Simone Martiane and the Goblet of Fire

I yawned, widely and impressively, as Fleur dragged me off to the souvenir stands. "What is the point of this?" I demanded good-naturedly. "France didn't even get to the playoffs. Who on earth are we supporting?"

Fleur turned around and sighed. "We are supporting Ireland, Simóne," she said with exaggerated patience. Before I could ask why, like I had been doing for the last five days (just to annoy her), she added, "We are doing it for the simple reason that I do not speak Bulgarian, but I pride myself on having a rather firm grasp on English."

I shook my head in amusement. In truth, I'm the one with the good grip on English (or so I've been told), and I'm trying to teach Fleur. Besides, the last time I asked, we were supporting Bulgaria because their Seeker was better than Ireland's. She changes all the time, but I guess now it's Ireland. Knowing Fleur, she'll change her mind when we get to the match.

Fleur pulled me over to a stand piled high with shiny, brass things. The sign read "Ominoculars--ten galleons"--in English, of course. Fleur looked at me questioningly. I gave a huge, theatrical sigh and translated it for her. She nodded eagerly, and I turned to the clerk. In what has been described to me as my "flawless" English, I said primly, "Two pairs, please."

We shopped around for awhile. Finally, as it grew dark, we headed over to the lantern-lit path. As we approached the glittering golden stadium, we stopped in amazement. It was huge! I overheard an older wizard talking to a young boy, and the information stunned me.

"Wow," I said softly.

"Wow, what?" asked Fleur, whose English was not good enough to eavesdrop.

I pointed to the wizard, whose silver-streaked red hair seemed to be on fire in the moonlight, and said, "That man over there just said that a Ministry task force of five hundred has been working on it all year. There's all sorts of Muggle-repelling charms around it. Really cool, if you ask me."

Fleur sniffed. "His robes seem rather shoddy to me," she said snootily. "He can't even afford decent clothes."

"Fleur, Fleur, Fleur," I said, shaking my head. "I'm sure he's very nice if you get to know him."

We gave our tickets to the witch at the gate and took our seats. The team mascots began coming out to begin the show.

Fleur squealed in delight, red-haired wizard forgotten, as the Bulgarian mascots streamed out onto the field. Turning to another girl we knew, Kali Avens, who decided to support Ireland just then instead of Bulgaria, Fleur asked eagerly, "Trade souvenirs with you?" Kali happily agreed.

See, I told you she'd change her mind.

The Bulgarian team mascots were veela. Normally, that's nothing to get excited about, especially for women. However, Fleur is different. (In case you couldn't tell...) Fleur's grandmother was a veela--in fact, one of her grandmother's hairs resides in Fleur's wand.

While the veela were dancing (and Fleur was applauding like an idiot), I looked around through my Ominoculars. My gaze froze as I glanced over the Top Box. There, sitting high above me (okay, I was near the top anyway, so maybe it wasn't that high), was the red-haired man I'd noticed earlier, enraptured by the dancing. Six boys who could only be his sons stood or crouched beside him. One looked like he was about to dive off a springboard. That was part of what made me stop there, but not all of it. A seventh boy seemed to be getting ready to jump into the arena. His glasses flashed in the light of the many lanterns illuminating the stadium, and his eyes behind them were a very bright green. I couldn't be sure, but I could've sworn I saw a thin, lightning-bolt shaped scar beneath his flyaway black bangs. What really got me, though, was that he seemed so sad. Could I really be looking at--Harry Potter?

The next instant, the boy disappeared, and I realised that the veela had vanished also. Then a ball of gold light shot out of the walls of the stadium and began circling.

"Leprechauns," said Fleur and I in bored unison. I turned back to the Top Box, but could see no trace of the boy, so I simply turned my attention to my copy of Quiddich through the Ages. Turning to Fleur, I said, "The Kestrels are supposed to be a really good team, you know."

"So are the Vultures," retorted Fleur. "Besides, Bulgaria's got Viktor Krum. He's good."

"Krum's one decent player, Ireland's got seven," I replied. "Besides," I added, knowing it would make her mad, "you only like them because you think that Krum is cute."

Fleur, who had scanned the crowd, blushed and shook her head. "Actually, I think that boy over there is cute." She pointed to a young boy, barely seventeen, sitting right across from us. He seemed sweet, but not overly cute. Oh, well. To each his own.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the match began.

I was half-listening to the commentary as Ireland pulled quickly into an early lead. This was going to be one match no one would ever forget, I was sure of it.

Bulgaria was behind a hundred and fifty points when I saw Krum go into a dive. "He's seen the Snitch!" squealed Fleur.

But not I. I may not play Quidditch, but I've certainly read enough about it. I could play if I really wanted to--I have sharp eyes. And I know a feint when I see one. "Calm down, Fleur!" I yelled over the hubbub, laying a hand on her shoulder. "He hasn't seen the Snitch. Krum is feinting."

"He's what?" shouted Fleur, but I was too preoccupied with the match.

"Look out!" I screamed. Krum seemed to hear me--not what I had in mind--at any rate, he pulled away. Aidan Lynch, the Ireland Seeker (whom I'd been yelling to in the first place), got flattened as he hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

Mediwizards rushed out to tend to Aidan. I knew him when he was a boy. He was always taking stupid risks, and I was proud that he'd survived to make it this far (like I hoped to some day), but I sincerely wanted to see him cream Bulgaria. I wasn't too worried about him--all those risks he took, he must've crashed ten times more often than even the clumsiest first year, and sometimes on purpose--but I hoped he wouldn't be too disoriented to whoop Krum's derriere. Soon he rose into the air again, like he always did. The Irish supporters cheered loudly, from all sides of the arena.

After what seemed like ages (during which I focused on the Irish wizards only), I saw Aidan go into a dive. "He is--what is that word? --he is fainting," Fleur said flippiantly. In her mind, no one could see the Snitch but Krum, or perhaps she just wasn't very bright. Actually, that's more likely.

"The word is feinting," I said tersely. I wasn't really paying attention. I knew the truth. I, too, had seen the glint of gold heading towards the ground. Krum swiftly followed Aidan, blood streaming across his face--probably a nosebleed from a stray Bludger. Neck and neck the Seekers dove, streaking towards the Snitch.

"They're going to crash!" shrieked Gabrielle, Fleur's little sister, through her hands as she covered her mouth in shock.

"They're not!" cried Fleur, only too hopeful.

"Lynch is!" I roared.

I was right--Aidan hit the ground a second time and was trampled by a horde of--of something.

Only then did I notice the battle on the ground. The leprechauns (as I found out later) had apparently formed a giant hand and flicked the veela off. Angrily, the veela had turned into vicious, murdering beasts. Veela, I discovered, were personifications of a stereotypical woman mixed with a true woman: they were beautiful, enchanting, and captured men under their spell when they danced, but if you ticked them off they could be very dangerous.

Meanwhile, Fleur screamed right in my ear, "Look! Krum's got it! He caught it!"

She was right--Krum had the Snitch. The billboard that was flashing the score read: Ireland 170, Bulgaria 160.

I screamed in delight, and soon the rest of the Irish supporters were cheering too.

"Why did he catch it, the fool?" demanded Fleur, as Gabrielle and Kali and I cheered. "Bulgaria was a hundred and sixty points behind!"

"The Irish Chasers were just too good," I pointed out. "For every goal Bulgaria scored, Ireland scored a hundred and sixty more. He wanted to end the game on his own terms, that's all. Oh, by the way," I added, hiding a grin, "pay up."

Fleur grumbled, but she paid the money we had agreed on before the match.

That night, I awoke to some loud sounds. The next moment, Gabrielle was shaking me.

"Simóne! Simóne! Wake up!"

I looked into her bright blue eyes, shining with unshed tears. "Simóne, I can't find Fleur anywhere!" she wailed.

"I'm right here," came Fleur's voice from under her cot. She crawled out and moved towards the door. "Maybe we should go," she said nervously.

I nodded, and we left.

Finally, deep in the woods, we met the rest of our class. "Now, where is Madame Maxime?" asked Fleur.

Kali shrugged. "Je ne sais pas (I don't know)," she said. "She is lost."

I noticed three children come by. Unfortunately, Kali got to them first.

"Ou est Madame Maxime (where is Madame Maxine)?" she asked quickly. "Nous l'avons perdu (we have lost her)--"

"Er--pardon me?" asked the red-haired boy I'd noticed in the Top Box earlier.

"Oh..." said Kali dismissively, turning away. "'Ogwarts," she muttered.

"'Hogwarts', Kali," I sighed, shaking my head. " The word is Hogwarts. It has an H. Not 'Ogwarts'. Hogwarts."

"Kali, why didn't you let Simóne do it?" asked Fleur, who seems to be under the impression that she's my best friend. "She would've spoken English."

"What's going on back there, anyway?" I demanded.

"Je ne sais pas," repeated Kali.

I turned around and noticed two more red-haired boys from earlier, as well as a small girl who looked like their sister. "Excuse me," I said courteously. "Do you know what's going on back there?"

One of the boys nodded. "Some people have got hold of a family of Muggles," he replied. "We're trying to get somewhere safe--"

Suddenly I heard a loud voice, and a green light illuminated the trees. I turned towards the source of the light and screamed.

"The Dark Mark!" I shrieked, terrified.

Sure enough, the Dark Mark hung overhead, a grisly green skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth. The boy looked at me questioningly. "What's so bad about it?" he asked.

I sighed. "Listen...what's your name?"

"George," replied the boy.

"Listen, George," I said. "I don't know how old you are--"

"I'm sixteen-and-a-half," George interjected.

"Then you obviously wouldn't remember, you would've only been a baby. Gosh, how do I explain this?" I paused for a minute, then heard Fleur call me.

"Simóne! We need to get back to the campsite!"

"All right!" I called back. Turning to George and his brother and sister, I beckoned to them to come back too. They followed us, and I continued.

"Well, back when You-Know-Who was powerful--it was fourteen years ago, so I was a little kid, but I still remember--the Death Eaters were everywhere. They're You-Know-Who's army...like the Ring Wraiths in J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. Anyway...I remember this very clearly...when the Death Eaters killed someone, they would cast the Dark Mark into the sky. I think it is tattooed on their arms, though I'm not sure." I brushed my bangs out of my eyes, remembering... "My older sister was killed. I was at a friend's house. She was at her own friend's house, I was at the park. I got to her friend's house and saw that grinning skull..." I shuddered. "That's when my family moved to France. We couldn't stand the memories. I was only three. Then the next year, You-Know-Who was defeated, and we were consoled a little."

I had reached my own tent, but I continued walking. "Do you remember where your tent is?" I asked them. George nodded. I kept walking with them, determined to make sure they made it back to their tent safely.

Finally, we reached a pair of shabby, two-man tents with a sign in front that read "Weezly."

"Weezly?" I queried.

"The guy couldn't spell Weasley," spoke up George's brother. "That's our last name."

I nodded.

We walked into the nearest tent. I knocked on the door of the tent. A tall boy with--obviously--long red hair opened the door. "May I help you?" he asked nervously.

I stepped to one side. "I've come to return your brothers and sister," I said.

The boy looked relieved. "Where're Ron and Harry and Hermione?" he asked them anxiously.

"We lost them!" wailed the little girl.

I swear I actually felt myself turn pale.

"What's wrong?" asked the older boy, looking at me.

I took a deep breath. "I don't want to alarm you," I said, "but someone cast the Dark Mark out there."

"Yeah, I saw," said the boy. "It drove the Death Eaters off. So?" Suddenly he, too, turned pale. "Oh, God."

He pushed the three children into the tent. "Charlie! C'mere!" he called anxiously.

Charlie came out. He was built short and stocky like George. "What's wrong?" he asked his brother.

"Charlie, the twins and Ginny just came back. This girl brought them," said the boy, gesturing to me.

"My name is Simóne," I said.

"I'm Bill. Nice to meet you," he said tersely. "Charlie, Simóne says that the Dark Mark is out there."

"Yeah, I kind of saw it," said Charlie. "It's hard to miss. So?"

Bill looked Charlie in the eye. "Charlie, Ron and Harry and Hermione haven't come back. Neither has Dad."

Charlie turned as pale as we were. He gripped his wand and sprung towards the forest, but I grabbed him to hold him back.

"You can't do anything," I said. "You don't know if they're dead, or even in any danger."

"If there's a Death Eater out there, they're in danger!" Charlie replied hotly, but I cut him off.

"Even if they are in danger, going out there isn't going to help," I said. "The only thing you can do is get yourself killed, and that won't help at all."

"What do you want me to do?" Charlie asked. I had to be younger than he was, yet he was asking me like I was an authority.

"Stay here," I said. "Keep an eye on Ginny and the twins. What do the others look like?"

"Ron is built like Bill, but his hair's shorter," said Charlie. "Dad is kind of older--his hair is red streaked with silver. Harry has dark hair, green eyes, and glasses, and Hermione has bushy blonde hair...I think."

"Were you in the Top Box at the match?" I asked. Charlie nodded and turned to Bill.

"Am I missing anyone?" he asked.

Bill started to shake his head, but suddenly stopped. His eyes widened, and he clapped his hand over his mouth.

"Percy!" he gasped.

"You called?" said a mild, slightly tired voice behind us.

I whirled around. A young boy, probably about my age, stood behind us. His nose was bleeding profusely. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a tissue. "Here," I said, handing it to him.

"Thanks," he said, taking the tissue and holding it up to his nose. "Everyone else back?" he asked.

Bill shook his head. "Dad, Ron, Hermione, and Harry are still missing."

Percy's eyes widened. His gaze turned fearfully to the Dark Mark, and back to us.

I nodded. "We aren't sure, but they're the only ones unaccounted for. I checked around."

Percy gulped.

I turned to go. "I'll go look for your brother and his friends...and your dad, too. Au revoir, as we say in France." I walked away.

I reached the edge of the woods and started running. Suddenly I bumped smack into the three children from earlier, this time accompanied by an older man. "Are you Mr. Weasley?" I asked breathlessly.

"Yes," the older man said, looking almost as tired as Percy. "This is my son Ron, and his friends Harry and Hermione."

"Oh, good," I sighed.

"Pardon?" asked Mr. Weasley, confused.

I took a deep breath and explained. "I ran into your daughter and two of your sons in the wood, and I took them back to your tent, but the older three were more than a little worried when you four weren't there. I came to make sure you were all right." I glanced back into the woods. "Was anyone hurt?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "I don't know who projected the Dark Mark, it looks like they Disapparated, and we don't know why either, but we found these three right under it."

I nodded, more than a little shaken up. "Well, I'm glad you're alright. I'll see you later." I turned and went back to my own tent.

Fleur and Gabrielle were up waiting for me. It took me a little while to explain what I'd been up to, but finally I made them go to bed.

"We're going to have to get an early start tomorrow," I explained.

The next morning we woke up extremely early. I quickly packed up the tent using magic, and we ran off with our class. Madame Maxime had not come back that night, and we suspected that she had Apparated back to Beauxbatons, or the area just outside of it. The rest of our class Apparated as well, but because Fleur and I had Gabrielle we had to use a Portkey. At least, that was our excuse, and as excuses go it was a good one. Fleur's pride wouldn't let her admit it to anyone, but Gabrielle and I knew the truth. Fleur had taken the Apparation test sixteen times and failed every last one of them.

We joined the queue to get out of there. I recognised the Weasleys and waved hello, but it was a tired, quick wave. Percy waved back, but they all clustered around an old rubber tyre and disappeared. I spoke with Basil, whom I remembered from my brief time in England, and was able to procure a plastic soda bottle back to Beauxbatons before the sun had really risen.

Shaking still from the previous night's experience, we ran up the hill to the castle.

"There you are!" shouted Adeline, beckoning me up the path. "Look, Simóne, we've got a Quidditch match in twenty minutes." As Gabrielle and Fleur ran off, she added in a low voice, "Simóne, make this article a good one, okay?"

I was the sports reporter for the Beauxbatons newspaper, The Gazelle Gazette, which is written in English to help people improve. "Why?" I asked Adeline. Adeline is about the closest thing I have to a best friend. She and I have been getting along since my first year at Beauxbatons, and it was she who accompanied me to Durmstrang my third year to visit my cousin Aislin, who had just gone blind.

Adeline bit her lip. "It's...it's Mike."

I felt a small chill come over me. Mike Willis was another friend of mine. He was unable to talk at all, so he usually communicated by means of a small chalkboard. For that reason, magic was a little difficult for him, and his best subjects were easily Potions, Arithmancy, and Wizarding Relations, none of which require true verbal communications. "What's wrong with Mike?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

Adeline sighed, fingering the ring her boyfriend had given her some time ago. "He tripped in the ice maze the other day and sprained his ankle. Well, since he couldn't call for help, and he couldn't send up sparks, he was trapped there until someone tried to solve it this morning. He's in the hospital wing now, so he can't come to the match. He'll be okay," she added hurriedly, seeing my face, "but like I said, he'll miss the match, so if you could make this really good..."

"I'll get right on it," I promised, pulling some parchment and an ordinary Muggle pen out of my pocket.