this extra language; without it I wouldn’t know what he was saying.

“Wouldn’t know; haven’t seen him for the past two years,” I say, shrugging.

“Of course,” Karkaroff says, nodding. “So you haven’t heard from him at all?”

I’d heard from my father last year; when he’d mysteriously found out I was the new Gryffindor Chaser, and had sent me a Firebolt. And this year, with the note. My hand closed around the crumpled piece of parchment that I had left in my pocket. I looked Karkaroff in the eye. I hadn’t seen this man in years, and even then I’d never known him well; why is it any of his business if my father and I’ve talked?

“No,” I said, my hand firm around the parchment.

“OK, I’d better send him an owl,” Karkaroff says. “To say you’re alright, I mean,” he adds quickly.

I narrow my eyes slightly.

“Is that all, Professor?” I asked. “It’s getting quite chilly out here, and I’m rather tired.”

“Oh, yes,” he says, nodding again. “Have a good night, Samuels.”

I quickly turn on my heals and walk back up to the castle. A question burns red-hot in my brain, but it doesn’t stop the cold weather sending a shiver down my spine. What does Karkaroff want to know from my father?

I pull out the piece of yellow parchment, and rip it into tiny piece, letting them get carried away with the wind as I walk up the steps into the light and warmth of Hogwarts Castle.