The Sorting Goblet and the European Inter-School Magic Competition

The Sorting Goblet and the European Inter-School Magic Competition

Three people sat beneath the blazing Spanish sun. Coming to Spain in the middle of July may not have been the best idea. They each held a mug of beer from the tavern situated behind them. The mugs had been refilled several times already.

"Those little monsters! One of them let a poltergeist into the school this year. I like a good prank as well as the next person, but a poltergeist is as subtle as a bucket of water over a door: which he got me with, too. If I could get my hands on it, I'd wring its neck."

Robur looked at his Scottish counterpart. He was plastered. So was their Prussian companion. But that was good. It was good to relax after a long year of work. The beer didn't taste as bad as it had when they first sat down here and cast the unnoticability charms on the area, but he still missed the wine from his native Champaign province. It would do, because he, too, had had a trying year. He took a new mug from his Northern European friend, and sat back.

"Pranks! Pranks! My dear Headmaster, I vish all I had to deal vid vas pranks. Da Plunket-Seurer feud erupted in my school, und tree studen's were killed, und fourteen spent more dan a mont' in da infirmary. Good t'ing ve got dat new healer, or ve vould have had more deat's."

Headmaster Mueller shook his head. The school was bathed in light now, and would be for most of the month. At times it seemed that the darkness of the winter months, when the sun never rose above the horizon, crept into the students' souls. Violence always seemed to lie just underneath the surface, and none of the punishments seemed to deter it. Sometimes he wondered what Durm and Strang were thinking when they built their school above the Arctic Circle. Yes, it was far away from the Muggles, but really! There were other ways. He looked at his colleagues as he finished his beer. He smiled inwardly. They were spiffed. He looked at his glass, and saw that it was empty again. Not like a good lager from his homeland; indeed from any of the German principalities. But it wasn't as bad as he first thought. The British headmaster handed around another set of drinks.

"Well, I am tres glad nothing like that went on in my school. Mai les filles! The girls in the North Wing got upset with the girls of the South Wing, and didn't say a single word to them for half a year! This caused half the West Dormitory boys to stop talking with the South Wing girls, and the other half to stop talking to the North Wing girls, and each half to stop talking to the other. The East Dormitory boys tried to negotiate an end to the argument, and soon nobody was talking to the boys in the East Tower. Children! They are almost adults but I've met more mature three year olds!"

McHugh looked at his mug and noticed it was empty. He got up, collected the other mugs and staggered into the tavern. The innkeeper was surprised seeing him with three of the inn's mugs. A little persuasive charm made them best buddies while the brewer filled the mugs from the barrow. At least until the time came to pay for it. A soundless Obliviate, and the Muggle thought the Hogwarts' headmaster had already paid. He rejoined his companions. He handed out the mugs, regretting that they weren't good Scottish whiskey, but the taste did seem to improve as you drank it. Otto and Jean were three sheets to the wind already. This could get interesting.

Robur lifted his glass. "To the students! May they have children as awful as themselves!" The other two did the same. "Have either of your schools been swept by this new fad, Qidbitch? Every nice day several groups go out, fly around like idiots on their brooms while enchanted rocks try to knock them off, tossing a ball around. After the Great Snit broke out between the Wings, the games stopped being friendly and there were some minor injuries. I think it fed their vexation, and continued it beyond when it probably would have ended. I thought about banning it, but couldn't find a concrete reason to support my decision."

Mueller looked at Robur, and shook his head. The Beauxbatons headmaster was sloshed or he wouldn't be talking about his school like that. The Hogwarts' head was too, he noticed. He smiled inwardly, wondering if they would give away any information that could be useful. He snorted. That was doubtful. He was no longer in the Bavarian Magical government, spying on the wizards in the rest of Europe. What secrets could he gather from these two? But old habits die hard. He accepted another round from Robur.

"Yes, our houses have taken to it. The proper name is Quidditch, by the way. Silly game, but it does keep some of the more athletic students busy, cutting down on their bullying time. I don't see it lasting, though. Brooms are all fine, but hardly practical for a family man. And dang uncomfortable, too. Spend an hour on one, and you're completely numb, and in a spot where you don't want to be numb, if you know what I mean. No, give me a flying carpet any day. And not those cheap foreign ones, you know those Oriental ones from Prussia and Egypt, especially. Sure they look nice, but you don't buy a carpet for looks! Good, solid transportation, that's what you want. Give me a Saxon rug and I may not beat a broom in short distances, but for the long rides! Ha!"

McHugh took a swig, and gazed at the other two. He had just made an excellent point. But the others didn't look too impressed. Probably because they were tight. He thought about giving some more arguments for his opinion, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what they had been talking about. Didn't matter. It was summer. No more students for another month and a half. Plenty of time to remember, if it was worth it. He noticed Robur coming back with three more mugs. Good. No matter what they disagreed about (and he wondered what they were just disagreeing about), they all agreed it was time to have some more beer.

"Brooms. Ja. Ve have da same game going on. All da time swooping und swerving und swishing und tossing und that stupid little bird dat dey catch! What numskulls! Day could be learning magic, but no! Day fly dere broomsticks, instead. Dummkopfs!"

The head of Beauxbatons took the mug of beer and drank some. He chuckled at how smashed the other two headmasters were. He looked around. They were at a little tavern a few miles out of a major Muggle town whose name he could not remember. The brewer lived here, mostly in that part of the building off to the left. The common room was to the right, and before them was a small barn, with a pen for goats and beyond that a hen yard. Right in front of him was a small pile of split wood. Very quaint. How Muggle-like.

"You know, my friends. We should get together more often. I mean, these summer break meetings are fine, but by Wulpurgis each year I'm ready to scream! And you really can't hex the students. The parents wouldn't stand for it. But if there was some way we could officially get together. Perhaps something bureaucratic like the "Joint Headmasters Education Evaluation Standing Committee" would need to have quarterly meetings or something to evaluate the latest in magical advancement and how to best present it to our students."

Mueller passed out the mugs to his smashed friends. He'd have to watch it, or he might end up like them. He considered McHugh's words. Could they really get away with having these conferences four times a year? But they would need something more than the name he'd come with so far. No, it was probably impossible. Maybe they could create a crisis that demanded all their attention. Hmmm, that had possibility. He cast a Reducto curse on the log sitting on the stump, waiting to be split and stored for winter. He didn't hit it straight on, and did it in an offhand way, so rather than shattering the whole thing, he just blew a chunk off its side.

"While it is a good idea, mon ami, I do not think it would work. You know what the board of governors are like. If it had such an impressive title, they would demand to be part of it. And if we were just instructors, we could get away for Christmas break, but the teachers expect to be gone, and we are left to care for the ones who cannot go home. No, I think we are left with only these summer meetings. And I bet if the board knew about this, they would come and insist we buy them rounds, too."

McHugh laughed as he handed round the mugs. Robur may be tipsy, but he did have a point. His original thought was to use the bureaucrats own tools against them, but he realized that would never work. He cast a Reducto on the other side of the log, trying to match, but not exceed, the damage done by the Durmstrang headmaster. There had to be a way.

"Vhat about some sort of joint class? Get da sevent' years togeder to learn -- I don't know -- Muggle cultures in different countries. How to nod be seen?"

As the Beauxbatons headmaster handed around the next round, Mueller took off another piece of the log. Robur blasted a little more wood from the log and levitated it to a different facing. It was starting to have a shape. He took off a little more. His friends might be loaded, but they could still cast pretty accurately.

"The snobs would never go for Muggle studies. Wizard cultures - that might work. Except most of our cultures are identical. We'd have to go to the Near East for something like that to work, and they'd never let us do it during a school year. Probably insist that it be done during summer. Better not mention that idea to any one else. Are you forming a goblet?"

All three took turns knocking chunks off the log, which soon had a fairly small waist. They then concentrated on the base, flattening it out. Then they knocked it over, and worked in pairs -- one magically holding it in place, while the other formed the bowl. Just a few rounds later, they put the (rather large) goblet on the table they were sitting at. It was fairly rough sculpted, but it was a goblet.

"That is an excellent example of inter-school cooperation, mes amis. But I cannot see our students getting together for art projects. Maybe some charity work?"

McHugh thought that was a dumb idea, as he accepted another mug from Robur. Probably said it because he was soused. Since when did wizards do things for others? Oh sure, maybe in their own family, if they got along. Isn't that the whole point of the Secrecy Act? To keep the Muggles from pestering them? Sure, they explain it as security, but really, of what danger were Muggles to a wizard?

"Da pure-bloods frown on charity, und as dat is da only studen's I have, ve vould not be part of it. No, ve need somet'ing dat all of us can be part of. Perhaps a competition? Vizards chess, maybe?"

Robur frowned. Due to the "strip chess" incident, and the subsequent almost scandal, that wouldn't work. No, he'd have to come up with another suggestion. He'd also have to come up with a less embarrassing explanation for his blotto friends.

"No. One of the children of an important wizard in Paris received bad marks this year. He rallied the governors and the chess club is on probation. He'd stop any activity that would bring it status."

Mueller smiled inwardly. He knew the real story, but had no reason to embarrass his pissed friend. But a competition. What kind? What would their respective boards of Governors accept? He handed out the next round and thought.

"Obviously, we should make it a magical competition. A team of wizards and witches from each school gets together and duels, or something. Wouldn't take much time for the actual event. Most duels are over in a minute or so."

McHugh didn't like his own suggestion. Most duels were won by the first person to get a spell off, or they were boring events of hex meeting counter-curse, or just missing. Duels were fun to be in, but they really weren't a spectator sport. He looked at his wasted friends as he accepted another mug, and saw that they disliked his idea as much as he did.

"A magical competition sounds fastanstique, mon ami. But not dueling. Anything but dueling. Perhaps some sort of challenge for the students? A problem to be solved by magic?"

Robur couldn't think of a less interesting way to spend a day than at a dueling competition. As he handed out another round of mugs, he knew the other headmasters felt the same. They had complained about it often enough when they were under the influence. As they were now.

"Dat is an idea. Ve set some goal -- overcoming a magical creature, or solving a magical puzzle -- and let dem at it. Ve make da challenge hard enough, it may take dem days to solve."

McHugh liked this idea. But as he took the offered mug from his hammered colleague he could see problems. Maybe not at first, but they would come. It was the natures of people to have friendly competitions devolve into angry rivalries. They would have to do something to avoid that. Yes, he could see a solution coming.

"That is an excellent idea, but does require the answer to a question first. Who makes the challenge? Obviously, we could take turns, but I foresee situations where the other schools would accuse the school that set up the task of preparing the students for that specific task. Well I have the answer! We have three tasks, each set up by a representative of one of our schools. So if Jean's task involves carnivorous plants, and they just happened to have studied it, that will not avail them when they must untangle the various locking spells holding Otto's box closed."

Robur liked that idea. His devious mind was already filling with possible challenges. As he took the mug from Otto -- poor fellow, he and George were quite inebriated -- he realized there was a major problem they hadn't answered.

"This is all tres bien, but how do we sell this to our Governors? Competition is all very good, but how much drinking can we get if that's all it's about? Let's see -- we advertise it as bringing fame and fortune to the winner, and honor to the school. We can also push the social aspect -- a chance for the future leaders of Magical Europe to get to know each other. Oui, I can see selling this to my Governors."

Mueller took the offered mug and nodded. His drunk friends had some good ideas. He thought for a moment. Yes, he could offer something to the plan.

"If ve bring a group of da best studen's, dey are da ones who usually cause da least problems. Dat vay dey can be left alone while ve have dese little meetings. Ve select one of the studen's from each group to compete, und the rest can keep each other occupied vhile ve imbibe. To justify bringing a group of studen's, ve have some sort of selection criteria. Perhaps an initial contest to find da best of each school."

To McHugh this sounded too much like work. What had started out as a simple plan to get some drinking time at school was becoming complicated. Yet it had to have some of these complications, otherwise the board wouldn't go along with it. Mueller's pre-contest contest would have to go, though.

"Are we wizards, or aren't we? Surely we can come up with an easier way to select the school champion. Hogwarts has that blasted Sorting Hat. Can't we come up with something like that? But no singing hats! Something that doesn't talk. Something like -- like -- like this goblet! Lets enchant the goblet to pick the champions! To the Sorting Goblet and the European Inter-School Magic Competition!"

* * *

Albus Dumbledore, current Headmaster of Hogwarts, which had just hosted Harry Potter's third year of schooling, concluded, "And the rest, as they say, is history. Of course the names were changed. The boards of governors took three years to come up with the right names before allowing the first tournament." He put the Goblet down on the drink table between his chair and Madam Maxime's magically enlarged lounge chair on a beach at a resort in the Caribbean. It barely fit amid all the empty glasses. Seagulls flew overhead in the blue, cloudless sky.

Madam Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons, picked up the wooden goblet, and turned it over in her hand. It was rather unimpressive. Pretty rough, in fact. But being carved with Reductos would explain that. Actually, if you thought about it, that was quite a difficult spell to control with such precision. She put the goblet back on the table, glancing at Albus. He looked rather ridiculous in that t-shirt that said "Gandalf Lives" and those Bermuda shorts.

"So, Dumbledore," said Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster of Durmstrang, as he accepted a drink from a swimsuit clad waitress. "Does the magic still work?" He had refrained from saying anything about Madam Maxime's swimsuit, but if he kept drinking, he wasn't sure if he could keep his mouth closed.

"Oh, yes. To the best of my abilities, and may I add they are quite extensive if I do say so myself, the sorting magic is still intact. If we revive the Triwizard Tournament, the Goblet of Fire will once more pick three champions to whom will go fame and fortune!"

"Strange that the custom died out," Olympe said, quaffing her drink. "Yet the tradition of the headmasters and headmistresses getting together after the school year continued."

"From what I understand, the Governors got involved in the challenge selection and implementation. They kept making it harder, until at the time the contest was discontinued they were actively creating problems to kill the students. The headmasters canceled it to keep the students safe."

"Then it is agreed? We restart the Triwizard tournament this year?"

"Yes, Igor. And we can look forward to a year of sampling the beers, wines, and whiskeys of Scotland and the rest of Brittan and Ireland. Olympe, Igor, to the Triwizard Tournament!"

All three raised their glasses.