Simone Martiane and the Goblet of Fire

A week passed without further incident. I wrote a polite little piece on the Weighing of the Wands--just enough to keep Marla off my back--and sent it off to her along with a copy of my sketch of the four champions and their wand trees. She sent a letter back reminding me that she expected the next article to be on the first task. I pointedly did not reply.

Harry was getting a good deal of unpleasantness as a result of that stupid Daily Prophet article. Every time I heard one of the snide comments, I was filled anew with a very un-Christian desire to beat Rita Skeeter's head in with a lead pipe. Or perhaps a candlestick. Maybe a wrench.

We the Beauxbatons students kept mainly to ourselves outside of class. Not because we were standoffish and rude--although a few of my classmates certainly were--but because there was some deep-seated tension between the three schools. A boy from Durmstrang by the name of Bolek Poliakoff got into a fistfight with Henrí over a supposed slight to the other's champion. Henrí was convinced that "that Polak bastard", as he called Bolek several times, had spit in Fleur's path as she walked by. Bolek, for his part, snarled that Henrí had flicked Krum off. I pulled Henrí off of Bolek and a Durmstrang boy pulled Bolek back, but not before both sustained several bruises. On the other hand, a third Durmstrang boy, this one Bratumil Wysocki by name, had been jumped by no less than three Hogwarts students who believed he had tried to put Cedric out of commission. (It later transpired that he had, but that wasn't the point.) In that case, it took six Hogwarts students and three Durmstrang students to break the fight up. Cedric actually wound up stepping in the middle of it and getting a rather nasty punch landed on his chin before it stopped. He told the Hogwarts students that on no account were they to be fighting on his or any other account, docked five points from each of them, and sent them on their way. All in all, it was safer to stay hidden.

I didn't even manage to talk with Ron or Cedric much in that week. Instead, I hung out with my school friends. We played Clue--the English version, not the French--and Monopoly in large groups. Someone unearthed a children's game called Don't Wake Daddy, and we played that a few times. After four or five days, we started getting desperate--we were playing Candy Land, for God's sake.

November twenty-first would have been like any other day, except that it was a Hogsmeade day--students were allowed to visit the village. As seventeen-or-eighteen-year-old-semi-legal-adults, we were permitted to go if any of us so chose. We all so chose.

Maria, Mae, Emeline, and I went browsing for a while. We dodged a lot of happy, laughing students in Zonko's Joke Shop. In Honeydukes', we met up with Henrí, Marthe, and Anaïs, bought out almost their whole store of fudge, and left. (All of us are just crazy about fudge.) Two more of our friends, Nazaire and Odile, met us outside the Three Broomsticks...but for some reason, we decided not to go in. I think we were still trying to avoid the Hogwarts students at that point. At any rate, Henrí--being Henrí--located the only other pub in the village, a place called the Hog's Head. Fleur and Élodie were heading there from the other direction, so we all went in together.

For the record, I don't think that place has ever had a bigger clientele than it did that afternoon. In fact, there wasn't anyone else in the pub. I think our sheer numbers startled the barkeep, but he didn't exactly object to our being there. I liked him right away, maybe because his eyes didn't bug out of his head when Fleur flipped her hair back and it caught the light.

I do not drink, so I ordered a screwdriver and requested that he hold the vodka. The guy actually smiled--something I don't think he did a lot of--and gave me my orange juice. My companions, however, have no such scruples. Besides, we're French, where wine is basically the main course at all major dinners and things like turkey and bouillabaisse are mere side dishes, to be consumed in between glasses of Chardonnay. Henrí and Marie each ordered a firewhiskey. Marthe, Anaïs, and Mae each had a glass of red currant rum. Emeline and Odile selected a Bloody Mary each, which is rather dangerous in the wizarding world since about two people actually use vodka for their drinks. (Perhaps fortunately, one of them is the barkeep at the Hog's Head.) Élodie ordered a plain old screwdriver. Nazaire ordered nettle wine, which I really cannot fathom--if you're going to have wine, at least get something fairly decent. Fleur, for her part, chose claret.

I had a feeling I knew how the evening was going to end--I'd have to tie a string to Fleur's ankle to stop her from floating away and peel Henrí off the floor, then somehow contrive to get them back to Hogwarts without getting blamed for it. Surprisingly, though, there wasn't a problem with Henrí. Yes, he got a little silly, but he'd obviously been building up his tolerance for alcohol, which was really worrying. Fleur kept hers relatively well too. It was poor Élodie that I practically had to carry back to the carriage. Apparently nobody warned her that a screwdriver contains vodka unless you specify otherwise--she must not have heard me place my order--and she cannot handle vodka. Once she'd thrown up her lunch and most of her breakfast, Mae and Maria put her to bed and I cleaned up the mess. Odile stayed to watch her while the rest of us went to dinner; I brought Odile back a platter. She ate while Mae revealed what she'd picked up at Hogsmeade.

For some reason, it was a Muggle game called Trivial Pursuit. We read over the rules and decided it wouldn't hurt to try, so the nine of us still capable of rational thought and coherent speech--not to mention being conscious--sat around and started to play.

The game was a lot trickier than we'd thought. For one thing, the questions were written for people our parents' age and older, i.e. people born back during the Stone Age, so half the questions we didn't even live in the right era for. And for another thing, the ones we might have known all had to do with Muggles. We were having a lot of fun, though.

Around about midnight, I felt a draft, as though someone had opened the door, and I heard a deep British voice say "Bong-sewer". That was the only indication I had that something was amiss until about an hour and a half later, when I finally managed to get that damn Sports and Mixed Drinks wedge, then landed by some miracle on the centre square and by another miracle actually managed to answer the question correctly. Having now won the game, I helped pack it up--and then I heard the carriage door swing shut.

Madame Maxime had just returned to the carriage. She didn't seem at all displeased that we were up; she simply shooed most of the students into the small sleeping chambers, then sat down opposite Fleur and me.

"Simóne...Fleur...I 'ave discovered ze first task," she said gravely.

Fleur leaned forward. "What eez eet, Madame Maxime?"

I held up a hand. "Pardonnez-moi, Madame, but...isn't that cheating?"

"Of course not, Simóne. Eet eez a traditional part of ze tournament." Madame Maxime leaned over the table to speak in low tones to us. "Ze first task eez dragons."

"Dragons?" Fleur and I repeated as one.

"Oui. Zey 'ave four, one for each of ze champions, and you must get past zem."

"'Ow? Why?" Fleur asked urgently.

"I do not know," Madame Maxime answered. "But eet eez important zat you get past your dragon...and zat you do not get burnt to a crisp."

"Yeah, that would be bad," I agreed. I stifled a yawn. "Fleur, you're a veela. Just knock it out or something. Dance it to sleep."

Fleur brightened. "I could do zat. But I would need to practice..."

"I'm here. It's almost two in the morning. I'm dead tired, but I couldn't sleep to save my life. Please, I'm begging you, practice on me."

Fleur and Madame Maxime both laughed. Then Fleur stood up, tossed her hair, and began to practice.

~~~

It was a good thing the next day was Sunday. Most of my companions woke up with hangovers. I woke up late as well, but that was mainly because Fleur's spells were so effective. I assured her that she would have no trouble with the task on Tuesday. Once she was capable of thinking clearly--which was not until very much later that afternoon--she appreciated it. At the time, however, she just gave me what I have termed her kill-me-now look. I've seen it a lot. (And believe me, there have been many days I have wanted to grant her request.)

Deciding to skip lunch, I went instead down to the lake. For once, I took neither sketchbook nor notebook; I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but I went out anyway. When I got to my usual spot, I discovered a large cache of flat stones that I hadn't noticed before.

It so happens that, in my family, we love to skip rocks. My cousin Kevin, three years my junior and a student at Durmstrang, was skipping rocks when he was about three; he taught all of us girls. I hadn't skipped any myself since I was about fifteen, but as soon as I picked up the first one the smooth, curved edge slipped naturally into the curve of my thumb and forefinger. I straightened, drew my arm back, and snapped it forward in a well-practised motion. The rock skipped three times before sinking to the bottom.

"Oh, come on, Martáine, you can do better than that," I scolded myself, stooping to pick up another rock. This one skipped twice before sinking like--well, like a stone. "Or maybe you can't."

I picked up a third rock, drew my arm back, concentrated, then put as much might as I could behind the force of my throw. The rock skipped eight times before it stopped. "There, that's more like it."

I was getting ready to launch another rock when I heard a voice behind me. "What are you doing?"

I let fly with the rock. "Skipping stones, what's it look like? Ahh, you distracted me!" The rock, which had made a sort of half-hearted hop, stopped in the shallows and stuck to the mud. In the shallows. Shaking my head at how pathetic the throw had been, I turned and discovered a worried-looking Ron. "Oh...hi, Ron. Want to skip stones with me?"

Ron sort of frowned at the pile of stones. "I don't know how."

"I'll teach you," I offered, holding out a stone.

"No, thanks," Ron declined. "I'll sit here and watch you for a while."

"Fine by me." Stone number five skipped five times, then was intercepted by a large tentacle. I blinked in surprise. "What was that?"

"Huh?" Ron glanced at the disappearing tentacle. "Oh...must've been the giant squid. 'S been there forever, even Mum remembers it at school."

I sighed. "No point in throwing rocks at its head...might make it angry." I sat down next to Ron. "So, what's up, little buddy?"

Ron shrugged a little. "I dunno. It's just...Tuesday's the first task, did you know that?"

"Did I know that?" I concentrated very hard. "Hmm...you know what, I think Fleur and Madame Maxime might have mentioned something about it once or twice...a second..." I blew a strand of hair out of my eyes. "Trust me, Ron, I know far more about the first task than you do."

"Like what?" Ron asked, narrowing his eyes a little.

"Like what it is."

Ron blinked in surprise. "What is it?"

I waggled my finger at him. "Ah-ah-ah! Don't want me to spoil the surprise, do you?"

"Yes," Ron said immediately.

I laughed. "Trust me, Ron, you don't. I'd rather let you have two more days before you start panicking."

"Panicking?" Ron's voice took on a slightly higher pitch. "What's wrong with the first task? What have I got to be worried about? I mean, they're saying it's going to be safer this year and they won't let any of the champions die and no one's going to go into a coma are they and no one's going to get hurt because if anyone got hurt the school and the Ministry would get in trouble and--"

"Ron!" I clapped my hand over his mouth to stop his frantic babbling. "No, no one is going to get hurt or killed. They'll have trained wizards on hand to make sure that...the task...doesn't get out of hand. And if it looks like Harry's in danger, you can go in and get him yourself."

"Mmmph mmph mmmph mmmmph?" Ron tried to ask around my hand. I removed it and he challenged, "How do you know?"

"Okay, let me rephrase that. If it looks like Harry's in danger, you will go in and get him yourself, regardless of whether not you're allowed to or not. Because I know you, Ron Weasley. You won't stand by and let your best mate get hurt, not if there's anything at all you can do to help him."

Ron looked out across the lake. "I couldn't stand by and let him get hurt even if there was nothing at all I could do," he said softly.

I smiled and ruffled Ron's hair gently. "He's lucky to have a friend like you."

Ron blinked hard a couple of times. "I think I'm luckier to have a friend like him."

"Wisely you speak, young Weasley," I chuckled. "Wisdom, you have found. Forgiveness, you must seek and give."

"He's got it," Ron answered. "I forgive him for...for whatever it was I was mad at him for." He stopped and frowned, a little puzzled. "I can't even remember what I was mad at him for. I think...I think I was just a little mad at him because at first, I really didn't believe he hadn't put himself in. Once I started believing it, I was a little mad because he didn't seem as upset as I would have at the situation. I couldn't help but wonder if he was really enjoying it."

"He's not, I'm sure," I volunteered. "Fleur, on the other hand, is enjoying it a lot."

"He doesn't need forgiveness--he hasn't done anything that needs forgiveness. I have. I don't know if he'll forgive me, though," Ron mumbled.

I raised my eyebrows. "Why not?"

"I--" Ron hesitated, then looked up at me, his blue eyes troubled. "I heard him downstairs in the common room last night, around one o'clock. He was talking to someone--I figured he was talking to himself, trying to reassure himself or whatever. Anyway, I went downstairs to talk to him. I thought that maybe, if I talked to him when he was alone, told him I was sorry for acting like a prat and that I wanted to be there for him, he'd be more ready to listen to me. He wasn't, though--he seemed really angry that I had come downstairs. I asked who he'd been talking to--I swear I heard him tell someone to go before I came downstairs--and he got awfully defensive about it, said it was none of my business and asked what I was doing down there. I started to say I had been wondering where he was, but I guess I realised he wasn't in any mood to talk, so I said I was going to bed. He yelled at me--said something about eavesdropping on things that didn't concern me, which bothered me--and I'm afraid I yelled back at him, I snapped something about letting him practise for his next interview in peace. He threw this little badge at me--you've seen those SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY badges? Well, the little Creevey brothers got hold of a bunch and they're trying to enchant them to say SUPPORT HARRY POTTER, but the best they've been able to do is get them to say POTTER REALLY STINKS." I snorted--I couldn't help it--and Ron sort of grinned at me. "Well, it was one of those...said it was something for me to wear on Tuesday, and that if I was lucky I'd have a scar, which he said was what I wanted, wasn't it. Then he just...I don't know, went off to bed. I don't get it."

I bit my lip thoughtfully. "Hmm...Ron, you've got five older brothers, right?"

"Right," Ron nodded, looking a little confused.

"And Harry's been your best friend for...how long?"

"Three years. Ever since we met on the train."

I nodded. "There you go, then. He--and Hermione, for that matter--probably assume that the whole reason you're acting this way is because you've been shunted to the side one time too many."

Ron bit his lip. "I guess...I guess that might've had something to do with it," he admitted. "I don't mind, I really don't--and I know Harry doesn't like it or want it--but I can't help but wish that whoever put Harry in had chosen to put me in instead."

I shivered involuntarily. "Trust me, Ron, by Tuesday afternoon you won't anymore."

Ron looked at me apprehensively. "It's going to be that bad, is it?"

"No. It's going to be worse. But I promise, no one is going to be in danger."

Ron bit his lip hard--I thought he was going to draw blood--and changed the subject. "Where are all your Beauxbatons friends, just out of curiosity?"

I jerked my thumb back at the carriage. "Sleeping off hangovers."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "Hangovers? How the heck to you get a hangover at Hogwarts? Did someone spike the pumpkin juice? Because if they did, I blame Fred and George..."

I laughed. "Not at Hogwarts, dear. In Hogsmeade."

"Oh." Ron sort of grinned. "Three Broomsticks?"

"Hog's Head. The Three Broomsticks was full of Hogwarts students and we've been avoiding you guys."

"Why?"

"Surely you've heard about all the fights? One of the Durmstrang students and my friend Henrí got into a fistfight because Henrí thought the Durmstrang kid spit at Fleur and the Durmstrang guy thought Henrí had flashed his middle finger at Krum. And about three Hogwarts kids jumped another Durmstrang student because he tried to sabotage Cedric."

"No one's fighting over Harry, I notice."

"That's because there's only one person who actively believes him, and that's Hermione Granger. And there are only two people, as far as I know, who passively believe him--you and me."

Ron looked up in surprise. "Really? That's it?"

"Well, Cedric believes him too, but it doesn't matter really." I rolled my shoulders to loosen the stiffness. "After all, they're opponents, so whether Cedric believes him or not is kind of moot. Hey, did you know that none of the guy champions want to be in the tournament?"

"Really?" Ron asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.

I nodded. "Harry, obviously, didn't even put himself in...Cedric only entered to make Cho and his dad happy...and Krum only entered because Karkaroff made him. Fleur's the only one who really wants to be in this tournament."

Ron shook his head. "How come none of this was in the Daily Prophet?"

"The Prophet is the worst example of propaganda I have ever seen in my life," I said a little stiffly. "How'd you like to read real articles on the tournament?"

Ron actually smiled. "That'd be great."

"Good. I'll give you a few copies of the Gazette. I actually take unbiased notes, probably because I don't use that damned Quick-Quotes Quill."

Ron laughed. "I'd better get back up to the castle, Simmie. I'll see you around."

"See you, Ron."