POTTER FILES : THE HERO'S CUP

Chapter 1 : Back to Hogwarts

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Disclaimer : I do not own Harry Potter or Percy Jackson.

Note : The timeline of the HP universe has been changed to fit PJO universe. Some slight changes have been made to HP canon to fit girl Harry. So, Iris (fem!Harry) Potter was born on 31 July 1993 and GOF happened in 2007-2008.

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You might have already read it many times but this chapter is in Iris' Pov unless stated otherwise. I have decided to have Iris' fourth year as separate story as its easier that way. This chapter is rewrite of the second chapter but with some additions. I have not read Rick Riordan's work on Norse myths and don't know much about it other than their capital in US being Boston and Valhalla being some hotel. So, i am making up that part on my own.

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It was crowded. The children were pushing their trolleys every way and the adults were nearby fussing over them or giving them last minute advices. It was the situation in King's Cross station platform no. 9-3/4 at half past ten in the morning. I had intended to arrive half an hour earlier but I ended up sleeping in. I looked around and found a slightly chubby boy accompanied by a stern looking elderly lady wearing a vulture topped hat and carrying a bright red handbag. I navigated the crowds with the ease of practice.

"Greetings, Lady Longbottom, Heir Longbottom."

I dipped my head fully for the first, a sign of respect and I simply gave a nod for the second, a greeting between equals. Neville greeted me back similarly.

It was not something I usually do but Neville's grandmother was quite strict in these matters and there was nothing for me to gain by antagonising her. Even if those practices had ceased being practiced in everyday life long time ago, she felt every scion of a pureblood family should be thorough in it. Atleast, I did not have to do a full curtsey, those were reserved for upper society parties.

She looked me up and down as if searching for a mistake, however tiny but I knew she would not find anything. She had trained me too well. I shuddered inside on being reminded of those horrible days. Apparently, she was unhappy that one of her grandson's friends, despite being the heiress of a noble House, was ignorant of pureblood social etiquette. I was invited to their manor and given a crash course. Neville, being happy to be temporarily out from her thumb, did not do much to help. Hermione had gone on a vacation with her parents.

Once she was satisfied, she gave a terse nod. It was then that we heard someone shout our names. "NEVILLE! IRIS!"

Hermione came running towards us but she suddenly stopped on seeing Lady Longbottom like a cat stopping before a body of water. She dipped her head stiffly and greeted us one after another.

"Lady Longbottom, Heir Longbottom, Heiress Potter. I apologise for my ill conduct. I let my excitement get the better of me."

It was obvious to any observant onlooker that Hermione did not like showing submissive pose to others just because they had better magical ancestry than her. But she was intelligent enough to know that letting her pride dictate her actions would put Neville in a tough spot. It also helped she liked and respected both of us. If she was expected to do that to Draco Malfoy, she would have just spit on his face even if it would have made her look crass. Then again, Lady Longbottom would have just turned a blind eye or give her a mild rebuke to rub it in. Whatever the case, it would be quite entertaining to watch.

"Hmph. Ensure that it doesn't happen again. A lady should always maintain her poise and conduct in public.", Augusta Longbottom answered gruffly, "You three, study well and do not disappoint me."

We recognised the dismissal for what it was and boarded the train. Once we found an empty compartment, I quickly moved on to the couch and started catching up on my sleep for even magic was helpless against the monster called jet lag.

I did not know what I was dreaming of in the beginning or whether I was dreaming at all, there were flashes, a large cup burning in blue flames, the flames turning red and spitting out something, a dark haired boy with a wand and sword at his waist holding the cup which was no longer burning, all the while I could hear a familiar voice echoing around me telling me to win and to make Greece proud. The next thing I knew I had woken up and Hermione had ceased shaking my shoulders.

"Get up. We are nearly there.", she said.

I stood up and stretched my arms above my head relieving the knots in my back. I then patted down any wrinkles in the robes to seem more presentable. I was already in my uniform as I had come into the platform by Floo.

"You know, Iris, while you were sleeping, Malfoy came in here with his lackeys earlier to do his yearly bragging.", Neville said.

"Neville, of course, convinced him that they were not welcome here and escorted them out.", Hermione said in a teasing tone.

I smirked on seeing the reddish hue on his cheeks. Neville's crush on the frizzy haired girl was not much of a secret. I did not know whether the reverse was true. From my understanding, Lady Longbottom was encouraging, more like pushing, Neville to start courting her. I had decided to not interfere and let the situation develop on its own. They were still young and could change their minds later on.

I tilted my head and tried to give a coy look. "Oh Neville, you are my hero, my knight in shining armour."

The red tint in his cheeks deepened. Neville had changed a lot from the shy, gibbering wreck he used to be in his first year. While he was not exactly thin, most of the fat on him had transformed into solid muscles. It was instances like these that reminded us that some part of his old self was still in there.

"Har Har, little sister, make fun of me, will you. If you must know, Hermione cast a Silence bubble around you so that your sleep will not be disturbed. Considering the way you slept though, it might not have been necessary."

It was Hermione's turn to resemble a tomato. I simply rolled my eyes. Even if Neville and I were not siblings by blood, we considered ourselves that way. Our mothers Alice and Lily were dorm mates and when they became pregnant at the same time, they named the other as their child's godmother. I naturally felt it was my solemn duty as his sister to tease Neville at every chance while he felt, as the elder brother, it was his duty to tease me in return.

Soon, the Hogwarts Express slowed down and finally stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station. As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. We looked at each other and simultaneously cast the Impervius charm. Usually it's cast on objects to keep them dry or on our faces to let us see as the drain in reserves for the spell depended on how long it was kept up and the area it covered. So, the full body covering like the one we just did was rarely done. We did not mind it as the carriages were quite close to the station. A good thing about it was that we did not have to worry about slipping on the wet ground.

"Hi, Hagrid!", I yelled, seeing a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform.

"All righ', Iris?", Hagrid bellowed back, waving. "See yeh at the feast if we don' drown!"

"Oooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather.", said Hermione fervently, shivering as we inched slowly along the dark platform with the rest of the crowd. A hundred threstal driven carriages stood waiting for them outside the station. I went to the front and stroked its head. It leaned into my hand happily receiving my petting. Hades' chariot drivers had always liked me for as long as I could remember.

"Iris, what are you doing?", Hermione asked.

"I forgot, you can't see them, can you?", Neville spoke sounding forlorn.

"But-"

"They are called threstals. Only those who have seen death can see them.", came Luna's airy and detached voice.

Hermione looked about to argue but kept quiet on seeing Neville's sad look. Threstals were one of the few magical creatures whose Mist could fool wizards too. As Luna said, only those who had seen death and accepted it could see them.

"Hi Luna! I thought you were going with Ginny."

"Ginny is hanging out with her Quidditch friends. I had nothing in common with them. So, I thought I would come here."

I nodded. Luna could be like a lost puppy at times, I mused. I gave a final pat to the threstal and spoke in Ancient Greek low enough for only the threstal to hear. "Tell hi to Hades for me."

By the way it perked up, I knew it understood my message. I wondered what the god of Dead was doing. Probably, sitting alone in a dark throne and brooding.

"Come on, let's get in.", I said loudly to others.

We climbed gracefully into the carriage and removed the Impervius charm. The door shut with a snap, and a few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track toward Hogwarts Castle.

Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale. Leaning against the window, I could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as our carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle.

We jumped down from their carriage, put on the charm again and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when we were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.

"Blimey," said Ronald Weasley, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, "if that keeps up the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak — ARRGH!"

A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron's head and exploded. Drenched and sputtering, he staggered sideways into Seamus, just as a second water bomb dropped — narrowly missing Dean, it burst at Seamus' feet, sending a wave of cold water over his shoes into his socks. People all around them shrieked and started pushing one another in their efforts to get out of the line of fire. I was glad we were at the back. Impervius charm did nothing against solid projectiles. Though it was interesting to see that we were the only ones who thought of it. Others were all sogging wet.

I looked up and smirked. There, floating twenty feet above them, was Peeves the Poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again.

"PEEVES!", yelled an angry voice. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"

Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and head of Gryffindor House, had come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and grabbed a girl around the neck to stop herself from falling.

"Ouch — sorry, Miss Chang —"

"That's all right, Professor!", Cho Chang gasped, massaging her throat.

"Peeves, get down here NOW!", barked Professor McGonagall, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upward through her square-rimmed spectacles.

"Not doing nothing!", cackled Peeves, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall.

"Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!"

And he aimed another bomb at a group of second years who had just arrived.

"I shall call the headmaster!", shouted Professor McGonagall. "I'm warning you, Peeves —"

It seemed she did not know that the poltergeists were weak against salt. I considered telling her for a moment and then discarded the thought out of my head. It would be against the Marauders' Code of Conduct.

Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely.

"Well, move along, then!", said Professor McGonagall sharply to the bedraggled crowd. "Into the Great Hall, come on!"

I saw Professor McGonagall putting the Impervius charm on herself while we moved into the Great Hall. It seemed she had forgotten to do it while rushing here.

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils.

Hermione, Neville, and I walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. Pearly white and semi-transparent, Nick was dressed tonight in his usual doublet, but with a particularly large ruff, which served the dual purpose of looking extra-festive, and insuring that his head didn't wobble too much on his partially severed neck.

"Good evening," he said, beaming at us.

"Good evening to you too, Sir Nicholas."

Being polite had never hurt anyone. It gave you friends who would help you when you need it. Not that the youngest Weasley boy would know anything about it. He was so rude, ill mannered and whiny. Was it any surprise that he was the butt of all jokes? It was like he was carrying a big signing saying 'Prank Me'. The twins told me that he was dropped on the head too many times as a child. His one saving grace was that he was not an outright bigot like Malfoy. At least, Ginny turned out alright. Speaking of her...

"Hi, Ginny!", I called out on seeing her sitting next to Katie Bell.

"Hi, Iris!" She enthusiastically greeted me in return before turning back to talk with the other girl.

I was happy to see that her joining the team had helped her move on from the Chamber of Secrets fiasco. You see, a fanatic like Oliver Wood would have never let me quit the team for something like apprenticeship under Dumbledore. Sure, I could still have done it but his constant pestering to change my mind would have been irritating. Ginny was my compromise. The twins agreed with me as it allowed them to keep a closer eye on her. Wood tested her and she was found to be an extraordinary Seeker and nearly as good a Chaser. Even then, he only let me go after I agreed to be the reserve Seeker in case Ginny was injured, which thankfully had not happened yet.

It helped that she was actually interested in Quidditch and took a much more active role than I did.

One of her ideas was to play as an additional Chaser against Slytherin when the Snitch was not in sight. Slytherin Quidditch team whose strategy revolved around calculated rule breaking simply did not have an answer to that. It was not technically illegal just risky. The fact that Malfoy was a lousy Seeker who spent his time bragging about his father's money and influence and the Weasley's lack of it rather than doing his job made it a lot easier for her.

Another of her ideas was to have Wood do tryouts for the reserve Keeper position as it was his last year. I was not sure whether it was a good thing or bad thing that Ronald Weasley won the position. Now that Wood was gone, we could rename the Gryffindor Quidditch team as Weasley Quidditch team.

Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice called down the table.

"Hiya, Iris!"

"Hi, Colin!", I greeted back with a smile.

It was Colin Creevey, a third year to whom I was something of a hero. It was less to do with GWL and more to do with the fact that I was his pureblood sponsor. Yes, I was surprised too.

To understand the concept of pureblood sponsor, you should first understand the educational system of Magical Britain. OWLS were mandatory for everyone with magic so that Statute of Secrecy was upheld. NEWTS were needed for most of the jobs but the muggleborns or halfbloods intending to return to the muggle world would quit after OWLS and take a crash course in muggle subjects before taking their A-levels.

Hogwarts was a prestigious institution which taught the subjects until NEWT level and the teachers were internationally renowned masters of their crafts. Their tuition fees reflected that. Then there were satellite schools who offered until OWL level, were taught by Journeymen, fancy term for those who passed their NEWTS, and were a lot more affordable.

Hogwarts had the 'First Right of Refusal' or something like that which let them take the richest, brightest or magically powerful and leave the rest to the satellite schools. Those who could not afford the fees on their own were sponsored by the Ministry or pureblood houses, usually light but occasionally neutral. How the sponsorship developed with time was left to the participants. There had been instances where the sponsored child had married into the sponsoring family.

From what I know, House Potter had sponsored a child every generation. It was basically tradition. There was a separate vault set up for the purpose in Gringotts which would be funded as long as we had money for it and there was still a living Potter. I did not know what criteria was decided for the selection but I knew that Creevey family was selected.

"Iris, guess what? Guess what, Iris? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!"

"That's good.", I replied amused.

I obviously knew about it. The original agreement was only for one child. To include his brother in it required me to sign on it.

"He's really excited!", said Colin, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Iris?"

"You will be proud of him either way, won't you?", I asked.

"Of course, I will. But it will be nice if he's here in Gryffindor. I will not get to see him much otherwise."

I looked up at the staff table. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first years. Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the entrance hall floor. Professor Flitwick, the tiny Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway gray hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side was the Potions master, Snape. On Snape's other side was an empty seat, which I guessed was Professor McGonagall's. Next to it, and in the very center of the table, sat Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, his sweeping silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. The tips of Dumbledore's long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought.

But what confused me was the three new people sitting there. Surely, Dumbledore did not hire three people for teaching Defence against Dark Arts. The Auror who took the job last year had returned to the Corps after his contract term was over as his purpose at Hogwarts was to catch Sirius Black, unofficially of course.

The woman amongst the trio had such a startling resemblance to Greengrass that I decided she had to be a cousin of some sort. She had her dark hair tied up in a bun and her dull brown eyes seemed to scrutinise everything around her. Then there was a blond man with distinct Irish features who looked amused for some reason. The last was a dark haired man wearing square rimmed glasses. He seemed like a more grown up version of Percy Weasley in his demeanour but looks could be deceiving.

I looked up at the ceiling and frowned. It was enchanted to look like the sky outside, and I had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it. I could not think of a reason Zeus would be so angry that his temper tantrums affected the weather here. Perhaps, there was something wrong with the Irish. Their territory was the closest to Hogwarts and they did have a Sky god too.

Suddenly, the doors of the Great Hall opened and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school — all of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair, who was wrapped in what I recognized as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. The coat was so big for him that it looked as though he was draped in a furry black circus tent. His small face protruded from over the collar, looking almost painfully excited. When he had lined up with his terrified-looking peers, he caught Colin Creevey's eye, gave a double thumbs-up, and mouthed, I fell in the lake! He looked positively delighted about it.

"It seems your brother will be in Gryffindor after all. He is even more reckless than you.", I told Colin.

Professor McGonagall now placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty, patched wizard's hat. The first years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was silence. Then a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into song:

A thousand years or more ago,

When I was newly sewn,

There lived four warriors of renown,

Whose names are still well known:

Bold Gryffindor, prince of the Sky,

Fair Ravenclaw, warrior of the Highlands,

Sweet Hufflepuff, apple of Mercury's eye,

Shrewd Slytherin, walker of the Crossroads.

They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,

They hatched a daring plan

To train young warriors

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 favorites 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!

Well, atleast, it was the song that I heard. I was sure that the Mist made ordinary wizards and unaware demigods hear something different. Perhaps, every 'warriors' word might have been replaced by 'wizards'.

The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished. Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment.

"When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool", she told the first years. "When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table."

"Ackerley, Stewart!"

A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on, and sat down on the stool.

"RAVENCLAW!", shouted the hat.

Stewart Ackerley took off the hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him.

"Baddock, Malcolm!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

The table on the other side of the hall erupted with cheers; I could see Malfoy clapping as Baddock joined the Slytherins.

"Branstone, Eleanor!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Cauldwell, Owen!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Creevey, Dennis!"

Tiny Dennis Creevey staggered forward, tripping over Hagrid's moleskin, just as Hagrid himself sidled into the Hall through a door behind the teachers' table. About twice as tall as a normal man, and at least three times as broad, Hagrid, with his long, wild, tangled black hair and beard, presented an intimidating image — a classic example of appearances being deceptive, as everyone of us knew Hagrid to possess a very kind nature. The students all had a nickname for him, The Gentle Giant. In the first few months of the school year, one of his many duties, a duty he took upon himself I should add, was to console homesick first years and give them a shoulder to cry.

Hagrid winked at us as he sat down at the end of the staff table and watched Dennis Creevey putting on the Sorting Hat. The rip at the brim opened wide —

"GRYFFINDOR!", the hat shouted.

Hagrid clapped along with the Gryffindors as Dennis Creevey, beaming widely, took off the hat, placed it back on the stool, and hurried over to join his brother.

"Colin, I fell in!" he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. "It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!"

"Cool!", said Colin, just as excitedly. "It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"

"Wow!", said Dennis, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and pushed out of it again by a giant sea monster.

"Hey, Dennis!", Colin said pointing at me, "Look who it is. Iris Potter!"

"Really?", he replied excitedly.

"I am Iris Potter, this is Hermione Granger, that's Neville Longbottom.", I spoke introducing each of them in turn, "Welcome to Gryffindor, brat."

The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moving one by one to the three-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall passed the L's.

"Oh hurry up", Ronald moaned, massaging his stomach.

"Now, Ron, the Sorting's much more important than food.", said Nearly Headless Nick. "Madley, Laura!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"'Course it is, if you're dead.", snapped Ron.

"I do hope this year's batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch," said Nearly Headless Nick, the intentional dig going over the Weasley boy's empty head.

He applauded as "McDonald, Natalie!" joined the Gryffindor table.

"Pritchard, Graham!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Quirke, Orla!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

And finally, with "Whitby, Kevin!" ("HUFFLEPUFF!"), the Sorting ended. Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and the stool and carried them away.

"About time", said Ron, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate. I struggled to hold in a laugh as his behaviour reminded me of the cartoon of the Coyote, the one who plotted elaborate schemes but ended up falling into his own traps through sheer bad luck.

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."

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The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings.

When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus 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. Mr. 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 Mr. 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. I would also like to inform you of the changes in staff happening this year. Professor McGonagall has decided to retire as the the Head of the Gryffindor House."

I knew about it of course as I was the one who asked the Headmaster last year about the contradictory requirements of two of her posts. Being the Head of the Gryffindor House required her to represent us while as the Deputy, she was expected to remain impartial. It was like being the prosecutor and defence solicitor at the same time. A change was inevitable.

He waited for the gasps to subside and continued, "Professor Burbage will be the new Head of the Gryffindor House. Also, three of our former students has been hired as assistant teachers in areas of their expertise. Miss Artemis Greengrass has been chosen by Professor Snape and will teach Potions for first to third years while he will continue for fourth year and above."

Many people looked at Daphne on hearing the name and she struggled to hide how uncomfortable she was under attention.

The dark haired woman stood up and spoke, "You can addresses me as Madam Greengrass.", and sat back down.

"Oh man!", Ron groaned, "We still have to put up with Snape. Why couldn't we have gotten her?"

Majority of us agreed with him. We were not happy that just missed out though I had a feeling that the boys had a different reason for their disappointment other than their dislike of Snape considering that they had clapped much harder for her than the girls.

"It's Professor Snape, Ronald.", Hermione interjected coldly.

I sighed. She had never really forgiven him for his role in the incident in our first year when she was nearly killed by a troll in an abandoned bathroom. While we knew that he did not intend for her to be killed, even a girl like Hermione who clung to books and logic could be emotional in such a traumatising event. The frequent night terrors she experienced the following nights ensured that Ronald Weasley was hated by all Gryffindor girls of our year. The others let go of their hatred later on as they were not personally affected unlike us. It did not help that his apology was some mumbling we could barely hear and even then he had to be pressured into it.

"Whatever", he said uncaringly.

She gritted her teeth in anger and looked ready to give him a piece of her mind but my hand on her shoulder calmed her.

"Mr. Kevin O'Brien has been chosen by Professor McGonagall and will be taking Transfiguration for first to third years."

It was the blond man's turn. This time, it was the girls who clapped harder. He rose up and waved at everyone giving a roguish grin that elicited many giggles from the female folk and then sat back down. I hoped any similarities he had to Lockhart did not include the level of competency.

"Mr. Marcus Everard has been chosen by Professor Flitwick and will be taking Charms for the first to third years."

The dark haired man rose up and nodded before sitting back down. I noticed he had a habit of adjusting his glasses every few minutes. I wondered whether it was his personal nervous tic or something all bespectacled people did.

"I wonder whether he's related to the former Headmaster Pontificus Everard.", I heard Hermione murmur.

Many of us did find it funny though that the stern, serious McGonagall got the roguish playboy type guy while the enthusiastic Flitwick got stern and serious one.

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

I blinked my eyes in surprise. I looked around at Fred and George, my fellow members of the Quidditch team. They were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak. When they turned to glare at me, I raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

"Did you know about this?", they asked simultaneously rather than one after another like they usually do.

"No."

I did not elaborate and they did not ask me to. They were content with the negative reply.

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 traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled 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 gray 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. Hermione gasped.

The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any I had ever seen. It was as if Ares had stolen Hepheastus' tool kit and decided he was suddenly an expert at using it. 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 I could not hear. Perhaps, some Privacy charm had been cast. 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 gray 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 Defense 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 clapped 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.

"Wow! That's Mad Eye Moody.", said Ron in a low, awed voice.

"What happened to him?", Hermione whispered horrified, "What happened to his face?"

I wondered whether she was thinking it could have been her if the troll had gotten a little more time with her.

"I don't know.", I replied honestly, "I know that he was a recently retired Auror and had fought in the war. I had not seen anyone that scarred though."

I had suspicions that the scars were less from fighting the war and more from being captured and tortured relentlessly for some information. I knew better than to tell her that though.

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 traveling 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 I 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 honor 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!", said Fred Weasley loudly. 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, Mr. 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."

While the above statement could have also been meant for the wizards who had read about it, we, those in the know, understood it was mainly for our sake. After all, we knew the true history of the tournament which was actually called the Hero's Cup and did not need to listen to the Mist doctored version.

"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 — until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

"Death toll?", Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. But her 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."

"I'm going for it!", Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, I could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors.

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, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious — "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." His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself. 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.

"They can't do that!", said George Weasley, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"

Perhaps, Dumbledore did not want to lose what hearing he had left in his old age to Mrs. Weasley's legendary Howlers, I thought but did not say out loud. I was close enough of a friend that I knew when they were not in the mood to take a joke.

"They're not stopping me entering.", said Fred stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"

I was not sure why they were obsessed with the prize money. As far as I knew, they were quite chummy with Sirius Black. Black family might not be as rich as they used to be at their peak but still thousand Galleons was paltry sum for them. I could not see him being stingy about helping set up the prank shops. Then again, Weasleys were quite prideful when it came to money.

"Come on", said Hermione, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."

We set off for the entrance hall, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament. "Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?", I asked.

"Dunno", said Fred, "but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George. . . ."

"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though", Neville said.

"Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?", said Fred shrewdly. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."

"Or he is testing us by giving us a challenge.", I interjected causing the twins to perk up, "After all, if an underage student managed to get selected despite Dumbledore trying to stop him or her, they are obviously qualified despite their age.

"Stop encouraging them, Iris. People have died in this tournament.", said Hermione in a worried voice as we walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase.

"Yeah", said Fred airily, "but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk? Besides, if Dumbledore is really challenging us, then it would be a blemish on our honour as pranksters to not rise up to the challenge. Hey, Iris, Neville, what if we find out how to get 'round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?"

"Nah", Neville said, "I don't really know enough to go for it."

"I will definitely try.", I said, "If I get it, good. If not, it means someone more qualified got it. What about Quidditch though?"

"What about it? Dumbledore cancelled it.", said Fred.

I shook my head. "Inter-House Quidditch Cup was cancelled. It is ensure that Hogwarts shows a united front when the other schools arrive. He never said anything about Inter-School Cup. Present a formal request with the signatures of all Quidditch captains and I am sure Dumbledore will agree to it. After all, what better way to welcome the visitors than with a proper Quidditch tournament?"

Fred said, "Very true. Who the hell is our captain anyway now that Wood is gone?"

"It certainly can't be us. No one in their right mind would make us captain.", replied George.

"Why not? Are we not the coolest and most charismatic people in Gryffindor, my uglier brother.", said Fred.

"Yes, we are, my uglier brother. If we were made captain, everyone will be too distracted by our handsomeness and awesomeness to concentrate on Quidditch.", replied George.

I smirked, amused. I could tell by the way they got into the twin talk that they had moved past their bad mood. As we were making our way to the entrance of the Gryffindor Tower, we saw Professor McGonagall coming towards us from the opposite direction.

"Ah Miss Potter, there you are.", she spoke.

"Good evening Professor. I take it the Headmaster wants to see me.", I said waving the others on.

"Yes, you're, Miss Potter. I hope you all were not planning some mischief. I might not be your Head of the House anymore but I still have the authority to punish you.", she said looking at us sternly through her square glasses.

"Of course not, Professor.", I gave a charming smile, "We were simply discussing the possibility of arranging the Inter - School Cup. Of course, our start up squad will be mostly Gryffindor. After all our Quidditch team is the best. Though it will be nice to know who the new captain is."

Professor McGonagall's lips twitched into a sort of half smile for a moment before being suppressed. "Appointing the team captain is the responsibility of the Head of Gryffindor, which I am not anymore. Though if I were to make a guess, it would be Ms. Johnson. Now come, Ms. Potter. Let's not dally."

X-X-X-X-X

"Come in."

I entered his office and saw, to my amusement, that nothing had changed. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, the portrait of Armando Dippet, Dumbledore's predecessor, being the biggest. All of them were snoozing gently in their frames put to sleep by Dumbledore no doubt. I wondered why as the older ones would have already known about it. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tainted wizard's hat - the Sorting Hat.

"Welcome, Iris. Take a seat. Lemon drops?"

"Thank you, Albus.", I replied.

Dumbledore had asked me to call him by his first as long as we were not discussing my academics. Considering that he called me by my first name, it was obviously not so. It was weird at first but over time I got used to it.

"I heard that you had completed another quest. Congratulations."

"It was not my quest. Clarisse ws the leader and I just tagged along."

Dumbledore smiled. "I see. Is there anything you wanted to tell me?"

I thought about it for a moment and found no reason to keep it secret. So, I told him everything about the dream in explicit detail.

"It is curious.", he said stroking his beard, a frown on his face, "Are you sure that was exactly what was said?"

"Yes, Albus."

"The message implies a certainty that you will be selected regardless of whether you put your name or not. That's concerning.", he said.

"I know."

"Considering the number of people involved, there is no reliable way to single out the culprit or culprits."

"So, we will have to wait until they make a mistake. If I am going to be participating, I might as well put my name myself rather than let someone else muck it up."

Dumbledore frowned as if he wanted to object but had no good reason to do so.

"It's times like these that I wished I had talent in skills related to my mother's domains. It would have been nice to know what she knew but, alas, we ordinary mortals have to work with what we have."

I ignored his description of himself as ordinary and focused on the matter at hand. I knew that he was not talking about the Dark Arts or Necromancy. The other power Hecate might have was seeing glimpses of possible futures. If Dumbledore was not good at it, we should consult someone who was.

"What about our Divination professor? Perhaps, she could look into the future and find something.", I said.

"I am afraid Professor Trelawnley might not be of much assistance. If she has any Seer abilities, she was good enough to hide it from me. Unlike the Oracle you are used to, our Professor's... Inner Eye tends to be clouded most of the time. I have only ever known of her giving one prophecy in my life."

Was it just me or did I hear a hint of mockery in his tone? It seemed Dumbledore did think much more of Professor Trelawnley than Hermione did. It seemed he hired her simply so he could have an Oracle under his thumb. Perhaps, it was the only reason he had not cancelled the subject altogether.

I guess, I should explain. There were three different types of gifted people. Seers were the most well known type who could see the future on their own without the help of supplements like tea leaves or cards. Cassandra of Troy was a Seer. They usually went insane unable to distinguish between the present and the possible futures unless they had someone to anchor them to the present, someone they trusted. Oracles were the media through which Fates conveyed a message in form of prophecies. Prophets were not that different from ordinary people most of the time aside from the occasional feeling of deja vu. Many of them lived out their lives never learning of their gift. But, if someone asked them an indirect question, they would just know the answer. It was believed that proponents of religious movements like Moses, Jesus, Mohammed and so called swamis were wizards with that gift. Well, considering that Greek, Roman and many other kinds of gods were real, it was quite possible that God, with capital 'g', was real as well.

I have not taken Divination because it did not seem interesting, well, at least the Ministry approved curriculum. Divination was actually a large branch of magic consisting of all the methods used to 'divine' the past, present and the future. In old days, before Dumbledore's time, when the Everard was the Headmaster, Divination supported History of Magic just as Astronomy supported Ritual Studies. However, around two hundred years ago, the Ministry declared all rituals with the exception of the naming and hand fasting rituals as dark and restricted or outright banned them thus ending Ritual Studies. Similarly, Divination curriculum was reduced to just 'divining' future. I would have known any of it if I had not found a few old school books in the Room of Requirement, books dated before 1800s.

"I guess, the solution is obvious then.", I said.

"Then you know I cannot help you. Whether you succeed or fail will depend on your own efforts."

I nodded. It was expected that, as the Headmaster of the participating school, he would be bound by the oaths.

"I know. It will be a good challenge."

He sighed. "As the Headmaster, I am supposed to discourage you but we both know it's a pointless endeavour. Have you completed the work I gave you for the summer?"

X-X-X-X-X

3rd person point of view

X-X-X-X-X

In a land far, far away, a man sat in his office looking out of the window to the darkening sky. The place never had much of what you would call 'pleasant' weather but he knew that the cloudy sky and rising storm were not of the usual variety. Every time the thunder boomed, the building trembled, despite the wards that were supposed to prevent it from happening, and the burning candles, which were the only source of light, flickered forgetting that it was enchanted to be always steady and well lit. Suddenly, lightning flashed striking the ground outside the castle proper and the lights went out.

The man got up from his chair and knelt with his head bowed downwards, nearly touching the ground, knowing what was coming. The lightning flashed again and the room was lit by the glowing figure in front of him. If anyone imagined what a perfect specimen of man looked like, it would be the figure in front of him. He was taller than any man he knew, his face looked to be chiseled from stone, he was wearing a half sleeve shirt struggling to contain his bulging muscles, his arms were as thick as a trunk. The very air around them was charged by his presence and there was a faint smell of ozone about him, revealing that he was no mere man, but a god. He was Thor, the Norse God of Thunder, Prince of Asgard.

"Are all the preparations done?", the Thunderer spoke, his voice reverberating around the room, shaking the building much like the thunder that preceded his arrival.

"Yes, my lord. It's all done."

"They have played their piece and we have played ours. It's only a matter of time. It would be interesting to see their so called 'Dementor Slayer' is worth the hype."

"My lord-"

"ENOUGH! Have I given you permission to speak, worm?", seeing the man shake his head in fear, Thor continued, "I know of what you intend to speak. They might not be in a precarious position at the moment but forcing their champions to face greater challenges than ours will make us look bad. Our champion is not some weakling who needs favoritism and cheating to win like Greeks."

"Yes, my lord.", he said.

Suddenly, the pressure in the room grew many times and he was forced against the ground. He tried to raise himself but the pressure was too great. Just when he thought he would die, the pressure was released causing him to take huge gulps of air to steady himself.

"Do not forget that the only reason you continue to exist is that fader believes your inside knowledge will be useful. If it's up to me, I would have smith you off the surface of Midgard so that you don't taint our land with your cowardly traitorous ways. Return victorious or . . . ."

Next thing the man knew, he was kneeling on the ground sweat pouring down his face and soaking his clothes. The room was lit by steadily burning candles, the weather was the usual. There was no evidence to indicate that the entity's visit was not a day dream or hallucination.

Igor Karkaroff wiped his face and got back to his seat. He thought back to his life the last decade and a half, and wondered bitterly whether someone had switched the blood in his veins with malaclava venom. He had joined the Death Eaters not because he cared for or respected the leader, but for power. It helped that it was easier to get away with lesser things if the Ministry was too busy with the Death Eater attacks. He was a pure blood wizard and proud of it too but unlike the Malfoys, his family was not swimming in money to just throw a bunch of it to the politicians to get them to solve his problems. Just when the Dark Lord was on the cusp of victory, he disappeared without trace. The only hint that something went wrong was the searing pain on the location of the Dark Mark. Some were lucky enough to be in their homes, some others had the presence of mind to use the emergency, untraceable port key they were provided to escape and he was among the unlucky lot who got captured.

He did not hesitate in selling off his comrades when the alternative was the Dementors. He had seen what they could do under the Dark Lord and he was not eager to end up defenseless with them. The unofficial exile did not seem like much of a punishment then with a lot of people, enemies and former allies alike, out for his head. It seemed more of a blessing when a contact of his arranged a teaching post at Durmstrang in exchange for giving up some inconsequential information about Hogwarts, well inconsequential for him. If the old fool Dumbledore got some problems due to it, all the better.

He then plotted and backstabbed his way to the Headmaster post. After all, if the Dark Lord was as immortal as his fellow Death Eaters had believed and managed to return to power, he could offer up the school as its Headmaster to be his stronghold in the East, well Dark Lord did not seem to be type of person who would be content with just Britain, and the students for his army, many of whom were children of pure blood families who did not want to got to Hogwarts under the mudblood lover. He would have all the power he wanted and an easy life, with or without the Dark Lord.

But, all his plans crumbled not long after he became the headmaster when the existence of the supposed mythical figures were revealed to him. Forget remaining as the Headmaster, he needed to get Durmstrang to win the Tournament to continue to live. He would have said AKing himself would have been better than returning as a failure but considering his recent luck, he might end up with them even after death. It was better to not even think of losing.

X-X-X-X-X

AN: You know, I don't know whether I went overboard with Lady Longbottom. I like to think that if Neville had any friends in early part of canon, she would have been as critical of them as she would have been of Neville.

Malaclava is a magical creature whose venom gives the victim bad luck. It's an ingredient in Felix Felicis, luck potion, i think.

I was not as enthusiastic about this chapter as the previous ones. I really wanted to get to the part where the other schools arrive. I tried my best not to make mistakes and hopefully I did it justice.