They Shook Hands: Year Four (Original Version)

They Shook Hands : Year Four

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic
by Dethryl

Chapter Eight - Announcements and Other Terrible Ways To Die

A thousand years or more ago,
When I was newly sewn,
There lived four wizards of renown,
Whose names are still well known:
Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,
Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,
Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,
Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.
They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,
They hatched a daring plan
To educate young sorcerers
Thus Hogwarts School began.
Now each of these four founders
Formed their own house, for each
Did value different virtues
In the ones they had to teach.
By Gryffindor, the bravest were
Prized far beyond the rest;
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest
Would always be the best;
For Hufflepuff, hard workers were
Most worthy of admission;
And power-hungry Slytherin
Loved those of great ambition.
While still alive they did divide
Their favourites from the throng,
Yet how to pick the worthy ones
When they were dead and gone?
'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,
He whipped me off his head
The founders put some brains in me
So I could choose instead!
Now slip me snug about your ears,
I've never yet been wrong,
I'll have a look inside your mind
And tell where you belong!

The Sorting Hat finished its song to thunderous applause from the student body. Harry tried not to think about his empty stomach and how all he'd filled it with were Chocolate Frogs and Sugar Quills. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. His hopes of a quick Sorting were dashed as he looked at the throng of first year students who stood dripping at the front of the Great Hall.

The sky was pouring out buckets of rain, but that hadn't stopped Peeves the Poltergeist from pelting arriving students with water balloons. Harry nudged Draco and motioned towards the Gryffindor table where Ron Weasley was wringing out his hat.

"Think he's going to count this as his yearly bath?" Draco snickered.

"We should send him some soap."

Professor McGonagall brought out her scroll of names and announced, "Christine Abbott!"

Hannah's cousin looked a bit nervous at being the first name called, but she walked steadily up to the stool and pulled on the Sorting Hat.

"Hufflepuff!" the Hat called confidently.

The Hufflepuff table burst into applause. Hannah stood up as the younger girl approached the table and gave her a big hug. Susan Bones, who was sitting with her best friend, leaned over and joined in the hug. Harry grinned at them and flashed a thumbs up in congratulations.

"Stewart Ackerly!" "Ravenclaw!"

Slytherin cheered loudly as the next three firsties, Malcolm Baddock, Francis Bateman, and Lila Elizabeth Boot joined their table. At the Ravenclaw table, Terry Boot was shaking his head, doubtless at another cousin bucking the family trend. Harry leaned over and shouted "Hello!" in her ear as the next student was announced.

"Leonard Bowyer!" was declared a Gryffindor.

Hufflepuff whooped and pounded the tables as the Sorting Hat sentenced Eleanor Branstone, Burt Butler, and Owen Cauldwell to forever wear yellow and black.

The Sorting continued, with Gryffindor and Slytherin taking turns with Abbey Cook, Gavin Corcoran, Dennis Creevey, and Jasper Davies. Hufflepuff snared Libbi Den and Valerie Dixon.

"Emma Dobbs!" "Slytherin!"

"Rosalie Dyer!" "Gryffindor!"

"Matilda Edgecombe!"

Nearby at the Ravenclaw table, one of the fifth year girls suddenly perked up. "That's my cousin," Harry heard her say. "Get ready to cheer, girls."

"Slytherin!"

"No!" came a strangled gasp. "It can't be!"

Harry was about to say something nasty, but Cho Chang, whom Harry knew from Quidditch, hushed her friend. "They're right there, Marietta! They'll hear you."

"So?"

"They're evil! Everyone knows it. It was the Heir of Slytherin turning people to stone two years ago, remember? Penny was one of the victims. It's only luck she wasn't killed like that poor Hufflepuff girl."

Anything Harry might have wanted to say would have been lost as the Ravenclaw table applauded Petra Finch. Then nobody could hear anything as Gryffindor gained three more in a row: Carli Guard, Tenney Harker, and Gailord Healy.

He quietly fumed through the Sorting of Pam Johnson (Ravenclaw), Chelsea Larrow (Hufflepuff), and Anna Lawford (Gryffindor), only putting his dark thoughts away to applaud as Ackley Loxton sat down with the Slytherins.

Chang sure had a lot of nerve to talk about his House like that. The way she'd spoken, it seemed she might have been describing a potion that hadn't coalesced properly. Apparently reading all those books had made the Ravenclaw nerd a bit near-sighted, he thought viciously. Pretty or not, she'd been tricked by snow glare twice during last year's Quidditch Cup.

And while he was at it, Harry spared a dark thought for Tom Riddle, who had besmirched Slytherin's good name. Claiming to be descended from Slytherin, he'd terrorized the school twice: once in his fifth year, once in Harry's second year. Harry had confronted Riddle and destroyed the evil phantom, claiming the mantle of Heir of Slytherin for himself in the process. Only a few people knew the truth of that affair, though.

When "Rachel Moon" was announced, Harry threw Jenna an inquisitive glance.

"My cousin," she confirmed with a nod. "Distant cousin. She's from the west end of Wales."

"Slytherin!"

Harry shook hands with Rachel, and also with Brenda Moor, Enid Morello, and Pippa Murdock, who were all sorted to Slytherin as well. Harry felt a bit like he was in a reception line. The four girls immediately started giggling, at what Harry was pretty sure was him.

Ravenclaw then claimed three more: Nico Napier, Ember Norris, and Ramsey Orme.

Harry's stomach was rumbling almost non-stop now. Harry wished they at least had some bread to cut the hunger with. Crabbe and Goyle were both sitting with arms crossed over their stomachs as if to contain the gurgling roars they were both producing.

"Kid Parson!" "Gryffindor!"

"Graham Pritchard!" "Slytherin!"

"Orla Quirke!" "Ravenclaw!"

"Jacob Rassledow!" "Slytherin!"

"Well done," Tim congratulated the younger boy as he sat down. Tim hadn't been very social during the Sorting, but he'd paid attention for this boy. "Second cousin," he said in response to Harry's inquisitive look.

"Demelza Robins!" "Gryffindor!"

Slytherin cheered as they claimed Ellen Rookwood and Eugene Sawyer both.

"Frederick Sheridan!" "Gryffindor!"

"No surprise there," Draco whispered to Harry.

"Yah, whole family is in Gryffindor, right?"

The next three boys were all sent to Hufflepuff: Zacharias Smith, Ken Smithson, and Francis Stopps. Ravenclaw claimed Trent Urquhart, and Hufflepuff came back with Cararacus Volp, a very tiny girl with shoulder-length black hair.

When Vivian Walton had been Sorted to Gryffindor, Harry leaned over to Draco. "Is it me or are there more first years than normal?"

"There do seem to be rather a lot of them."

There were so many, in fact, that Harry's attention wavered, and he only noted the new Slytherins, Winifred Warrington and Leonard Yader.

As Yader sat down, Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome. "I have only two words to say to you," he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. "Tuck in."

When the puddings, too, had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.

"Mister 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 Mister 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? Inconceivable!" Harry gasped. They couldn't cancel Quidditch! He looked down the table to Bletchley, Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, who sat with a gaping mouth. Bole and Derrick, the seventh year Beaters, weren't much better. The three Chasers, sixth years all, seemed equally horrified.

Dumbledore 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 -"

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black travelling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swivelled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark grey hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers' table.

A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling, throwing the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any Harry had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening.

One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye, and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all they could see was whiteness.

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words Harry couldn't hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.

The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark grey hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.

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

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students chapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.

"Mad-Eye Moody? The Auror?" Pansy asked quietly. She sounded afraid.

"The same," Tim whispered back. "There's no mistaking that face."

Harry, for his part, couldn't stop staring. What could have happened to him to cause so much damage? Why hadn't Healers fixed him?

Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his travelling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and Harry saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honour 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!" came a shout from the Gryffindor table.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"I am not joking, Mister 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."

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

"Er, but maybe this is not the time. No?" said 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 Triwizard 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. That is, until, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

"Death toll?" Jenna whispered, looking alarmed. "I never knew anyone died."

"Everyone knows that," Blaise hissed back.

But Jenna's anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; 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."

The announcement of the prize set students at every House table to whispering and plotting. Nearly every Slytherin was tantalized at the prospect of such glory and riches. They were those who valued ambition, after all. Harry was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more.

"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 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. I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.

"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.

Miles Bletchley and Heather Chandler, the sixth year prefects had a small mob of first years each to look after. Harry and the others followed the throng down to the dungeons. The password was given as "Quidditch champions", which Slytherin had been for the past ten years. The blank stone wall that concealed the entrance to the common room slid back. The firsties were quickly tucked away in bed, but all other Slytherins lingered to discuss the exciting news.

Harry sat down in a chair next to the fire. Draco, Pansy, Jenna, and a handful of the now third years joined them. Harry knew Laine and Lucas Slater, Ginny Weasley, Michelle Holt, and Millie's little brother Arcen, but he'd never said much to Goodwinter aside from the occasional hello.

Bole, one of the seventh years, called for attention. "My fellow Slytherins, I am Ivan Bole, and you know me as the Right Arm. I've served you well on the Quidditch pitch, now I ask for your support when I enter the tournament."

Not to be outdone, Derrick shouldered Bole aside. "They all know the team is left-handed, and I'm the Left Arm! Matthew Derrick here, proud to be your Hogwarts champion!"

The antics of the two Beaters were always amusing, but Harry was astounded when Higgs stood up as well. "I may not be on the team any more, but I am damn fast on a broom. Better, I'm a prefect. I'm going to be Hogwarts champion and win all the glory for Slytherin House!"

Slytherin House had an abundance of pride, and any occasion was a good one for a resounding shout of "Up Slytherin!", including the former Seeker's rally cry.

"I could never put myself through that," Lila Murdock declared. "I wish you boys all the luck. What about you, Ellen?"

A second seventh year girl shook her head. "No way. I wouldn't last ten minutes. Ten minutes is a long time. Am I right, Maggie?"

Margaret Rosier jumped slightly. "What? Oh, absolutely. No way." But there was something about her denial that seemed a bit off.

"Laine, your father is a historian," Michelle said. "Tell us about some of the old tournaments."

"Well," Laine said with relish, "I've always been fond of the Tournament of Ladies, where all three champions were of the fairer sex. It was quite the sensation."

"I imagine," Pansy agreed. "Good for them, though."

"Let's see, the Tournament of Mudbloods, in one-ought ninety-nine, then there was the Tournament of Lords five years later, where all the champions were of noble blood."

"Thoroughly rinsed in scandal, that one," Draco said knowingly. "Probably in response to the prior tourney."

"Naturally," Lucas cut in. "Then there's the more deliberately themed contests. The Tournament Held Underwater, the Tournament Held In The Sky, and the Tournament Held Underground remain the most distinguished in the history of the Triwizard competition."

"Not the most notorious, though," Laine added. "The Tournament With No Winner has that distinction. All three champions died while trying to complete the last task."

"How awful," Ginny said, making a face. "I hope that doesn't happen this year. What was the task?"

"Armed only with a wand, cross a dragon preserve on foot."

"By Merlin's walking stick, that's impossible!" Michelle gasped.

"We know, Holt," Jenna said dryly. "That's why there was no winner."

Michelle glared daggers at Jenna, but Jenna smirked at the others in triumph. Harry cleared his throat to avoid snickering. It was rather funny.

"My great-great-great-grandfather competed in the Tournament Across Europe," Arcen contributed. "The tasks were held at all three schools. One of the trials was a broom race from Hogwarts to Beauxbatons."

"I'd love to see a broom race this year," Draco said wistfully. "I can't believe they cancelled Quidditch. I must tell my father immediately."

"Your father probably already knows, Draco," Pansy told him with a hint of exasperation. "He is on the board of governors, isn't he? This was the secret he swore you to, right?"

"Yes and yes. But it doesn't explain why they had to call off Quidditch."

"It won't be all bad," Harry said, trying to stay positive. The loss of Quidditch had hit him hard, but he could use the extra time for his studies. He had felt rather thin last year, though the added stress of thinking about Sirius Black had doubtless contributed. He could use a year off to rest. "It'll be nice to sit back and watch someone else compete for a change."

"Argh!" Tim shouted, clearly frustrated. "By Merlin's worn-out sandals, why do they have to be such beasts?! No under-age wizards can enter? Ridiculous! If they're not the most qualified from their school, why would they be picked?"

"A little sore, is he?" Arcen inquired.

"Shut up, Arse."

"Don't tell me to shut up. This is the common room, and anyone can say anything here."

"You're being obnoxious."

"You're being a jackass."

Tim was clearly stunned that a third year was mouthing back at him. Arcen looked quite smug at having silenced Tim, even for a moment.

"Excuse me. I'm going to go ask Millie how badly I can hex you." Tim stood and stalked toward the girls' dormitory. As soon as he was gone, Draco burst out laughing.

"Nice one, Arse. I wonder what's got him so cross?"

"Who cares?" Pansy asked rhetorically. "He's growing rather tiresome."

"Maybe he's just tired," Michelle suggested. "I know I'm about ready to turn in."

"I agree," Harry said, stifling a yawn.

Harry's intention to rise to his feet and point his toes towards bed was interrupted by the arrival of Professor Snape in the common room. The Potions Master was an imposing figure with his hooked nose and stern face. Only here in the Slytherin common room had Harry ever seen Snape relax his demeanour a bit.

"Prefects, attend to me." Snape's arrival had quieted the room, and his voice carried well. All six prefects rose and went to sit at a far table. Snape engaged them in small talk for several minutes before passing each of them a few sheafs of parchments. Harry knew those must be the class schedules.

"I wonder what we have tomorrow," he wondered aloud.

"I hope it's Defence," Draco said. "I want to see what the Mad-Eye's got on Lupin."

"Wanna make a bet on it?" Arcen asked.

"No way. Didn't Millie tell you we spent hours with Lupin this summer?"

"She did."

"He can talk at length about any topic you'd care to discuss. He's a positive sink of knowledge. Not all book learning, know what I mean?"

"So why not take the bet on him?"

"I know Mad-Eye's reputation. He's old but crazy. Who knows what he has in store for us?"

Higgs came over to their table and handed over the schedules. Harry quickly scanned to the Friday list and cheered. They had Defence right after lunch.

"Excellent," Draco said, sounding very pleased as well.

"Aww, we don't have him until Wednesday," Lucas complained.

"Chin up, brother mine," Laine replied positively. "Harry will tell us all about it. Right, Harry?" She beamed brilliantly at him.

Harry grinned. "Sure."

"Well, there's really no need for us to remain any longer," Draco said, rising to his feet. "Good night, all. See you at breakfast."

Everyone else agreed that Draco's idea was a good one and headed for the dorms as well. Harry pulled back the curtains on his four poster bed, placed his glasses on the bedside table, and lay down. He yawned freely and huddled under the warm sheets.

I wonder how Sirius is, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

to be continued...